“There’s daggers in men’s smiles.”—SHAKESPEARE.
Haïl—The Emir Mohammed Ibn Rashid—His menagerie—His horses—His
courtiers—His wives—Amusements of the ladies of Haïl—Their domestic
life—An evening at the castle—The telephone.
AS we stayed some time at Haïl, I will not give the detail of every day.
It would be tedious, and would involve endless repetitions, and not a few
corrections, for it was only by degrees that we learned to understand all
we saw and all we heard.
Our reception was everything that we could have wished. As we rode into
the courtyard of the kasr, we were met by some twenty well-dressed men,
each one of whom made a handsomer appearance than any Arabs we had
previously seen in our lives. “The sons of Sheykhs,” whispered Mohammed,
who was rather pale, and evidently much impressed by the solemnity of the
occasion. In their midst stood a magnificent old man, clothed in
scarlet, whose tall figure and snow-white beard gave us a notion of what
Solomon might have been in all his glory. He carried a long wand in his
hand—it looked like a sceptre—and came solemnly forward to greet us.
“The Emir,” whispered Mohammed, as we all alighted. Wilfrid then gave
the usual “salam aleykum,” to which every one replied “aleykum salam,” in
a loud cheerful tone, with a cordiality of manner that was very
reassuring. I thought I had never seen so many agreeable faces collected
together, or people with so excellent a demeanour. The old man, smiling,
motioned to us to enter, and others led the way. We were then informed
that these were the servants of the Emir, and the old man his
chamberlain. They showed us first through a dark tortuous entrance,
constructed evidently for purposes of defence, and then down a dark
corridor, one side of which was composed of pillars, reminding one a
little of the entrance to some ancient Egyptian temple. Then one of the
servants tapped at a low door, and exchanged signals with somebody else
inside, and the door was opened, and we found ourselves in a large
kahwah, or reception room. It was handsome from its size, seventy feet
by thirty, and from the row of five pillars, which stood in the middle,
supporting the roof. The columns were about four feet in diameter, and
were quite plain, with square capitals, on which the ends of the rafters
rested. The room was lighted by small square air-holes near the roof,
and by the door, which was now left open. The whole of the inside was
white, or rather, brown-washed, and there was no furniture of any sort,
or fittings, except wooden pegs for hanging swords to, a raised platform
opposite the door where the mortar stood for coffee-pounding, and a
square hearth in one corner, where a fire was burning.
[Picture: The Emir’s Palace at Haïl]
It was very dark, but we could make out some slaves, busy with
coffee-pots round the fire. Close to this we were invited to sit down,
and then an immense number of polite speeches were exchanged, our healths
being asked after at least twenty times, and always with some mention of
the name of God, for this is required by politeness in Nejd. Coffee was
soon served, and after this the conversation became general between our
servants and the servants of the Emir, and then there was a stir, and a
general rising, and the word was passed round, “yiji el Emir,” the Emir
is coming. We, too, got up, and this time it really was the Emir. He
came in at the head of a group of still more smartly-dressed people than
those we had seen before, and held out his hand to Wilfrid, to me, and to
Mohammed, exchanging salutations with each of us in turn, and smiling
graciously. Then we all sat down, and Wilfrid made a short speech of the
sort we had already agreed upon, which the Emir answered very amiably,
saying that he was much pleased to see us, and that he hoped we should
make his house our house. He then asked Mohammed for news of the road;
of Jóhar and Meskakeh, and especially about the war going on between
Sotamm and Ibn Smeyr. So far so good, and it was plain that we had
nothing now to fear; yet I could not help looking now and then at those
pegs on the wall, and thinking of the story of the young Ibn Jabars and
their slaves, who had been so treacherously murdered in this very hall,
and by this very man, our host.
The Emir’s face is a strange one. It may be mere fancy, prompted by our
knowledge of Ibn Rashid’s past life, but his countenance recalled to us
the portraits of Richard the Third, lean, sallow cheeks, much sunken,
thin lips, with an expression of pain, except when smiling, a thin black
beard, well defined black knitted eyebrows, and remarkable eyes,—eyes
deep sunk and piercing, like the eyes of a hawk, but ever turning
restlessly from one of our faces to the other, and then to those beside
him. It was the very type of a conscience-stricken face, or of one which
fears an assassin. His hands, too, were long and claw-like, and never
quiet for an instant, incessantly playing, while he talked, with his
beads, or with the hem of his abba. With all this, the Emir is very
distinguished in appearance, with a tall figure, and, clothed as he was
in purple and fine linen, he looked every inch a king. His dress was
magnificent; at first we fancied it put on only in our honour, but this
we found to be a mistake, and Ibn Rashid never wears anything less
gorgeous. His costume consisted of several jibbehs of brocaded Indian
silk, a black abba, interwoven with gold, and at least three kefiyehs,
one over the other, of the kind made at Bagdad. His aghal, also, was of
the Bagdad type, which I had hitherto supposed were only worn by women,
bound up with silk and gold thread, and set high on the forehead, so as
to look like a crown. In the way of arms he wore several golden-hilted
daggers and a handsome golden-hilted sword, ornamented with turquoises
and rubies, Haïl work, as we afterwards found. His immediate attendants,
though less splendid, were also magnificently clothed.
After about a quarter of an hour’s conversation, Mohammed ibn Rashid rose
and went out, and we were then shown upstairs by ourselves to a corridor,
where dates and bread and butter were served to us. Then a message came
from the Emir, begging that we would attend his _mejlis_, the court of
justice which he holds daily in the yard of the palace. We were not at
all prepared for this, and when the castle gate was opened, and we were
ushered out into the sunshine, we were quite dazzled by the spectacle
which met our eyes.
The courtyard, which is about a hundred yards long by fifty broad, was
completely lined with soldiers, not soldiers such as we are accustomed to
in Europe, but still soldiers. They were, to a certain extent, in
uniform, that is to say, they all wore brown cloaks and blue or red
kefiyehs on their heads. Each, moreover, carried a silver-hilted sword.
I counted up to eight hundred of them forming the square, and they were
sitting in a double row under the walls, one row on a sort of raised
bench, which runs round the yard, and the other squatted on the ground in
front of them. The Emir had a raised seat under the main wall, and he
was surrounded by his friends, notably his cousin Hamúd, who attends him
everywhere, and his favourite slave, Mubarek, whose duty it is to guard
him constantly from assassins. {218} In front of the Emir stood
half-a-dozen suppliants, and outside the square of soldiers, a mob of
citizens and pilgrims, for the pilgrimage had arrived at Haïl. We had to
walk across the square escorted by a slave, and the Emir motioned us to
take places at his side, which we accordingly did; he then went on with
his work. People came with petitions, which were read to him by Hamúd,
and to which he generally put his seal without discussion, and then there
was a quarrel to settle, the rights of which I confess I did not
understand, for the Arabic spoken at Haïl is different from any we had
hitherto heard. I noticed, however, that though the courtiers addressed
Mohammed as Emir, the poorer people, probably Bedouins, called him “ya
Sheykh,” or simply “ya Mohammed.” One, who was probably a small Shammar
Sheykh, he kissed on the cheek. Some pilgrims, who had a grievance, also
presented themselves, and had their case very summarily decided; they
were then turned out by the soldiers. No case occupied more than three
minutes, and the whole thing was over in half-an-hour. At last the Emir
rose, bowed to us, and went into the palace, while we, very glad to
stretch our legs, which were cramped with squatting on the bench barely a
foot wide, were escorted to our lodgings by the chamberlain and two of
the soldiers.
We found a double house provided for us in the main street of Haïl, and
not two hundred yards from the kasr—a house without pretence, but
sufficient for our wants, and secure from all intruders, for the street
door could be locked, and the walls were high. It consisted of two
separate houses, as I believe most dwellings in Arabia do, one for men
and the other for women. In the former there was a kahwah and a couple
of smaller rooms, and this we gave over to Mohammed and the servants,
keeping the _harim_ for ourselves. This last had a small open court,
just large enough for the three mares to stand in, an open vestibule of
the sort they call _liwan_ at Damascus, and two little dens. In one of
these dens we stored our luggage, and in the other, spread our beds. The
doors of these inner rooms could be locked up when we went out, with
curious wooden locks and wooden keys; the doors were of ithel wood. All
was exceedingly simple, but in decent repair and clean, the only
ornaments being certain patterns, scratched out in white from the brown
wash which covered the walls. Here we soon made ourselves comfortable,
and were not sorry to rest at last, after our long journey.
Our rest, however, was not to come yet. It was only one o’clock when we
arrived at our house, and before two, the Emir sent for us again. This
time the reception was a private one in the upper rooms of the kasr, and
we found the Emir alone with Hamúd. He received us with even more
cordiality than before, and with less ceremony. We had brought presents
with us, the duty of displaying which we left to Mohammed, who expatiated
on their value and nature with all the art of a bazaar merchant. As for
us, we were a little ashamed of their insignificance, for we had had no
conception of Ibn Rashid’s true position when we left Damascus, and the
scarlet cloth jibbeh we had considered the _ne plus ultra_ of splendour
for him, looked shabby among the gorgeous dresses worn at Haïl. We had
added to the cloak and other clothes, which are the usual gifts of
ceremony, a revolver in a handsome embroidered case, a good telescope,
and a Winchester rifle, any one of which would have made Jedaan or Ibn
Shaalan open his eyes with pleasure; but Ibn Rashid, though far too
well-bred not to admire and approve, cared evidently little for these
things, having seen them all before. Even the rifle was no novelty, for
he had an exactly similar one in his armoury. Poor Mohammed, however,
went on quite naïvely with his descriptions, while the Emir looked out of
window through the telescope, pretending to be examining the wall
opposite, for there was no view. Hamúd, his cousin, whose acquaintance
we now made, is more _sympathique_ than the Emir, though they are
ridiculously like each other in face, but Hamúd has the advantage of a
good conscience, and has no vengeance to fear. They were dressed also
alike, so that it was difficult at first to know them apart; perhaps
there is a motive in this, as with the Richmonds of Shakespeare. The
Emir’s room was on the same plan as the kahwah, but smaller, and boasting
only two columns, the coffee place in the right-hand corner as you enter,
and the Emir’s fireplace, with a fire burning in it, on an iron plate in
front. Persian carpets were spread, and there were plenty of cushions to
lean against by the wall. We were invited to sit down to the left of the
Emir and Hamúd, who never seems to leave his side. Mohammed had a place
on the right, between them and the door. Coffee, and a very sweet tea,
were handed round in thimblefuls, and a good deal of conversation ensued.
We had brought a letter from our old friend the Nawab Ikbal ed-Dowlah,
who had been at Haïl about forty years ago, in the time of Abdallah ibn
Rashid. {221} The Emir remembered his coming, though he must have been a
child at the time, and said some pretty things in compliment of him. He
then asked Mohammed about his Arûk relations in Jôf, and said that they
had always been faithful to him. They had taken the Emir’s part, it
would seem, in some revolt which took place there a few years ago. There
was also an Ibn Arûk in Harík, a Bedouin sheykh, who the Emir said was a
friend of his; at least, he was on bad terms with Ibn Saoud and the
Wahhabis, and this is a title to favour at Haïl. Ibn Rashid is very
jealous of Ibn Saoud, and now that the Wahhabi empire is broken up,
fosters any discontent there may be in Aared. I believe many of the
Bedouin sheykhs of Upper Nejd have come over to him. Mohammed, thus
encouraged, launched out into his favourite tales, and repeated the Ibn
Arûk legend, which, I confess, I am beginning to get a little tired of,
and then went on to describe the wonders of Tudmur, of which he now
implied, without exactly stating it in words, that he was actual Sheykh.
The house he lived in at home, he said, had columns of marble, each sixty
feet in height, and had been built originally by Suliman ibn Daoud.
There were two hundred of these columns in and around it, and the walls
were twenty feet thick. The Emir, who seemed rather perplexed by this,
appealed to us for confirmation, and we told him that all this really
existed at Tudmur; indeed, there was no gainsaying the fact that
Mohammed’s father’s house had some of the objects named on the premises,
though the house itself is but a little square box of mud. The city
wall, in fact, makes one side of the stable, and a column or two have
been worked into the modern building; but this we did not think it
necessary to explain. Mohammed’s reputation rose in consequence, and I
already began to fear that the Emir’s civilities had turned his head. I
heard him whisper to Hamúd that the silver-hilted sword he is wearing,
and which is the one Wilfrid gave him at Damascus, was an ancestral
relic; it had been, he said, “min zeman,” from time immemorial, in the
Arûk family. He had also established a fiction, in which he privately
entreated us to join, that we started from home with a hawk (for all the
best falcons come from Tudmur), and lost it on the journey. {223}
While we were discussing these important matters, the call to prayer was
heard, and the two Ibn Rashids, begging us to remain seated, rose and
went out.
They were absent a few minutes, and on their return the Emir, to our
great delight, proposed to show us his gardens, and immediately led the
way down tortuous passages and through courts and doors into a palm grove
surrounded by a high wall. Here we were joined by numerous slaves, some
black, some white, for there are both sorts at Haïl. A number of
gazelles were running about, and came up quite familiarly as we entered.
These were of two varieties, one browner than the other, answering, I
believe, to what are called the “gazelle des bois,” and the “gazelle des
plaines,” in Algeria. There were also a couple of ibexes with immense
heads, tame like the gazelles, and allowing themselves to be stroked.
The gazelles seemed especially at home, and we were told that they breed
here in captivity. The most interesting, however, of all the animals in
this garden were three of the wild cows (bakar wahhash), from the Nefûd,
which we had so much wished to see. They proved to be, as we had
supposed, a kind of antelope, {224} though their likeness to cows was
quite close enough to account for their name. They stood about as high
as an Alderney calf six months old, and had humps on their shoulders like
the Indian cattle. In colour they were a yellowish white, with reddish
legs turning to black towards the feet. The face was parti-coloured, and
the horns, which were black, were quite straight and slanted backwards,
and fully three feet long, with spiral markings. These wild cows were
less tame than the rest of the animals, and the slaves were rather afraid
of them, for they seemed ready to use their horns, which were as sharp as
needles. The animals, though fat, evidently suffered from confinement,
for all were lame, one with an enlarged knee, and the rest with overgrown
hoofs. When we had seen and admired the menagerie, and fed the antelopes
with dates, we went on through a low door, which we had almost to creep
through, into another garden, where there were lemon trees (treng),
bitter oranges (hámud), and pomegranates (roman). The Emir, who was very
polite and attentive to me, had some of the fruit picked and gave me a
bunch of a kind of thyme, the only flower growing there. We saw some
camels at work drawing water from a large well, a hundred to a hundred
and fifty feet deep, to judge by the rope. The Emir then crept through
another low door and we after him, and then to our great satisfaction we
found ourselves in a stable-yard full of mares, tethered in rows each to
a manger. I was almost too excited to look, for it was principally to
see these that we had come so far.
This yard contained about twenty mares, and beyond it was another with a
nearly equal number. Then there was a third with eight horses, tethered
in like manner; and beyond it again a fourth with thirty or forty foals.
I will not now describe all we saw, for the Emir’s stud will require a
chapter to itself. Suffice it to say, that Wilfrid’s first impression
and mine were alike. The animals we saw before us were not comparable
for beauty of form or for quality with the best we had seen among the
Gomussa. The Emir, however, gave us little time for reflection, for with
a magnificent wave of his hand, and explaining with mock humility, “The
horses of my slaves,” he dragged us on from one yard to another, allowing
us barely time to ask a few questions as to breed, for the answers to
which he referred us to Hamúd. We had seen enough, however, to make us
very happy, and Hamúd had promised that we should see them again. There
was no doubt whatever that, in spite of the Emir’s disclaimer, these were
Ibn Rashid’s celebrated mares, the representatives of that stud of Feysul
ibn Saoud, about which such a romance had been made.
An equally interesting spectacle, the Emir thought for us, was his
kitchen, to which he now showed the way. Here, with unconcealed pride,
he displayed his pots and pans, especially seven monstrous cauldrons,
capable each, he declared, of boiling three whole camels. Several of
them were actually at work, for Ibn Rashid entertains nearly two hundred
guests daily, besides his own household. Forty sheep or seven camels are
his daily bill of fare. As we came out, we found the hungry multitude
already assembling. Every stranger in Haïl has his place at Ibn Rashid’s
table, and towards sunset the courtyard begins to fill. The Emir does
not himself preside at these feasts. He always dines alone, or in his
harim; but the slaves and attendants are extraordinarily well-drilled,
and behave with perfect civility to all comers, rich and poor alike. Our
own dinner was brought to us at our house. Thus ended our first day at
Haïl, a day of wonderful interest, but not a little fatiguing. “Ya
akhi,” (oh my brother), said Mohammed ibn Arûk to Wilfrid that evening,
as they sat smoking and drinking their coffee, “did I not promise you
that you should see Nejd, and Ibn Rashid, and the mares of Haïl, and have
you not seen them?” We both thanked him, and, indeed, we both felt very
grateful. Not that the favours were all on one side; for brotherly
offices had been very evenly balanced, and Mohammed had been quite as
eager to make this journey as we had. But, alas! our pleasant
intercourse with Mohammed was very near its end.
The next few days of our life at Haïl may be briefly described. Wilfrid
and Mohammed went every morning to the mejlis, and then paid visits,
sometimes to Hamúd, sometimes to Mubarek, sometimes to the Emir. A slave
brought us our breakfast daily from the kasr, and a soldier came to
escort us through the streets. Mohammed had now made acquaintances of
his own, and was generally out all day long. I stayed very much in
doors, and avoided passing through the streets, except when invited to
come to the castle, for we had agreed that discretion was the better part
of valour with us. That there was some reason for this prudence I think
probable, for though we never experienced anything but politeness from
the Haïl people, we heard afterwards that some among them were not best
pleased at the reception given us by the Emir. Europeans had never
before been seen in Nejd; and it is possible that a fanatical feeling
might have arisen if we had done anything to excite it. Wahhabism is on
the decline, but not yet extinct at Haïl; and the Wahhabis would of
course have been our enemies. In the Emir’s house, or even under charge
of one of his officers, we were perfectly safe, but wandering about alone
would have been rash. The object, too, would have been insufficient, for
away from the Court there is little to see at Haïl.
With Hamúd and his family we made great friends. He was a man who at
once inspired confidence, and we had no cause to regret having acted on
our first impression of his character. He has always, they say, refused
to take presents from the Emir; and has never approved of his conduct,
though he has sided with him politically, and serves him faithfully as a
brother. His manners are certainly as distinguished as can be found
anywhere in the world, and he is besides intelligent and well informed.
The Emir is different; with him there was always a certain _gêne_. It
was impossible to forget the horrible story of his usurpation; and there
was something, too, about him which made it impossible to feel quite at
ease in his presence. Though he knows how to behave with dignity, he
does not always do so. It is difficult to reconcile his almost childish
manner, at times, with the ability he has given proofs of. He has
something of the spoiled child in his way of wandering on from one
subject to another; and, like Jóhar, of asking questions which he does
not always wait to hear answered, a piece of ill-manners not altogether
unroyal, and so, perhaps, the effect of his condition as a sovereign
prince. He is also very naïvely vain, as most people become who are fed
constantly on flattery; and he is continually on the look-out for
compliments about his power, and his wisdom, and his possessions. His
jealousy of other great Sheykhs whom we have seen is often childishly
displayed. Hamúd has none of this. I fancy he stands to his cousin
Mohammed somewhat in the position in which Morny is supposed to have
stood to Louis Napoleon, only that Morny was neither so good a man nor
even so fine a gentleman as Hamúd. He gives the Emir advice, and in
private speaks his mind, only appearing to the outer world as the
obsequious follower of his prince. Hamúd has several sons, the eldest of
whom, Majid, has all his father’s charm of manner, and has, besides, the
attraction of perfectly candid youth, and a quite ideal beauty. He is
about sixteen, and he and his brother and a young uncle came to see us
the morning after our arrival, sent by their father to pay their
compliments. He talked very much and openly about everything, and gave
us a quantity of information about the various mares at the Emir’s
stable, and about his father’s mares and his own. He then went on to
tell us of an expedition he had made with the Emir to the neighbourhood
of Queyt, and of how he had seen the sea. They had made a ghazú on the
felláhín of the sea-coast, and had then returned. He asked me how I rode
on horseback, and I showed him my side-saddle, which, however, did not
surprise him. “It is a shedad,” he said; “you ride as one rides a
delúl.” This young Majid, though he looks quite a boy, is married; and
we were informed that here no one of good family puts off marriage after
the age of sixteen. I made acquaintance with his wife Urgheyeh, who is
very pretty, very small in stature, and very young; she is one of
Metaab’s daughters, and her sister is married to Hamúd, so that father
and son are brothers-in-law.
Mubarek, the Emir’s chief slave, was one of our particular acquaintances.
He inhabits a very handsome house, as houses go in Haïl; and there
Wilfrid paid him more than one visit. His house is curiously decorated
with designs in plaster of birds and beasts—ostriches, antelopes, and
camels. Though a slave, Mubarek has not in appearance the least trace of
negro blood; and it is still a mystery to us how he happens to be one.
He is a well-bred person, and has done everything in his power to make
things pleasant for us.
On the second day after our arrival, after the usual compliments and some
conversation, I asked the Emir’s permission to pay a visit to the harim.
Mohammed ibn Rashid appeared gratified by my request, which he
immediately granted, saying that he would send to the khawatin (ladies)
to inform them, and desire them to prepare for my reception. He
accordingly despatched a messenger, but we sat on talking for a long time
before anything came of the message; I had grown quite tired of waiting,
and was already wondering how soon we should be at liberty to return
home, where I might write my journal in secret, when the servant
re-appeared, and brought us word that Amusheh, the Emir’s chief wife, was
ready to receive me. I fancy that ladies here seldom dress with any care
unless they want to display their silks and jewels to some visitor; and
on such special occasions their toilet is a most elaborate one, with kohl
and fresh paint, and takes a long time. The Emir at once put me in
charge of a black slave woman, who led the way to the harim. Hamúd’s
wives as well as Mohammed’s live in the palace, but in separate
dwellings. The kasr is almost a town in itself, and I and my black guide
walked swiftly through so many alleys and courts, and turned so many
corners to the right and to the left, that if I had been asked to find my
way back unassisted, I certainly could not have done it. At last,
however, after crossing a very large courtyard, we stopped at a small low
door. This was open, and through it I could see a number of people
sitting round a fire within, for it was the entrance to Amusheh’s kahwah.
This room had two columns supporting the ceiling, like all other rooms I
had seen in the palace, except the great kahwah, which has five. The
fire-place, as usual, an oblong hole in the ground, was on the left as
one entered, in the corner near the door; in it stood a brazier
containing the fire, and between it and the wall handsome carpets had
been spread. All the persons present rose to their feet as I arrived.
Amusheh could easily be singled out from among the crowd, even before she
advanced to do the honours. She possesses a certain distinction of
appearance and manner which would be recognised anywhere, and completely
eclipsed the rest of the company. But she, the daughter of Obeyd and
sister of Hamúd, has every right to outshine friends, relatives, and
fellow wives. Her face, though altogether less regularly shaped than her
brother’s, is sufficiently good-looking, with a well-cut nose and mouth,
and something singularly sparkling and brilliant. Hedusheh and Lulya,
the two next wives, who were present, had gold brocade as rich as hers,
and lips and cheeks smeared as red as hers with carmine, and eyes with
borders kohled as black as hers, but lacked her charm. Amusheh is
besides clever and amusing, and managed to keep up a continual flow of
conversation, in which the other two hardly ventured to join. They sat
looking pretty and agreeable, but were evidently kept in a subordinate
position. Lulya shares with Amusheh, as the latter informed me, what
they consider the great privilege of never leaving town, thus taking
precedence of Hedusheh, on whom devolves the duty of following the Emir’s
fortunes in the desert, where he always spends a part of the year in
tents. The obligation of such foreign service is accounted derogatory,
and accordingly objected to by these Haïl ladies. They have no idea of
amusement, if I may judge from what they said to me, but a firm
conviction that perfect happiness and dignity consist in sitting still.
This happiness Amusheh and I enjoyed for some time. We sat together on
one carpet spread over a mattress, cushions being ranged along the wall
behind us for us to lean against, and the fire in front scorching our
faces while we talked. On my right sat Hedusheh; beyond her Lulya and
the rest of the company, making a circle round the fireplace. Before
long, Atwa, a pretty little girl, who was introduced to me as the fourth
wife, came in and took her place beyond Lulya. She looked more like a
future wife than one actually married, being very young; and indeed it
presently appeared that she had merely been brought to be looked at and
considered about, and that the Emir had decided to reject her as too
childish and insignificant. {233} He was, in fact, casting about in his
mind for some suitable alliance which should bring him political support,
as well as an increase of domestic comfort. That these were the objects
of his new matrimonial projects I soon learned from his own mouth, from
the questions he asked me about the marriageable daughters of Bedouin
Sheyks. What could, indeed, be more suitable for his purpose than some
daughter of a great desert sheykh, whose family should be valuable allies
in war, while she herself, the ideal fourth wife, unlike these ladies of
the town, should be always ready to accompany her husband to the desert,
and should indeed prefer the desert to the town?
Among other persons present were several oldish women, relatives, whose
names and exact relationship have slipped my memory; also a few friends
and a vast number of attendants and slaves, these last mostly black.
They all squatted round the fire, each trying to get into the front rank,
and to seize every opportunity of wedging in a remark, by way of joining
in the conversation of their betters. None of these outsiders were
otherwise than plainly dressed in the dark blue or black cotton or
woollen stuffs, used by ordinary Bedouin women in this part of Arabia,
often bordered with a very narrow red edge, like a cord or binding, which
looks well. The rich clothes worn by Amusheh and her companion wives are
somewhat difficult to describe, presenting as they did an appearance of
splendid shapelessness. Each lady had a garment cut like an abba, but
closed up the front, so that it must have been put on over the head; and
as it was worn without any belt or fastening at the waist, it had the
effect of a sack. These sacks or bags were of magnificent material, gold
interwoven with silk, but neither convenient nor becoming, effectually
hiding any grace of figure. Amusheh wore crimson and gold, and round her
neck a mass of gold chains studded with turquoises and pearls. Her hair
hung down in four long plaits, plastered smooth with some reddish stuff,
and on the top of her head stuck a gold and turquoise ornament, like a
small plate, about four inches in diameter. This was placed forward at
the edge of the forehead, and fastened back with gold and pearl chains to
another ornament resembling a lappet, also of gold and turquoise, hooked
on behind the head, and having flaps which fell on each side of the head
and neck, ending in long strings of pearls with bell-shaped gold and
pearl tassels. The pearls were all irregularly shaped and unsorted as to
size, the turquoises very unequal in shape, size, and quality, the coral
generally in beads. The gold work was mostly good, some of it said to be
from Persia, but the greater part of Haïl workmanship. I had nearly
forgotten to mention the nose-ring, here much larger than I have seen it
at Bagdad and elsewhere, measuring an inch and a half to two inches
across. It consists of a thin circle of gold, with a knot of gold and
turquoises attached by a chain to the cap or lappet before described. It
is worn in the left nostril, but taken out and left dangling while the
wearer eats and drinks. A most inconvenient ornament, I thought and
said, and when removed it leaves an unsightly hole, badly pierced, in the
nostril, and more uncomfortable-looking than the holes in European ears.
But fashion rules the ladies at Haïl as in other places, and my new
acquaintances only laughed at such criticisms. They find these trinkets
useful toys, and amuse themselves while talking by continually pulling
them out and putting them in again. The larger size of ring seemed
besides to be a mark of high position, so that the diameter of the circle
might be considered the measure of the owner’s rank, for the rings of all
inferiors were kept within the inch.
Amusheh was very communicative, but told me so many new names, that I
could not remember all the information she volunteered about the Ibn
Rashid family and relationships. She remarked that neither she nor any
of Mohammed’s wives had any children, a fact which I already knew, and
not from Radi alone; for it is the talk of the town and tribe that this
is a judgment for the Emir’s crimes. She spoke with great affection of
her nephew Majid and of her brother Hamúd, and with veneration of her
father Obeyd, but I cannot recollect that she told me anything new about
any of them. She spoke too of Tellál, but of course made no mention of
Bender. Indeed, anxious as I was for any information she might give, I
knew too much of the family history and secrets to venture on asking many
questions; besides, any show of curiosity might have made her suspect me
of some unavowed motive. I therefore felt more at ease when the
conversation wandered from dangerous topics to safe and trivial ones,
such as the manners and customs of different countries. “Why do you not
wear your hair like mine?” said she, holding out one of her long auburn
plaits for me to admire; and I had to explain that such short locks as
mine were not sufficient for the purpose. “Then why did I not dress in
gold brocade?” “How unsuitable,” I replied, “would such beautiful stuffs
be for the rough work of travelling, hunting, and riding in the desert.”
When we talked of riding, Amusheh seemed for a moment doubtful whether to
be completely satisfied about her own lot in life—she would like, she
said, to see me on my mare; and I promised she should, if possible, be
gratified; but the opportunity never occurred, and perhaps the supreme
authority did not care that it should. Even she might become
discontented. Thus conversing, time slipped away, and the midday call to
prayer sounded. My hostess then begged me to excuse her, and added, “I
wish to pray.” She and the rest then got up and went to say their
prayers in the middle of the room. After this she returned and continued
the conversation where we had left it off.
Some slaves now brought a tray, which they placed before me. On it was a
regular solid breakfast: a large dish of rice in the middle, set round
with small bowls of various sorts of rich and greasy sauces to be eaten
with the rice. I excused myself as well as I could for my want of
appetite, and said that I had this very morning eaten one of the hares
sent to us by the Emir. Of course I was only exhorted all the more to
eat, and obliged to go through the form of trying; but fortunately there
were other hungry mouths at hand, and eager eyes watching till the dishes
should be passed on to them, so I got off pretty easily.
Amusheh afterwards invited me to go upstairs, that she might show me her
own private apartment, on the floor above the kahwah. I followed her up
a steep staircase, of which each step was at least eighteen inches in
height. It led nowhere, except to a single room, the same size as the
one below, and built in the same way, with two columns supporting the
roof, and with a window in a recess corresponding to the door beneath.
This apartment was well carpeted, and contained for other furniture a
large bed, or couch, composed of a pile of mattresses, with a velvet and
gold counterpane spread over it; also a kind of press or cupboard, a box
(sanduk) rather clumsily made of dark wood, ornamented by coarse, thin
plaques of silver stuck on it here and there. The press stood against
the wall, and might be five feet long and two to three feet high, opening
with two doors, and raised about two feet from the floor on four thin
legs. Underneath and in front of it were three or four rows of china and
crockery of a common sort, and a few Indian bowls, all arranged on the
carpet like articles for sale in the streets. Amusheh asked what I
thought of her house, was it nice? And after satisfying herself of my
approbation, she conducted me down again, and we sat as before on the
mattress between the brazier and the wall.
During my stay, the Emir paid two visits to the kahwah, and each time
that he appeared at the door the crowd and the wives, except Amusheh,
rose and remained standing until he left. Amusheh only made a slight bow
or movement, as if about to rise, and kept her place by me while her
husband stood opposite to us talking. He addressed himself almost
entirely to me, and spoke chiefly in the frivolous, almost puerile,
manner he sometimes affects. He inquired my opinion of his wives,
whether they were more beautiful and charming than Ibn Shaalan’s wife,
Ghiowseh, the sister of El Homeydi ibn Meshur, or than his former wife,
Turkya, Jedaan’s daughter, who had left him and returned to her father’s
tent. In the forty-eight hours since my arrival at Haïl, the Emir had
already asked me many questions about these two ladies, and I now
answered for the hundredth time that Turkya was pretty and nice, and that
Ghiowseh was still prettier, but very domineering. He was, however,
determined on a comparison of the two families, and it was fortunate that
now, having seen Amusheh, Hedusheh, and Lulya and Atwa, I could say with
truth they were handsomer, even the poor little despised Atwa, than their
rivals. He was rather impatient of Atwa being classed with the others,
and said, “Oh, Atwa, I don’t want her; she is worth nothing.” His
character is, as I have already said, a strange mixture of remarkable
ability and political insight on the one hand, and on the other a
tendency to waste time and thought on the most foolish trifles, if they
touch his personal vanity. Of his ability I judge by his extremely
interesting remarks on serious subjects, as well as by the position he
has been able to seize and to keep. Of his energy no one can doubt, for
he has shown it, alas, by his crimes; but he is so eaten up with petty
personal jealousies, that I sometimes wonder whether these would
influence his conduct at an important political crisis. I think,
however, that at such a moment all little vanities would be forgotten,
for he is above all things ambitious, and his vanity is, as it were, a
part and parcel of his ambition. He is personally jealous of all other
renowned chiefs, because here in Arabia personal heroism is, perhaps more
than anywhere else in the world since the age of chivalry, an engine of
political power. He would, I doubt not, make alliance with Sotamm, if
necessary to gain his ends; nevertheless, he could not resist talking to
me about Ibn Shaalan at this most inappropriate moment, evidently hoping
to hear something disparaging of his rival. I confess I found it
embarrassing to undergo an examination as to the merits of Ghiowseh and
Turkya in the presence of Mohammed’s own wives, who all listened with
wide open eyes, breathless with attention. My embarrassment only
increased when, after the Emir was gone, Amusheh, on her part,
immediately attacked me with a volley of questions. While he remained he
had persisted in his inquiries, especially about Turkya, till I, being
driven into a corner, at last lost patience, and exclaimed, “But why do
you ask me these questions? Why do you want to hear about Turkya? What
is it to you whether she is fair or kind? You never have seen her, nor
is it likely you ever will see her!” “No,” he replied, “I have never
seen her. Yet I want to know something about her, and to hear your
opinion of her. Perhaps some day I may like to marry her. I might take
her instead of this little girl,” pointing to Atwa, “who will never do
for me, and whom I will not have. She is worthless,” he repeated,
“worthless.” Poor little Atwa stood listening, but I think with stolid
indifference, for I watched her countenance, and could not detect even a
passing shade of regret or disappointment. Indeed, of all the wives,
Amusheh alone seemed to me to have any personal feeling of affection for
the Emir. She, the moment he had left, fell upon me with questions.
“Who is Turkya?” she asked, almost gasping for breath. It surprised me
that she did not know, for she knew who El-Homeydi ibn Meshur was. I had
to explain that his sister Ghiowseh had married Sotamm ibn Shaalan, and
to tell her the story of Sotamm’s second marriage; and of how Ghiowseh
had determined to get rid of her rival, and succeeded in making the
latter so uncomfortable, that she had left, and had since refused to
return. Amusheh certainly cares about Ibn Rashid, and I thought she
feared lest a new element of discord should be brought into the family.
As to her own position, it could hardly be affected by the arrival of a
new wife; she, as Hamúd’s sister, must be secure of her rank and
influence, and the Emir, with his guilty conscience, would never dare, if
he ever wished, to slight her or Hamúd, to whose support he owes so much.
From Amusheh’s house I went with a black slave girl to another house also
within the kasr, that of Hamúd’s wife, Beneyeh, a daughter of Metaab.
There I saw Urgheyeh, her sister, married to Majid, son of Hamúd; also
another wife of Hamúd’s. This last person I found was not considered as
an equal, and on asking about her birth and parentage, was told, “She is
the daughter of a Shammar.” “Who?” I inquired. “Ahad” (one). “But
_who_ is he?” “Ahad,—fulan min Haïl min el belad” (some one, a person of
the town). She was hardly considered as belonging to the family. The
third and fourth wives, whom I afterwards saw, are, like the first,
relations, one a daughter of Tellál, and the other of Suleyman, Hamúd’s
uncle on the mother’s side (khal). These four are young; Majid’s mother,
whose name I never heard, died, I believe, several years ago. Hamúd,
like the Emir, keeps up the number of his wives to the exact figure
permitted by the law of the Koran, any one who dies or fails to please
being replaced as we replace a servant.
Beneyeh met me at her door, and we went through a little ante-room or
vestibule into her kahwah. Here we remained only a few moments till, to
my surprise, three arm-chairs were brought and placed in the ante-room.
On these I and Beneyeh and the second class wife sat, drinking tea out of
tea-cups, with saucers and tea-spoons. The cups were filled to the brim,
and the tea in them then filled to overflowing with lumps of sugar. It
was, however, good. A pile of sweet limes was then brought; slaves
peeled the fruits, and divided them into quarters, which they handed
round. After these refreshments Beneyeh wished to show me her room
upstairs. It was reached, like Amusheh’s private apartment, by a rugged
staircase from the kahwah, and was built in the same style, with two
columns supporting the rafters, only it had no outlook, being lighted
only by two small openings high up in the wall. It was, however, more
interesting than Amusheh’s room, for its walls were decorated with arms.
There were eighteen or twenty swords, and several guns and daggers,
arranged with some care and taste as ornaments. The guns were all very
old-fashioned things, with long barrels, but most of them beautifully
inlaid with silver. Two of the daggers we had already seen in the
evening, when the Emir sent for them to show us as specimens of the
excellence of Haïl goldsmiths’ work. The swords, or sword-hilts, were of
various degrees of richness, the blades I did not see. Unfortunately at
the moment I did not think of Obeyd and his three wishes, and so forgot
to ask Beneyeh whether Obeyd’s sword was among these; it would not have
done to inquire about the widow, but there would have been no impropriety
in asking about the sword, and I afterwards the more regretted having
omitted to do so, because this proved to be my only opportunity. It
would have been curious to ascertain whether Obeyd wore a plain
unjewelled weapon in keeping with Wahhabi austerity. He would surely
have disapproved, could he have foreseen it, of the gold and jewels, not
to mention silks and brocaded stuffs now worn by his descendants; for his
own children have none of the severe asceticism attributed to him,
although they inherit his love of prayer.
Hamúd came upstairs while I was there with Beneyeh, but he only stayed a
few minutes. They seemed to be on very good terms, and after he left she
talked a great deal about him, and seemed very proud of him. “This is
Hamúd’s, and this, and this,” said she, “and here is his bed,” pointing
to a pile of mattresses with a fine coverlid. There were several
European articles of furniture in the room, an iron bedstead with
mattresses, several common looking-glasses, with badly gilt frames, and a
clock with weights. Urgheyeh now joined us, and Beneyeh particularly
showed me a handsome necklace her sister wore of gold and coral,
elaborately worked. “This was my father’s,” she told me, adding that the
ornament came from Persia. Beneyeh is immensely proud of her son,
Abdallah, a fine boy of four months old. She and her sister were so
amiable and anxious to please, that I could willingly have spent the rest
of the afternoon with them. But it was now time to pay my next visit.
After many good-byes and good wishes from both sisters, my black guide
seized hold of my hand, and we proceeded to the apartments of another
wife of Hamúd, Zehowa, daughter of Tellál. She is sympathetic and
intelligent, extremely small and slight, with the tiniest of hands. Like
the other ladies, she wore rings on her fingers, with big, irregular
turquoises. We sat by the fire and ate sweet limes and trengs and drank
tea. Zehowa sent for her daughter, a baby only nine months old, to show
me, and I told her I had a daughter of my own, and that girls were better
than boys, which pleased her, and she answered, “Yes, the daughter is the
mother’s, but the son belongs to the father.”
Presently one of the guards, a tall black fellow, all in scarlet, came
with a message for me, a request from the Beg that I would join him in
the Emir’s kahwah, where he was waiting for me. Zehowa, like her
cousins, begged hard that I would stay, or at least promise to visit her
again as soon as possible, and I, bidding her farewell, followed the
scarlet and black swordsman through courts, alleys, and passages to the
kahwah, where I found Wilfrid. He was being entertained by an elderly
man with coffee and conversation. This personage was Mubarek, already
mentioned as the chief of the slaves, and he had been giving Wilfrid a
vast deal of interesting information about horses, especially the
dispersion of Feysul ibn Saoud’s stud, and the chief sources from which
that celebrated collection was obtained. It had been originally got
together, he said, entirely from the Bedouins, both of Nejd and of the
north, by purchase and in war.
I never saw Zehowa, Beneyeh, or Amusheh again, for the next few days were
fully occupied, and afterwards, owing to our finding ourselves involved
in a network of mystery, and subject to an adverse influence, the
pressure of which made itself felt without our being able at first to lay
hold of anything tangible, or even to conjecture the cause, it became
more than ever an object to us to remain quiet and unobserved. But I am
anticipating circumstances to be detailed further on.
About three days later I paid a visit to the harim of Hamúd’s uncle.
This gentleman, Suleyman, we were already acquainted with, from seeing
him at Court on several occasions. He had sent me an invitation to visit
his family, and two black slaves came to escort me to their house, one of
the dependencies of the palace. In a kahwah opening out of a small yard,
I found the old man waiting to receive me. He dyes his beard red, and
loves books, amidst a pile of which he was sitting. I was in hopes that
his conversation would be instructive, and we had just begun to talk
when, alas, his wife came in with a rush, followed by a crowd of other
women, upon which he hastily gathered up all his books and some
manuscripts which were lying about, and putting some of them away in a
cupboard, carried off the rest and made his escape.
Ghut, his wife, was the stupidest person I had seen at Haïl, but very
talkative, and hospitable with dates, fresh butter floating in its own
buttermilk, and sugar-plums. The many-coloured crowd of white, brown,
and black attendants, slaves, and children, were not in much awe of her,
and chattered away without a check to their hearts’ content. All were,
however, respectful and attentive to me. Ghut’s daughter, another
Zehowa, presently arrived with a slave carrying her son, Abderrahman, a
child about a year old. This Zehowa was good-looking, but nearly as
stupid and tiresome as her mother. She was very much taken up with
showing me her box of trinkets, which she sent for on purpose to display
before me its contents. These were of the usual sort, gold ornaments for
head and arms and ankles, set with turquoises and strings of pearls. The
furniture of the room, which she and her mother specially pointed out for
my admiration, was also like what I had already seen—presses or boxes on
legs, and ornamented with rude silver plaques.
The conversation was dull. Here is a sample:
_I_. “What do you do all day long?”
_Zeh._ “We live in the kasr.”
_I_. “Don’t you go out at all?”
_Zeh._ “No; we always stay in the kasr.”
_I_. “Then you never ride as we do?” (I always ask if they ride, to
see the effect.)
_Zeh._ “No, we have no mares to ride.”
_I_. “What a pity! and don’t you ever go into the country outside
Haïl, the desert?”
_Zeh._ “Oh, no, of course not.”
_I_. “But, to pass the time, what do you do?”
_Zeh._ “We do nothing.”
Here a sharp black boy interrupted us, “O, khatún, these are daughters of
sheykhs, they have no work—no work _at all_ to do, don’t you understand?”
_I_. “Of course, I understand perfectly; but they might amuse
themselves without doing work,” and turning to Zehowa I added, “Don’t
you even look at the horses?”
_Zeh._ “No, we do nothing.”
_I_. “I should die if I did nothing. When I am at home I always walk
round the first thing in the morning to look at my horses. How do you
manage to spend your lives?”
_Zeh._ “We sit.” Thus supreme contentment in the harim here is to sit
in absolute idleness. It seems odd, where the men are so active and
adventurous, that the women should be satisfied to be bored; but such,
I suppose, is the tyranny of fashion.
Every evening after dinner we used to receive a message from the Emir,
inviting us to spend the evening with him. This was always the
pleasantest part of the day, for we generally found one or two
interesting visitors sitting with him. As a sample of these I give an
extract from my journal:
“We found the Emir this evening in high good humour. News had just come
from El-Homeydi ibn Meshur, a Roala sheykh of the faction opposed to
Sotamm, that a battle was fought about a month ago between the Roala and
the Welled Ali, and that Sotamm has been worsted. Sotamm, at the head of
a ghazú numbering six hundred horsemen, had marched against Ibn Smeyr at
Jerud, but the latter refused to come out and fight him, and so Sotamm
retired. On his way back home, however, he fell in with an outlying camp
of Welled Ali, somewhere to the east of the Hauran, and summoned it to
surrender. These, numbering only a hundred and fifty horsemen, at first
entered into negotiation, and, it is said, offered to give up their camp
and camels if they were permitted to retire with their mares (the women
and children would of course not have been molested in any case), and to
this Sotamm wished to agree. But the younger men of his party, and
especially the Ibn Jendal family, who had a death to avenge, would not
hear of compromise, and a battle ensued. It ended, strangely enough, in
favour of the weaker side, who succeeded in killing four of the Roala,
and among them Tellal ibn Shaalan, Sotamm’s cousin and heir presumptive.
Sotamm himself is said to have been saved only by the speed of his mare.
Though the forces engaged were so disproportionate, nobody here seems
surprised at the result, for victory and defeat are “min Allah,” “in the
hand of God;” but everybody is highly delighted, and the Emir can hardly
contain himself for joy. “What do you think now of Sotamm?” he said;
“has he head, or has he no head?” “Not much, I am afraid,” I answered,
“but I am sorry for him. He is weak, and does not know how to manage his
people, but he has a good heart.” “And Ibn Smeyr, what do you say to Ibn
Smeyr?” “He has more head than heart,” I said. This delighted the Emir.
“Ah,” he replied, “it is you, khatún, that have the head. Now what do
you say to me? have I head, or not head?” “You have head,” I answered.
“And Hamúd?” “You all of you have plenty of head here, more of course
than the Bedouins, who are most of them like children.” “But we are
Bedouins too,” he said, hoping to be contradicted. “I like the Bedouins
best,” I replied; “it is better to have heart than head.” Then he went
on to cross-question me about all the other sheykhs whose names he knew.
“Which,” he asked, “is the best of all you have met with?” “Mohammed
Dukhi,” I said, “is the cleverest, Ferhan ibn Hedeb the best-mannered,
but the one I like best is your relation in the Jezireh, Faris Jerba.” I
don’t think he was quite pleased at this. He had never heard, he said,
good or bad of Ibn Hedeb, who belonged to the Bisshr. He was not on
terms with any of the Bisshr except Meshur ibn Mershid, who had paid him
a visit two years ago. We told him that both Meshur and Faris were
Wilfrid’s “brothers.” Meshur he liked, but Faris Jerba was evidently no
favourite of his.
[Picture: Ibn Rashid’s stable at Haïl]
I fancy the Emir has taken Ferhan’s part in the family quarrel. It is
certain that when Amsheh, Sfuk’s widow and Abdul Kerim’s mother, came
with her son Faris to Nejd, he would see neither of them. They stayed in
the desert all the time they were here, and never came to Haïl. Rashid
ibn Ali, too, is Faris’s friend, and of course in no favour at this
court. {251} He then asked about Jedaan, touched rather unfeelingly on
the idiocy of Turki, Jedaan’s only son, and then cut some jokes at the
expense of our old acquaintance, Smeyr ibn Zeydan. “An old fool,” the
Emir exclaimed, “why did they send him here? They might as well have
sent a camel!” This is the Smeyr who came to Nejd a year and a half ago
to try and get Ibn Rashid’s assistance for Sotamm, and arrange a
coalition against Jedaan and the Sebaa. We knew his mission had failed,
but the fact is Ibn Rashid is eaten up with jealousy of anyone who has
the least reputation in the desert. We are surprised, however, to find
him so well informed about everything and everybody in the far north, and
we are much interested, as he has solved for us one of the problems about
Nejd which used to puzzle us, namely, the relations maintained by the
tribes of Jebel Shammar with those of the north. The Emir has told us
that the Shammar of the Jezireh and his own Shammar still count each
other as near relations. “Our horses,” he said, “are of the same blood.”
With the Roala he has made peace, and with Ibn Haddal; but the Sebaa and
the rest of the Bisshr clan are out of his way. They never come anywhere
near Nejd, except on ghazús, and that very rarely. Once, however, a
ghazú, of Fedaan, had got as far as Kasím, and he had gone out against
them, and captured a Seglawi Jedran mare of the Ibn Sbeni strain. He
promised to show it to us. We then talked a good deal about horses, and
our knowledge on this head caused general astonishment. Indeed, I think
we could pass a better examination in the breeds than most of the Ibn
Rashids. By long residence in town they have lost many of the Bedouin
traditions. Hamúd, however, who takes more interest in horses than the
Emir, has told us a number of interesting facts relating to the stud
here, and that of the late Emir of Riad, Feysul ibn Saoud, solving
another problem, that of the fabulous Nejd breed; but we are taking
separate notes about these things.
We had not been talking long with the Emir and Hamúd, when a fat
vulgar-looking fellow was introduced and made to sit down by us. It was
evident that he was no Haïl man, for his features were coarse, and his
manners rude. He talked with a strong Bagdadi accent, and was addressed
by everyone as “ya Hajji.” It was clear that he belonged to the Haj, but
why was he here? The mystery was soon cleared up, for after a whispered
conversation with Hamúd, the new visitor turned to Wilfrid, and began
addressing him in what we at first took to be gibberish, until seeing
that we made no answer, he exclaimed in Arabic, “There, I told you he was
no Englishman!” Wilfrid then cross-questioned him, and elicited the fact
that he had been a stoker on board one of the British India Company’s
steamers on the Persian Gulf, and that the language he had been talking
was English. Only two phrases, however, we succeeded in distinguishing,
“werry good,” and “chief engineer”—and having recognised them and given
their Arabic equivalents, our identity was admitted. The fellow was then
sent about his business, and a very small, very polite old man took his
place. He was conspicuous among these well-dressed Shammar by the
plainest possible dress, a dark brown abba without hem or ornament, and a
cotton kefiyeh on his head, unbound by any aghal whatsoever. He was
treated with great respect, however, by all, and it was easy to see that
he was a man of condition. He entered freely into conversation with us,
and talked to Mohammed about his relations in Aared, and it presently
appeared that he was from Southern Nejd. This fact explained the
severity of his costume, for among the Wahhabis, no silk or gold
ornaments are tolerated. He was, in fact, the Sheykh of Harík, the last
town of Nejd towards the south, and close to the Dahna, or great southern
desert. This he described to us as exactly like the Nefûd we have just
crossed, only with more vegetation. The ghada is the principal wood, but
there are palms in places.
It is not the custom of Haïl to smoke, either from Wahhabi prejudice, or,
as I am more inclined to think, because tobacco has never penetrated so
far inland in quantities sufficient to make the habit general. No
objection, however, has been made to Wilfrid’s pipe, which he smokes when
and where he chooses, and this evening when the call to prayer sounded,
and the Emir and Hamúd had gone out to perform their devotions, the old
man I have just mentioned, Nassr ibn Hezani, hinted without more ceremony
that he should like a whiff. He has quarrelled with Ibn Saoud, and
probably hates all the Wahhabi practices, and was very glad to take the
opportunity of committing this act of wickedness. He was careful,
however, to return the pipe before the rest came back. He, at any rate,
if a Wahhabi, is not one of the disagreeable sort described by Mr.
Palgrave, for he invited us very cordially to go back home with him to
Harík. The Emir, however, made rather a face at this suggestion, and
gave such an alarming account of what would happen to us if we went to
Riad, that I don’t think it would be wise to attempt to go there now. We
could not go in fact without the Emir’s permission. I do not much care,
for town life is wearisome; we have had enough of it, and I have not much
curiosity to see more of Nejd, unless we can go among the Bedouins there.
If Ibn Saoud still had his collection of mares the sight of them would be
worth some risk, but his stud has long since been scattered, and Nassr
ibn Hezani assures us that there is nothing now in Arabia to compare with
Ibn Rashid’s stud. Ibn Hezani, like everybody else, laughs at the story
of a Nejd breed, and says, as everybody else does, that the mares at Riad
were a collection made by Feysul ibn Saoud in quite recent times.
Later in the evening, a native goldsmith was introduced, with a number of
articles worked by him at Haïl. They were pretty, but not specially
interesting, or very unlike what may be seen elsewhere, dagger hilts and
sheaths, and a few ornaments. It was this man, however, who had made the
gold hilts which all the princely family here wear to their swords.
These we examined, and found the work really good.
The most amusing incident of the evening, however, and one which we were
not at all prepared for, was the sudden production by the Emir of one of
those toys called telephones, which were the fashion last year in Europe.
This the Emir caused two of his slaves to perform with, one going into
the courtyard outside, and the other listening. The message was
successfully delivered, the slave outside, to make things doubly sure,
shouting at the top of his voice, “Ya Abdallah weyn ente? yeridak el
Emir.” “O Abdallah, where are you? the Emir wants you,” and other such
phrases. We expressed great surprise, as in duty bound; indeed, it was
the first time we had actually seen the toy, and it is singular to find
so very modern an invention already at Haïl.
At about ten o’clock, the Emir began to yawn, and we all got up and
wished him good-night. He very kindly sent for, and gave me, a number of
trengs and oranges, which he gave orders should be conveyed to our house,
together with a new-laid ostrich’s egg, the “first of the season,” which
had just been brought to him from the Nefûd.
[Picture: Evening with the Emir]