“And Leah was tender eyed but Rachel was beautiful.”—BOOK OF GENESIS.
The Ibn Arûks of Jôf—Mohammed contracts a matrimonial alliance—Leah and
Rachel.—We cheapen the bride’s dower—A negro governor and his suite—A
thunder-storm.
WE stayed three days with Nassr and his sons, and his sons’ wives and
their children, in their quiet farm house. It was a rest which we much
needed, and proved besides to be an interesting experience, and an
excellent opportunity of learning more of Arab domestic life than we had
done on our previous journeys. Not that the Ibn Arûks of Meskakeh are in
themselves of any particular interest. Like their relations of Tudmur,
they have been too long settled down as mere townspeople, marrying the
daughters of the land, and adopting many of the sordid town notions, but
they were honest and kind-hearted, and the traditions of their origin,
still religiously preserved, cast an occasional gleam of something like
romance on their otherwise matter of fact lives. Nassr, the best of the
elder generation, resembled some small Scottish laird, poor and
penurious, but aware of having better blood in his veins than his
neighbours—one whose thought, every day in the year but one, is of how to
save sixpence, but who on that one day shows himself to be a gentleman,
and the head of a house. His sons were quiet, modest, and unpretending,
and, like most young Arabs, more romantically inclined than their father.
They even had a certain appreciation of chivalrous ideas; especially
Turki, the elder, in whom the Bedouin blood and Bedouin traditions
predominated almost to the exclusion of commercial instincts, while in
his brother Areybi, these latter more than counterbalanced the former.
We liked both the brothers, of course preferring Turki, with whom Wilfrid
made great friends.
Mohammed is less distantly related to these people than I had supposed.
His ancestor, Ali ibn Arûk, was one of the three brothers who, in
consequence of a blood feud, or, as Wilfrid thinks more likely, to escape
the Wahhabi tyranny of a hundred years ago, left Aared in Nejd, and came
north as far as Tudmur, where Ali married and remained. Another brother,
Abd el-Kader ibn Arûk, had stopped at Jôf, settled there, and became
Nassr’s grandfather. As to the third, Mutlakh, the descendants of the
two former know nothing of his fate, except that, liking neither Tudmur
nor Jôf he returned towards Nejd. Some vague report of his death reached
them, but nobody can tell when or how he died. Nassr came from Jôf to
Meskakeh not many years ago.
Nassr is now the head of the family, at least of that branch of it which
inhabits the Meskakeh oasis. But there lives in an adjoining house to
his, his first cousin, Jazi ibn Arûk, brother to our friend Merzuga, and
father to two pretty daughters. These, with a few other relations, make
up a pleasant little family party, all living in their outlying farm
together.
Of course our first thought on coming amongst them was for a wife for
Mohammed, at whose request I took an early opportunity of making
acquaintance with the women of the family. I found them all very
friendly and amiable, and some of them intelligent. Most of the younger
ones were good looking. The most important person in the harim was
Nassr’s wife, a little old lady named Shemma (candle), thin and wizened,
and wrinkled, with long grey locks, and the weak eyes of extreme old age;
and, though she can have been hardly more than sixty, she seemed to be
completely worn out. She was the mother of Turki and Areybi; and I had
heard from Mohammed that Nassr had never taken another wife but her. In
this, however, he was mistaken, for on my very first visit, she called in
a younger wife from the adjoining room, and introduced her at once to me.
The second wife came in with two little boys of two and three years old,
the eldest of whom (for they all have extraordinary names) is called
Mattrak, “stick;” in spite of which he seemed an amiable, good-tempered
child. In this he resembled his mother, whose respectful manner towards
her elder, Shemma, impressed me favourably; she had, besides, a really
beautiful face. The little boy, Mattrak, I recognised as a boy I had
seen in the morning with old Nassr in our garden, and supposed to be his
grandson. Nassr was doing his best to spoil the child, after the fashion
of old men among the Arabs. I had then given Mattrak a little red frock,
one I had bought for Sotamm’s boy, Mansur, when we thought we were going
to the Roala, and in this the child was now strutting about, showing off
his finery to two very pretty little girls, his sisters. These two ran
in and out during my visit, helping to bring bowls of dates, and to eat
the dates when brought. Next appeared Turki’s two wives, a pretty one
and a plain one, and Areybi’s one wife, pretty, and lately married. All
these seemed to be on better terms with one another than is usually the
case among mixed wives and daughters-in-law. They were extremely anxious
to please me, and I, of course, did my best to satisfy their hospitable
wishes about eating. They offered me dates of countless kinds,—dry ones
and sticky ones, sweet and less sweet, long dried ones, and newer ones, a
mass of pulp; it was impossible for one person to do justice to them all.
Shemma treated all the young people with the air of one in authority,
though her tone with them was kind. She, however, spoke little, while
the others talked incessantly and asked all sorts of questions, requiring
more knowledge of Arabic than I possessed to answer. In the middle of
the visit, Nazzch, Nassr’s married daughter, own sister to Turki and
Areybi, arrived with her daughter, and an immense bowl of dates. She had
walked all the way from the town of Meskakeh, about three miles, carrying
this child, a fat heavy creature of four, as well as the dates, and came
in, panting and laughing, to see me. She was pleasant and lively, very
like her brother Turki in face, that is to say, good-tempered rather than
good-looking. Any one of these young ladies, seen on my first visit,
might have done for Mohammed’s project of marriage, but, unfortunately,
they were all either married or too young. I asked if there were no
young ladies already “out,” and was told that there were none in Nassr’s
house, but that his cousin Jazi had two grown-up daughters, not yet
married; so I held my peace till there should be an opportunity of seeing
them.
Mohammed, in the meantime, had already begun to make inquiries on his own
account, and the first day of our visit was not over before he came to me
with a wonderful account of these very daughters of Jazi. There were
three of them, he declared, and all more beautiful each than the others,
Asr (afternoon), Hamú and Muttra—the first two unfortunately betrothed
already, but Muttra still obtainable. I could see that already he was
terribly in love, for with the Arabs, a very little goes a long way; and
never being allowed to see young ladies, they fall in love merely through
talking about them. He was very pressing that I should lose no time
about making my visit to their mother, and seemed to think that I had
been wasting my time sadly on the married cousin. Mohammed has all along
declared that he must be guided by my opinion. I shall know, he
pretends, at once, not only whether Muttra is pretty, but whether
good-tempered, likely to make a good wife. He had been calculating, he
said, and thought forty pounds would be asked as her dower. It is a
great deal to be sure, but then she was really “asil,” and the occasion
was a unique one—a daughter of Jazi!—a niece of Merzuga!—a girl of such
excellent family!—an Ibn Arûk! and Ibn Arûks were not to be had every
day!—forty pounds would hardly be too much. He trusted all to my
judgment—I had so much discernment, and had seen the wives and daughters
of all the Ánazeh Sheykhs; I should know what was what, and should not
make a mistake. Still, he would like Abdallah to go with me, just to spy
out things. Abdallah, as a relation, might be admitted to the door on
such an occasion, though he, Mohammed, of course could not; he might,
perhaps, even be allowed to see the girl, as it were, by accident. With
us, the Ibn Arûks, the wives and daughters are always veiled, a custom we
brought with us from Nejd, for we are not like the Bedouins; yet on so
important an occasion as this, of arranging a marriage, a man of a
certain age, a dependant, or a poor relation, is sometimes permitted to
see and report. I promised that I would do all I could to expedite the
matter.
Accordingly, the next day Turki was sent for, and a word dropped to him
of the matter in hand, and he was forthwith dispatched to announce my
visit to the mother of the daughters of Jazi—Mohammed explaining, that it
was etiquette that the mother should be made acquainted with the object
of my visit, though not necessarily the daughters. Then we went to
Jazi’s house, Turki, Abdallah, and I.
Jazi’s house is close to Nassr’s, only the garden wall dividing them, and
is still smaller than his, a poor place, I thought, to which to come for
a princess; but in Arabia one must never judge by externals. At the
door, among several women, stood Saad, Jazi’s eldest son, who showed us
through the courtyard to an inner room, absolutely dark, except for what
light might come in at the doorway. It is in Arabia that the expression
“to darken one’s door,” must have been invented, for windows there are
none in any of the smaller houses. There was a smell of goats about the
place, and it looked more like a stable than a parlour for reception. At
first I could see nothing, but I could hear Saad, who had plunged into
the darkness, shaking something in a corner, and as my eyes got
accustomed to the twilight, this proved to be a young lady, one of the
three that I had come to visit. It was Asr the second, a great,
good-looking girl, very like her cousin Areybi, with his short aquiline
nose and dark eyes. She came out to the light with a great show of
shyness and confusion, hiding her face in her hands, and turning away
even from me; nor would she answer anything to my attempts at
conversation. Then, all of a sudden, she broke away from us, and rushed
across the yard to another little den, where we found her with her mother
and her sister Muttra. I hardly knew what to make of all this, as
besides the shyness, I thought I could see that Asr really meant to be
rude, and the polite manners of her mother Haliyeh and her little sister
Muttra confirmed me in this idea. I liked Muttra’s face at once; she has
a particularly open, honest look, staring straight at one with her great
dark eyes like a fawn, and she has, too, a very bright fresh colour, and
a pleasant cheerful voice. I paid, then, little attention to Asr’s
rudeness, and asked the little girl to walk with me round their garden,
which she did, showing me the few things there were to be seen, and
explaining about the well, and the way they drew the water. The garden,
besides the palm trees, contained figs, apricots, and vines, and there
was a little plot of green barley, on which some kids were grazing.
Muttra told me that in summer they live on fruit, but that they never
preserve the apricots or figs, only the dates. I noticed several young
palm trees, always a sign of prosperity. The well was about ten feet
square at the top, and carefully faced with stone, the water being only a
few feet below the surface of the ground. Water, she told me, could be
found anywhere at Meskakeh by digging, and always at the same depth. I
was pleased with the intelligence Muttra showed in this conversation, and
pleased with her pretty ways and honest face, and decided in my own mind
without difficulty that Mohammed would be most fortunate if he obtained
her in marriage. It was promising, too, for their future happiness, to
remark that Haliyeh, the mother, seemed to be a sensible woman; only I
could not understand the strange behaviour of the elder sister Asr.
Abdallah, in the meanwhile, standing at the door, had made his notes, and
come to much the same conclusion as myself; so we returned with an
excellent report to give to the impatient suitor waiting outside.
Mohammed’s eagerness was now very nearly spoiling the negotiation, for he
at once began to talk of his intended marriage; and the same thing
happened to him in consequence, which happened long ago to Jacob, the son
of Isaac. Jazi, imitating the conduct of Laban, and counting upon his
cousin’s anxiety to be married, first of all increased the dower from
forty pounds to sixty, and then endeavoured to substitute Leah for
Rachel, the ill-tempered Asr for the pretty Muttra.
This was a severe blow to Mohammed’s hopes, and a general council was
called of all the family to discuss it and decide. The council met in
our tent, Wilfrid presiding; on one side sat Mohammed, with Nassr as head
of the house; on the other, Jazi and Saad, representing the bride, while
between them, a little shrivelled man knelt humbly on his knees, who was
no member of the family, but, we afterwards learned, a professional
go-between. Outside, the friends and more distant relations assembled,
Abdallah and Ibrahim Kasir, and half a dozen of the Ibn Arûks. These
began by sitting at a respectful distance, but as the discussion warmed,
edged closer and closer in, till every one of them had delivered himself
of an opinion.
Mohammed himself was quite in a flutter, and very pale; and Wilfrid
conducted his case for him. It would be too long a story to mention all
the dispute, which sometimes was so warmly pressed, that negotiations
seemed on the point of being broken off. Jazi contended that it was
impossible he should give his younger daughter, while the elder ones
remained unmarried. “Hamú, it was true, was engaged, and of her there
was no question, but Asr, though engaged too, was really free; Jeruan,
the shock-headed son of Merzuga, to whom she was betrothed, was not the
husband for her. He was an imbecile, and Asr would never marry him. If
a girl declares that she will not marry her betrothed, she is not
engaged, and has still to seek a husband she likes. But this would not
do. We cited the instance of Jedaan’s marriage with an engaged girl, and
the unfortunate sequel, as proving that Jeruan’s consent was necessary
for Asr, and Mohammed chimed in, “Ya ibn ammi, ya Jazi, O Jazi! O son of
my uncle how could I do this thing, and sin against my cousin? How could
I take his bride? Surely this would be a shame to us all.” In fine, we
insisted that Muttra it should be or nobody, and Asr’s claim was
withdrawn. Still it was pleaded, Muttra was but a child, hardly fifteen,
and unfit for so great a journey as that to Tudmur. Where indeed was
Tudmur? who of all the Jôfi had ever been so far? Mohammed, however,
replied that if youth were an obstacle, a year or two would mend that.
He was content to wait for a year, or two, or even for three years, if
need were. He was an Ibn Arûk, and trained to patience. As to Tudmur,
it was far, but had we not just come thence, and could we not go back?
He would send one of his brothers at the proper time, with twenty men,
thirty, fifty, to escort her. So argued, the marriage project was at
last adopted, as far as Muttra was concerned. But the question of
“settlements” was not as easily got over. Here it was very nearly being
wrecked for good and all. Wilfrid had all along intended to pay the
dower for Mohammed, but he would not say so till the thing was settled,
and left Mohammed to fight out the question of jointure to as good a
bargain as they could make. This Mohammed was very capable of doing,
despite the infirmity of his heart, and strengthened by Abdallah, who
took a strictly commercial view of the whole transaction, a middle sum
was agreed on, and the conference broke up.
Things, however, were not yet to go off quite smoothly. On the day
following, when I went with some little presents for the bride to Jazi’s
house, I was met at the door by Jazi himself, who received me, as I at
once perceived, with an embarrassed air, as also did Haliyeh, for both
she and a strange relation were sitting in the kahwah. To my questions
about Muttra short answers were given; and the conversation was at once
turned on “the weather and the crops,” or rather on that Arabian
substitute for it, a discussion about locusts. We had had a heavy
thunderstorm in the morning, for which all were thankful. It would bring
grass in the Nefûd, but the locusts there, never were so numerous as this
year. Again I asked about the girls, but again got no reply; and at
last, tired of their idle talk, and quite out of patience, I exclaimed,
“O Jazi, what is this? I trust that you—and you, O Haliyeh,—are pleased
at this connection with Mohammed.” To which he replied, in a sing-song
voice, “Inshallah, inshallah,” and Haliyeh repeated “Inshallah,” and the
stranger. I saw that something must be wrong, for it was no answer to my
question, and rose to go. Then Haliyeh went out with me into the yard,
and explained what had happened. Asr, it appeared, with her violent
temper, was frightening them all out of their wits. She would not hear
of her sister being married before herself, or making so much better a
match. Jeruan she despised, though he was Sheykh of Kâf; and she wanted
to marry the Sheykh of Tudmur herself. She had tormented old Jazi into
withdrawing his consent; and Muttra was afraid of her. What was to be
done? I said it was no use arguing about this over again; that if she
and her husband were really not able to manage their daughters, we must
look out elsewhere for Mohammed; that I hoped and trusted Asr would not
be so foolish as to stand in the way of her sister’s happiness, for it
would not profit her. This bad temper of hers made it more than ever
certain that she could not marry Mohammed, and, in fine, that the family
must make up their minds, yes or no, about Muttra, and at once, for we
were leaving Meskakeh presently, and must have the matter settled. I
then saw the two girls, and spoke to them in the same strain, and with
such effect that a few hours later, Mohammed, who had fallen into low
spirits about the affair, now came with a joyful countenance to say that
the marriage contract would be signed that evening.
Signed, therefore, it was, though to the last moment difficulty on
difficulty was raised, and a lamentably haggling spirit displayed by all
except Turki in the matter of the dower. Fifty Turkish pounds was,
however, the sum ultimately fixed on; and Wilfrid refused curtly to
advance a beshlik beyond it, even to buy off a cousin who unaccountably
appeared on the scene and claimed his right to Muttra or an equivalent
for her in coin. It was not very dignified this chaffering about price;
and people do better in England, leaving such things to be settled by
their lawyers.
Everything, however, was at last arranged, the marriage contract written
out and signed, and everybody made happy. Then the rest of the evening
was spent in jubilation. A kid was killed and eaten, songs sung, and
stories told, nor was, as might be expected, the Arûk ballad left out of
the programme. Nassr is a poet, and recited an ode impromptu for the
occasion. Among the guests were two pilgrims from Mecca—so at least they
called themselves—and some men who had run away from the Turkish
conscription in Syria. These feasted with the rest, as though they too
had been relations. And so ended Mohammed’s marriage negotiations. He
is to come back next year or send for Muttra; but for the present he is
to be content and wait.
While this family arrangement was in progress, we had also on hand a more
important negotiation of our own, and that was to get the governor’s
permission for our journey on to Haïl. The first thing to be done was to
make friends with Jóhar, for all in this despotic country depends upon
his good will and pleasure; and if he had chosen to send us back to Kâf
by the Wady Sirhán, I do not know that we could have offered any
resistance. Jôf is not an easy place to get away from. It is more than
three hundred miles from the nearest point on the Euphrates, and without
the governor’s leave no one would have dared to travel a mile with us.
Accordingly, the day after our arrival at Meskakeh, we called on Jóhar,
who had been warned of our visit, and received us in state.
Jóhar is a perfectly black negro, with repulsive African features; tall,
and very fat, and very vain. He had put on his finest clothes to receive
us, a number of gaudy silk jibbehs one over the other, a pair of sky-blue
trousers—things new to us in Arabia—a black and gold abba, and a purple
kefiyeh. His shirt was stiff with starch, and crackled every time he
moved. He carried a handsome gold-hilted sword, and looked altogether as
barbaric a despot as one need wish to see. He kept us waiting nearly ten
minutes in the kahwah, to add, I suppose, to his importance, and then
came in behind a procession of armed men, all of them well got up with
silver hilted swords, silver ornamented belts, and blue and red kefiyehs
bound with thick white aghals. He affected the affable, rather languid
air of a royal personage, passing from one subject of conversation to
another without transition, and occasionally asking explanations of our
remarks or questions from one or other of his attendants. It struck me
as eminently absurd to see this negro, who is still a slave, the centre
of an adulous group of white courtiers, for all these Arabs, noble as
many of them are in blood, were bowing down before him, ready to obey his
slightest wink and laugh at his poorest joke. After the first few
moments of dignified silence, Jóhar, as I have said, became affable, and
began asking the news. We had come from the north, and could tell him
all about the war. What was Sotamm doing and what was Ibn Smeyr,—the
latter evidently a hero with the Jôfi or rather with the Haïl people, for
they are not friends with Sotamm, and old Mohammed Dukhi is considered
Sotamm’s great rival. We were glad to be able to say that we had seen
Ibn Smeyr himself at Damascus not a month ago. Jóhar told us in return
of a report recently brought in to Meskakeh by some Sleb that the Roala
had been beaten in a fight with Mohammed Dukhi, and that Sotamm was
killed—a report we were sorry to hear.
Then, but in a tone of minor interest, we were questioned about the
Sultan. He had made peace with the Muscov, Jóhar was glad to hear it.
Peace was a good thing, and now “inshallah es Sultan mabsutin,” “the
Sultan, let us hope, was pleased;” this with a mock sentimental,
patronising accent and a nasal twang in the voice, which was extremely
comic. A little whispering then took place between Mohammed and one of
the suite, which resulted in their going out together, to hand over to
Jóhar the presents we had brought for him. Mohammed was, I believe,
cross-questioned as to our position and the objects of our journey, and
answered, as it had been agreed beforehand he should do, that we were
going to Bussora to meet friends, and that we had come by way of Jôf to
avoid the sea-voyage. This, though of course not by any means the whole
truth, was true as far as it went, and was a story easily understood and
accepted by those to whom it was told. Mohammed added, moreover, that as
we had happened to pass through the Emir’s dominions, the English Beg was
anxious to pay his respects to Ibn Rashid at Haïl before going any
further, and begged Jóhar to give us the necessary guides. This, after
some discussion, and some coyness on the governor’s part, he consented to
do. His heart had been softened by the handsome clothes we had given
him, and I believe a small present in money was also talked of between
him and Mohammed.
When we were summoned again to Jóhar’s presence, this time on the
house-top, we found the negro’s face wreathed in smiles, and our journey
being discussed as a settled matter. Carpets were then spread, and we
all sat down on the roof and had breakfast, boiled meat on rice, with a
sharp sauce to pour over the rice, and then after the usual washings and
el hamdu lillahs we retired, extremely pleased to get away from the flies
and the hot sun of Jóhar’s roof; and not a little thankful for the good
turn things had taken with us. As Wilfrid remarked, when we were well on
our mares again and riding home, Jóhar was just the picture of a
capricious despot, and one who, if he had been in a bad humour, might
have ordered our heads off, with no more ceremony than he had ordered
breakfast. Our last day at Meskakeh was a quiet one.
_January_ 11.—Every morning since we have been here there has been a fog,
and to-day (Saturday), as I have already said, it has rained heavily.
The rain came with thunder and lightning, as I believe is almost always
the case in this part of the world. I am much surprised to learn, in
talking of the lightning, that nobody at Meskakeh has heard of people
being killed by it, and Mohammed confirms the statement made here, by
saying that the same is the case at Tudmur. He seemed astonished when I
asked him, at lightning being thought dangerous, and says that accidents
from it never occur in the desert. This is strange. The surface soil of
Meskakeh is very nearly pure sand, and the rain runs through it as
quickly as it falls, remaining only in a few hollows, where there is a
kind of sediment hard enough to hold it.
In the afternoon the weather cleared, and we made a little expedition to
the top of the low tell just outside Nassr’s farm. The tell is of
sandstone rock, orange coloured below, but weathered black on the upper
surface. It is not more than a hundred feet high, but standing alone, it
commands a very extensive view, curious as all views in the Jôf district
are, and very pretty besides. In the fore-ground just below lay the
farm, a square walled enclosure of three or four acres, with its palms
and ithel trees, and its two low mud houses, and its wells, looking snug
and trim and well to do. Beyond, looking westwards, three other farms
were visible, spots of dark green in the broken wilderness of sand and
sandstone rock, and then behind them Meskakeh, only its palm-tops in
sight, and the dark mass of its citadel rising over them in fantastic
outline. The long line of the palm grove stretched far away to the
south, disappearing at last in a confused mass of sand-hills. These
specially attracted our notice, for they marked the commencement of the
Nefûd, not indeed the great Nefûd, but an outlying group of dunes tufted
with ghada, and not at all unlike those passed through by the Calais and
Boulogne railway. Our route, we know, lies across them, and we are to
start to-morrow.
While I sat sketching this curious view, Wilfrid, who had climbed to the
top of a tall stone, crowning the hill, came back with the news that he
had discovered an inscription. We have been looking out, ever since our
arrival in the sandstone district, for traces of ancient writing, but
have hitherto found nothing except some doubtful scratches, and a few of
those simple designs one finds everywhere on the sandstone, representing
camels and gazelles. Here however, were three distinctly formed letters,
[Picture: Incised characters] two of them belonging to the Greek
alphabet.
It was evident, too, by the colour of the incisions, that they had been
there for very many years. On these we have built a number of historical
conjectures relating to Meskakeh, and its condition in classical times.
When we came home again, we found that Mohammed had been to make the last
arrangements with Jóhar for our journey. The great man had raised
objections at one point of the negotiations, but these had been settled
by a _dahab_ or gold piece, and he has now agreed to send a man with us,
a professional guide for crossing the Nefûd. It seems that there are two
lines by which Haïl may be reached, one of thirteen and the other of ten
days’ journey. The first is better suited, they say, for heavy laden
camels, as the sand is less deep, but we shall probably choose the
shorter route, if only for the sake of seeing the Nefûd at its worst.
For the Nefûd has been the object of our dreams all through this journey,
as the _ne plus ultra_ of desert in the world. We hear wonderful
accounts of it here, and of the people who have been lost in it. This
ten days’ journey represents something like two hundred miles, and there
are only two wells on the way, one on the second, and another on the
eighth day. The guide will bring his own camel, and carry a couple of
waterskins, and we have bought four more, making up the whole number to
eight. This will have to suffice for our mares as well as for ourselves,
and we shall have to be very careful. We have laid in a sufficient stock
of dates and bread, and have still got one of the kids left to start with
in the way of meat, the other has just been devoured as I have said, and
cannot be replaced. Provisions of every kind are difficult to procure at
Meskakeh; it was only by the exercise of a little almost Turkish bullying
that Jóhar has been able to get us a camel load of corn.
The rain is over and the moon shining. All our preparations are made for
crossing the Nefûd, and in a few hours we shall be on our way. We shall
want all our strength for the next ten days.
[Picture: A Nejd sheep]