_GATHERING CLOUDS_
(1870–1871)
One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward;
Never doubted clouds would break;
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph
Held, we fall to rise again; are baffled, to fight better;
Sleep, to wake!
BROWNING.
In October Richard and I left Bludán to return to our winter quarters
at Salahíyyeh, Damascus. But as we were in a mood for excursions, we
went by a longer and roundabout route. We had a delightful ride across
the Anti-Lebanon, and then we went by way of Shtora across a mountain
called Jebel Báruk, and then a long scramble of six hours led us to the
village of Báruk, a Druze stronghold in a wild glen on the borders of
the Druze territory. We did not find our tents; but it did not signify,
as we were among friends and allies, who welcomed us. We went at once
to the Shaykh’s house. Richard was always friendly with the Druzes;
and as they played an important part in our life at Damascus, I think
that I had better give some description of them. They are a fine, brave
people, very athletic. The men are tall, broad, and stalwart, with
splendid black eyes, and limbs of iron. They have proud and dignified
manners, and their language is full of poetry. The women are faithful
wives and good mothers. They wear a long blue garment and a white veil.
The whole face is hidden except one eye. I remember once asking them
if it took a long time to decide which was the prettier eye, at which
small joke they were much amused.
We remained for the night with the Shaykh, and had breakfast with him
in the morning, and then went on to Mukhtára, which is the centre of
the Lebanon Druzes. It was a most interesting ride; and whilst we were
still in the barren plain a band of horsemen came out to meet us in
rich Druze dress, and escorted us through a deep defile, and then up a
rocky ascent to a Syrian palace, the house of the Sitt Jumblatt, which
is situated in olive groves on the heights. Arrived at the house, we
were cordially received by the Sitt Jumblatt--a woman who was the head
of the princely family of the Lebanon Druzes--with all the gracious
hospitality of the East, and with all the well-bred ease of a European
_grande dame_. She took us into the reception-room, when water and
scented soap were brought in carved brass ewers and basins, incense
was waved before us, and we were sprinkled with rose-water, whilst an
embroidered gold canopy was held over our heads to concentrate the
perfume. Coffee, sweets, and sherbet were served, and then I was shown
to a very luxurious room.
The following morning we spent in visiting the village schools and
stables, and in listening to the Sitt’s grievances, on which she waxed
eloquent. At night we had a great dinner, and after dinner there were
dancing and war-songs between the Druzes of the Lebanon and the Druzes
of the Haurán. They also performed pantomimes and sang and recited
tales of love and war until far into the night.
The next day we started early. I was sorry to leave, for the Sitt
Jumblatt and I had formed a great friendship. We rode to B’teddin, the
palace of the Governor of the Lebanon, where we were received with
open arms. Five hundred soldiers were drawn up in a line to salute
us, and the Governor, Franco Pasha, welcomed us with all his family
and suite. After our reception we were invited to the divan, where we
drank coffee. Whilst so engaged invisible bands struck up “God save
the Queen”; it was like an electric shock to hear our national hymn
in that remote place--we who had been so long in the silence of the
Anti-Lebanon. We sprang to our feet, and I was so overcome that I burst
into tears.
In the morning we rode back to Mukhtára, where we went to the house of
the principal Druze Shaykh, and were most graciously received. I love
the Druzes and their charming, courteous ways. Whilst staying here we
made several excursions, and among others we ascended Mount Hermon. The
Druze chiefs came from all parts to visit us.
After some days we left. Richard was to go home by a way of his own,
and I was to return escorted by a Druze Shaykh. Poor Jiryus, my
_sais_, walked by my side for a mile when I started, and after
kissing my hand with many blessings, he threw his arms round Salim’s
neck and kissed his muzzle. Then he sat down on a rock and burst into
tears. Richard had dismissed him for disobeying orders. My heart ached
for him, and I cried too.
Shaykh Ahmad and I descended the steep mountain-side, and then galloped
over the plain till we came to water and some Bedawin feeding their
flocks. The Shaykh gave one fine fellow a push, and roughly ordered him
to hold my horse and milk his goats for me. The man refused. “What,” I
said very gently, “do you, a Bedawin, refuse a little hospitality to
a tired and thirsty woman?” “O Lady,” he replied quickly, “I will do
anything for you--you speak so softly; but I won’t be ordered about by
this Druze fellow.” I was pleased with his manliness, and he attended
to my wants and waited on me hand and foot.
We camped out that night, and the night after. I was always fond
of sleeping in the tent, and would never go into the house unless
compelled to do so. This time, however, our tents were pitched on low
ground close to the river, with burning heat by day and cold dews by
night. So I got the fever, and I lay in a kind of stupor all day. The
next morning I heard a great row going on outside my tent. It turned
out to be the Druze Shaykh and our dragoman quarrelling. Shortly after
Shaykh Ahmad came into my tent, and in a very dignified way informed me
that he wished to be relieved of his duty and return home. I laughed,
and refused to allow him to depart. “What, O Shaykh,” said I, “will you
leave a poor, lone woman to return with no escort but a dragoman”; and
he immediately recanted.
Richard joined me here for a night, and then in the morning went off
by another route to explore some district round about. I also did some
exploring in another direction.
So we went on from day to day, camping about, or rather gypsying, in
the desert among the Bedawin. I got to love it very much. I often
think with regret of the strange scenes which became a second nature
to me: of those dark, fierce men, in their gaudy, flowing costumes,
lying about in various attitudes; of our encampments at night, the
fire or the moonlight lighting them up, the divans and the pipes,
the narghílehs and coffee; of their wild, mournful songs; of their
war-dances; of their story-telling of love and war, which are the only
themes. I got to know the Bedawin very well during that time, both men
and women; and the more I knew them the better I liked them.
I remember one night, when Richard and I were in our tent, we lay down
on our respective rugs, and I put out the light. Suddenly Richard
called to me, “Come quick! I am stung by a scorpion.” I struck a match
and ran over to his rug, and looked at the place he pointed to; but
there was a mere speck of blue, and I was convinced it was only a big
black ant. He did not mind that, so I lay down again. Hardly had I done
so when he called out, “Quick, quick, again! I know it is a scorpion.”
I again struck a light, ran over, plunged my hand inside his shirt near
the throat, and drew it out again quickly with a scorpion hanging by
its crablike claws to my finger. I shook it off and killed it; but it
did not sting me, being, I suppose, unable to manage a third time. I
rubbed some strong smelling salts into Richard’s wounds, and I found
some _raki_, which I made him drink, to keep the poison away from
his heart. He then slept, and in the morning was well.
While we were gypsying about in this way we received an invitation to a
Druze wedding at Arneh, near Mount Hermon. Richard went to it one way
and I another. Whenever we separated, the object was to get information
of both routes to our meeting-place, and thus save time and learn more.
On meeting, we used to join our notes together.
The wedding was a very pretty one. The bridegroom was a boy of fifteen;
and the bride, a Shaykh’s daughter, was about the same age. There was a
great deal of singing and dancing, and they were all dressed in their
best costumes and jewellery. I was invited to the harím of the bride’s
house, where we had a merry time of it. Whilst we were enjoying our fun
the girls blew out all our lights, and we were left in the darkness.
The bride ran and threw her arms round me, for protection perhaps, and
then commenced such a romping and screaming and pinching and pulling
that I hardly knew where I was. It was evidently considered a great
frolic. After a few minutes they lit the candles again. At last the
bride, robed in an izár and veiled, mounted a horse astraddle, and
went round to pay her last visit to her neighbours as a maiden. Coming
back, the bride and the bridegroom met in the street, and then we all
adjourned to her father’s house, where there were more ceremonies and
festivities. At midnight we formed a procession to take the bride to
her bridegroom’s house, with singing, dancing, snapping of fingers, and
loud cries of “Yallah! Yallah!” which lasted till 2 a.m. Then the harím
proceeded to undress the bride. We were up all night, watching and
joining in different branches of festivities.
The wedding over, we returned home to Salahíyyeh by slow stages. It
was a terribly hot road through the desert. I suffered with burning
eyeballs and mouth parched with a feverish thirst. I know nothing to
equal the delight with which one returns from the burning desert into
cool shades with bubbling water. Our house seemed like a palace; and
our welcome was warm. So we settled down again at Damascus.
We had a troublesome and unpleasant time during the next few months,
owing to a continuation of official rows. There were people at Damascus
always trying to damage us with the Government at home, and sending
lying reports to the Foreign Office. They were most unscrupulous. One
man, for instance, complained to the Foreign Office that I had been
heard to say that I had “finished my dispatches,” meaning that I had
finished the work of copying Richard’s. Imagine a man noting down this
against a woman, and twisting it the wrong way.
I think that the first shadow on our happy life came in July of
this year, 1870, when I was at Bludán. An amateur missionary came
to Damascus and attempted to proselytize. Damascus was in a very
bad temper just then, and it was necessary to put a stop to these
proceedings, because they endangered the safety of the Christian
population. Richard was obliged to give him a caution, with the result
that he made the missionary an enemy, and gave him a grievance, which
was reported home in due course.
Another way in which we made enemies was because Richard found it
necessary to inform the Jews that he would not aid and abet them in
their endeavours to extort unfair usury from the Syrians. Some of
the village Shaykhs and peasantry, ignorant people as they were,
were in the habit of making ruinous terms with the Jews, and the
extortion was something dreadful. Moreover, certain Jewish usurers
were suspected of exciting massacres between the Christians and the
Moslems, because, their lives being perfectly safe, they would profit
by the horrors to buy property at a nominal price. It was brought to
the notice of Richard about this time that two Jewish boys, servants
to Jewish masters who were British-protected subjects, had given the
well-understood signal by drawing crosses on the walls. It was the
signal of the massacre in 1860. He promptly investigated the matter,
and took away the British protection of the masters temporarily.
Certain Israelite money-lenders, who hated him because he would not
wink at their sweating and extortions, saw in this an opportunity to
overthrow him; so they reported to some leading Jews in England that
he had tortured the boys, whom he had not, in point of fact, punished
in any way beyond reproving them. The rich Jews at home, therefore,
were anxious to procure our recall, and spread it about that we were
influenced by hatred of the Jews. One of them had even the unfairness
to write to the Foreign Office as follows:
“I hear that the lady to whom Captain Burton is married is believed to
be a bigoted Roman Catholic, and to be likely to influence him against
the Jews.”
In spite of woman’s rights I was not allowed to answer him publicly.
When I heard of it, I could not forbear sending a true statement of the
facts of the case to Lord Granville, together with the following letter:
“H.B.M. CONSULATE, DAMASCUS,
“_November 29, 1870_.
“MY LORD,
“I have always understood that it is a rule amongst gentlemen
never to drag a lady’s name into public affairs, but I accept
with pleasure the compliment which Sir ---- ---- pays me in
treating me like a man, and the more so as it enables me to
assume the privilege of writing to you an official letter, a
copy of which perhaps you will cause to be transmitted to him.
“Sir ---- ---- has accepted the tissue of untruths forwarded by
three persons, the chief money-lenders of Damascus, because they
are his co-religionists. He asserts that I am a bigoted Roman
Catholic, and must have influenced my husband against them. I
am not so bigoted as Sir ---- ----; for if three Catholics were
to do one-half of what these three Jews have done, I would
never rest until I had brought them to justice. I have not a
prejudice in the world except against hypocrisy. Perhaps, as
Damascus is divided into thirty-two religions, my husband and I
are well suited to the place. We never ask anybody’s religion,
nor make religion our business. My husband would be quite
unfitted for public life if he were to allow me to influence
him in the manner described, and I should be unworthy to be any
good man’s wife if I were to attempt it. My religion is God’s
poor. There is no religious war between us and the Jews, but
there is a refusal to use the name of England to aid three rich
and influential Jews in acts of injustice to, and persecution
of, the poor; to imprison and let them die in gaol in order to
extort what they have not power to give; and to prevent foreign
and fraudulent money transactions being carried on in the name
of Her Majesty’s Government. Also it has been necessary once or
twice to prevent the Jews exciting the Moslems to slaughter,
by which they have never suffered, but by which they gratify
their hatred of the Christians, who are the victims. I think
nobody has more respect for the Jewish religion than my husband
and myself, or of the Jews, as the most ancient and once chosen
people of God; but in all races some must be faulty, and these
must be punished. There are three mouths from which issue all
these complaints and untruths; and what one Jew will say or sign
the whole body will follow without asking a question why or
wherefore, nor in Damascus would their consent be asked. It is
a common saying here that ‘everybody says yes to them because
they have money.’ These three men count on the influence of men
like Sir ---- ----, and one or two others, and impose upon their
credulity and religious zeal to get their misdeeds backed up and
hidden. But will such men as these protect a fraudulent usurer
because he is a Jew?
“I enclose a true statement of the case, and also some private
letters, one from our chief and best missionary, which will show
you something of the feeling here in our favour.
“I have the honour to be, my Lord,
“Your most obedient and humble servant,
“ISABEL BURTON.
“To the EARL GRANVILLE, etc., etc.,
“Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”
To this I can only add: if the Shylocks of Damascus hated me, so much
the more to my credit.
There were many temptations to turn us from the path of right, if we
had a mind to go. Politics at Damascus were most corrupt, and bribes
were freely offered to us both from all sides. They did not seem to
understand our refusal of anything of the kind. It had evidently been
the custom. Richard had as much as £20,000 offered him at once, and
personally I had no end of temptations to accept money when I first
came to Damascus. If we had taken gold and ignored wrongs, we might
have feathered our nests for ever, and doubtless have retired with much
honour and glory. But we would not. In this way I refused several
Arab horses which I would have given worlds to accept, for I was
passionately fond of Arab horses, and could not afford to buy them;
but as we should have been expected to do unjust things in return, or
rather to allow unjust things to be done, I refused them. I had more
jewels offered me than I should have known what to do with, but refused
them all; and I take some credit to myself in this matter, because I
might have accepted them as gifts without any conditions, and I like
diamonds as much as most women, or rather I like their value.
In November we had quite an event in Damascus--the wedding of the
Wali’s daughter. It was the most splendid wedding I ever beheld. It
lasted five days and nights. The men celebrated it in one house, and
the women in another. We mustered several hundred in all. I was among
the _intimes_, and was treated _en famille_. By my side throughout was
Lady Ellenborough, looking like an oriental queen, and the charming
young wife of our Italian Consul, whose dress was fresh from Italy. The
dresses were wonderful in richness, diamonds blazing everywhere. But
one custom took my fancy: the best women wore simply a plain cashmere
robe, and no ornaments, but loaded all their jewels on one or two of
their slaves, who followed them, as much as to say, “If you want to see
all my fine things, look behind me; it is too great a bore to carry
them myself.”
On the eve of the wedding there was a long procession of female
relatives, and we all sat round in the large hall. Every woman in the
procession bore branches of lights; and the bride was in the middle,
a beautiful girl of fifteen or sixteen. Her magnificent chestnut hair
swept in great tresses below her waist, and was knotted and seeded
with pearls. She was dressed in red velvet, and blazed all over with
precious stones. Diamond stars were also glued to her cheeks, her chin,
and her forehead; and they were rather in the way of our kissing her,
for they scratched our faces. She was a determined-looking girl, but
she had been crying bitterly, because she did not want to be married.
She sat on the divan, and received our congratulations sullenly,
looking as though she would rather scream and scratch.
On the marriage morn we were up betimes. The harím had begged of me to
wear an English ball-dress, that they might see what it was like. I
said, “I will do what you ask, but I know that you will be shocked.”
“Oh no,” they replied; “we are quite sure we shall be delighted.” So
I wore a white glacé silk skirt, a turquoise blue tunic and corsage,
the whole affair looped up and trimmed with blush roses, and the same
flowers in my hair. Thus arrayed I appeared before the harím. They
turned me round and round, and often asked me if I were not very cold
about the shoulders; if it were really true that strange men danced
with us and put their arms round our waists, and if we didn’t feel
dreadfully ashamed, and if we really sat and ate and drank with them.
I could not answer all these questions over and over again, so I said
I would describe a European ball by interpreter. They hailed the idea
with delight. I stood up and delivered as graphic an account as I could
of my first ball at Almack’s, and they greeted me at intervals with
much applause.
The marriage was a simple but most touching ceremony. We were all
assembled in the great hall. The Wali entered, accompanied by the
women of the family; the bride advanced, weeping bitterly, and knelt
and kissed her father’s feet. The poor man, with emotion, raised her
and clasped a girdle of diamonds round her waist, which was before
ungirdled; it was part of her dower. No one could unclasp it but her
husband, and this concluded the ceremony. Shortly afterwards the bride
was borne in procession to the bridegroom’s house, where she received
the kisses and congratulations of all the women present. After about
half an hour she was conducted to a private room by a female relative,
and the bridegroom to the same room by a male relative. The door was
shut, and the band played a joyous strain. I asked what was going to
happen, and they told me that the bridegroom was allowed to raise her
veil, to unclasp her belt, and to speak a few words to her in the
presence of their relatives. This was the first time they had really
seen one another. What an anxious moment for a Moslem woman!
Shortly after this we went on an expedition to visit the Wuld Ali, a
chief who was much dreaded by those of other tribes. Richard and I rode
into the encampment alone. When first the tribe saw our two dusky
figures galloping across the sand in the evening, they rode out to meet
us with their lances couched; but as soon as they were close enough to
recognize Richard they lowered their weapons, jumped off their horses
and kissed our hands, galloped in with us, and held our stirrups to
alight. I need not say that we received all the hospitality of Bedawin
life. Richard wanted to patch up a peace between the Wuld Ali and the
Mezráb tribe, but in this he did not succeed.
We had a delightful ride when leaving one encampment for another, and
several of the Bedawin accompanied us. As we mounted Richard whispered
to me, “Let’s show those fellows that the English can ride. They think
that nobody can ride but themselves, and that nothing can beat their
mares.” I looked round, and saw their thorough-bred mares with their
lean flanks. I did not know how it would be with our half-breds; but
they were in first-rate condition, full of corn and mad with spirits.
So I gave Richard my usual answer to everything he said: “All right;
where you lead I will follow.” As soon as the “Yallah!” was uttered for
starting, we simply laid our reins on our horses’ necks, and neither
used spur nor whip nor spoke to them. They went as though we had long
odds on our ride. We reached the camp for which we were bound an hour
and a half before the Bedawin who were to have come with us. Neither we
nor our horses had turned a hair. Their mares were broken down, and the
men were not only blown and perspiring, but they complained bitterly
that their legs were skinned. “Ya Sitti,” said one, “El Shaitan
himself could not follow you.” “I am sorry,” I replied, “but our
_kaddishes_ would go; _we_ wanted to ride with _you_.”
When we returned from this expedition we went to Beyrout, where
we spent our Christmas. We ate our Christmas dinner with the
Consul-General, and his dragoman told me an astounding story about
myself which was news to me, as such stories generally are. He said
that, a certain Jewish usurer at Damascus had told him that, when I met
his wife at the wedding of the Wali’s daughter, I tore her diamonds
off her head, flung them on the ground, and stamped on them, saying
that they were made out of the blood of the poor. I was amused at
this monstrous fabrication, but I was also annoyed. In England there
may be much smoke but little fire, but in the East the smoke always
tells that the fire is fierce, and one must check a lie before it has
time to travel far. Knowing what certain Jews in England had reported
about me before, I lost no time in putting matters to rights with the
authorities, and dispatched the following letter to the Foreign Office:
“_January 27, 1871._
“MY LORD,
“I trust you will exempt me from any wish to thrust myself into
public affairs, but it is difficult for Captain Burton to notice
anything in an official letter concerning his wife, neither can
we expect the Damascus Jews to know the habits of gentlemen.
They respect their own haríms, yet this is the second time I
am mentioned discreditably in their public correspondence. In
one sense it may be beneficial, as I can give you a better idea
of the people Captain Burton has to deal with than official
language allows of, and from which my sex absolves me.
“My offences against the Jews are as follows:
“I once said ‘Not at home’ to ---- ---- because I heard that
he had written unjust complaints to the Government about my
husband. Later on the Wali gave a _fête_ to celebrate the
marriage of his daughter. I was invited to the harím during
the whole feast, which lasted five days and nights. The Wali’s
harím and the others invited made, I dare say, a party of three
hundred and fifty ladies. I need not say that men were not
admitted; their festivities were carried on in another house.
The ---- harím was amongst the invited. As I supposed that
they knew nothing of what was going on, I was not desirous of
mortifying them by any coldness in public, and accordingly I
was as cordial to them as I had always been. On the last day
the wife of ---- separated herself from her party, and intruded
herself into the Consulesses’ divan. We were all together;
but there was often a gathering of the Consulesses for the
sake of talking more freely in European languages, Turkish
being the language spoken generally, and Arabic being almost
excluded. I received her very warmly, begging her to be seated,
and conversed with her; but she would talk of nothing but her
husband’s business. I said to her, ‘Pray do not let us discuss
this now; it is not the time and place in public, where all can
hear us.’ She replied, ‘I want to talk of this and nothing
else. I came for that only.’ I said, ‘You are a good woman, and
I like you, and do not want to quarrel with you. Why speak of
it? We are two women. What do we know of business? Leave it for
our husbands.’ She replied, ‘I know business very well, and so
do you. I will speak of it.’ I then said, ‘If you do, I fear I
shall say something unpleasant.’ She replied, ‘I do not mind
that, and I will come and see you.’ I said, ‘Pray do; I shall be
delighted.’ And so we shook hands and parted.
“Six weeks after I came to Beyrout, and found that it was
popularly reported by the Jews that I had torn Madame ----’s
diamonds from her hair on this occasion, thrown them on the
ground, and stamped upon them. ---- ---- arrived soon after
me; and hearing from some mutual friends that this report had
reached me, he came to see me, and told me that it had been
invented by his enemies. I replied that I thought it very
likely, and that he need not mind. He then told me that his
family, and his wife in particular, were very fond of me, and
that she had recounted our interview at the wedding to him just
as above, and as a proof of their friendly feelings they were
coming to see me to invite me to a _soirée_.
“With many regrets for trespassing so long on your valuable time,
“I am, my Lord,
“Your faithful and obedient servant,
“ISABEL BURTON.
“The EARL GRANVILLE,
“Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”
A gentleman, Mr. Kennedy, from the Foreign Office at home, was staying
at the Consul-General’s at Beyrout, so we thought it right to invite
him to Damascus, and he accepted our invitation a few weeks later.
As this was an official visit we made every preparation. I met him at
Shtora, the half-way house between Beyrout and Damascus, and travelled
with him in the diligence. At the last station we found the Wali’s
carriage and a troop of soldiers as a guard of honour, and we then
journeyed in it to our house. The next morning Mr. Kennedy visited
the Consulate, and apparently found everything straightforward and
satisfactory, and he paid official calls with Richard. During the next
few days I showed him most of the sights of Damascus, and one evening I
gave a large _soirée_ in his honour. Mr. Kennedy was fain to own
that in its way it was unique. He had never seen a party like the one
I was able to assemble. We had thirty-six different races and creeds
and tongues: grey-bearded Moslems, fierce-looking Druzes, a rough
Kurdish chief, a Bedawin shaykh, a few sleek Jewish usurers, every one
of the fourteen castes of Christians, the Protestant missionaries, and
all the Consuls and their staffs; in fact, everything appertaining to
public life and local authority, culminating in the various Church
dignitaries, bishops, and patriarchs. The triple-roomed hall, with
fountains in the middle, lighted with coloured lamps; the bubbling of
the water in the garden; the sad, weird music in the distance; the
striking costumes; the hum of the narghílehs; the guttural sound of the
conversation; the kawwasses in green, red, blue, and gold, gliding
about with trays of sherbet, sweets, and coffee,--all combined to make
the quaintest scene.
I should like to mention an anecdote here. In the garden next to ours
there was a large wooden door, which swung always on its hinges. It
made such a noise that it kept Mr. Kennedy awake at night. The garden
belonged to an old woman, and I asked her to have her gate fastened.
She sent back an answer that she could not, as it had been broken for
years, and she had not the money to spare to mend it. So I took the law
into my own hands. The next night Mr. Kennedy slept well. At breakfast
he remarked the circumstance, and asked how I had managed about the
door. “If you look out of the window,” I answered, “you will see it
in the courtyard. I sent two kawwasses yesterday to pull it down at
sunset.” He put on that long official face, with which all who are in
the service of Her Majesty’s Government are familiar, and said, “Oh,
but you must really not treat people like that. Supposing they knew
of these things at home?” “Suppose they did!” I said, laughing. I had
ordered that, after Mr. Kennedy’s departure that day, the gate was to
be replaced and mended at my expense. The next time the old woman saw
me she ran out exclaiming, “O thou light of my eyes, thou sunbeam,
come and sit a little by the brook in my garden, and honour me by
drinking coffee; and Allah grant that thou mayest break something else
of mine, and live for ever; and may Allah send back the great English
Pasha to thy house to bring me more good luck!” However, the “great
English Pasha” did not return, for that evening a mounted escort with
torches and the Wali’s carriage came to convey him and myself to the
_gare_ of the diligence, and we reached Beyrout that evening.
Nothing of importance happened at Damascus during the next few months.
It was a terribly cold winter. We were pleasantly surprised by the
arrival of Lord Stafford and Mr. Mitford, to whom we showed the sights.
We had a few other visitors; but on the whole it was a sad winter, for
there was famine in the land. The Jewish usurers had bought up wheat
and corn cheap, and they sold grain very dear; it was practically
locked up in the face of the starving, dying multitude. It was terrible
to see the crowds hanging round the bakers’ shops and yearning for
bread. I used to save all the money I could--alas that I could not save
more!--and telling a kawwass and man to accompany me with trays, I used
to order a couple of sovereigns’ worth of bread, and distribute it in
the most destitute part of our suburb. I never saw anything like the
ravenous, hungry people. They would tear the trays down, and drag the
bread from one another’s mouths. I have sat by crying because I felt
it mockery to bring so little; yet had I sold everything we possessed,
I could not have appeased the hunger of our village for a single day.
I wondered how those men who literally murdered the poor, who kept the
granaries full, and saw unmoved the vitals of the multitude quivering
for want, could have borne the sight! Surely it will be more tolerable
for the cities of the Plain in the day of judgment than for them.