boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans,
and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab
mares and Pashas.
A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to
me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock
Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages
where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennûr or oven, (which
is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the
fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A
brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the
ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the
noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then
the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,
Alas! Ah me!
The Noble Flea!
While he was thus weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
A glossy raven overhead,
Flew swiftly down and gently said,
Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug,
Why are you weeping on the rug?
The bug replied, O glossy raven,
With your head all shorn and shaven,
I am now weeping,
And sad watch keeping,
Over, Ah me!
The Noble Flea.
The raven he,
Wept over the flea,
And flew to a green palm tree--
And in grief, _dropped a feather_,
Like snow in winter weather.
The palm tree said my glossy raven,
Why do you look so craven,
Why did you drop a feather,
Like snow in winter weather?
The raven said,
The flea is dead!
I saw the brilliant bug weeping
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea.
Then the green Palm tree,
Wept over the noble flea.
Said he, The flea is dead!
And _all his branches shed_!
The Shaggy Wolf he strayed,
To rest in the Palm tree's shade
He saw the branches broken,
Of deepest grief the token,
And said, Oh Palm tree green,
What sorrow have you seen?
What noble one is dead,
That you your branches shed?
He said, O Wolf so shaggy,
Living in rocks so craggy,
I saw the glossy raven,
Looking forlorn and craven,
Dropping down a feather,
Like snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Then the Wolf in despair
_Shed his shaggy hair_.
Then the River clear and shining,
Saw the wolf in sorrow pining,
Asked him why in sad despair,
He had shed his shaggy hair?
Said the Wolf, Oh River shining,
I in sorrow deep am pining,
For the Palm tree I have seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
And he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me,
Over the Noble Flea!
Sadly then the shining River,
_Dried its waters up forever_.
Then the Shepherd with his sheep
Asked the River once so deep,
What great grief, oh shining river,
Dried your waters up forever?
Said the River once so shining,
I in sorrow deep am pining,
Since I saw the wolf's despair,
When he shed his shaggy hair,
For the Palm tree he had seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
And he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather,
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping.
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep,
_Tore the horns from all his sheep_,
Sadly bound them on his head,
Since he heard the flea was dead.
Then the Shepherd's mother dear,
Asked him why in desert drear,
He had torn in sorrow deep,
All the horns from all his sheep,
Sadly bound them on his head,
Just as though a friend was dead?
Said he, 'tis because the River,
Dried his waters up forever,
Since he saw the Wolf's despair,
When he shed his shaggy hair.
For the Palm tree he had seen,
Shedding all his branches green,
For he saw the glossy raven,
Looking so forlorn and craven,
As he dropped a downy feather,
Like the snow in winter weather.
He saw the brilliant bug weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
Alas, Alas, Ah me!
Over the Noble Flea!
Mother sad began to cry,
Thrust her needle in her eye;
Could no longer see her thread,
Since she heard the flea was dead.
Then the Father grave and bland,
Hearing this, _cut off his hand_;
And the daughter, when she hears,
In despair, _cuts off her ears_;
And through the town deep grief is spread,
Because they heard the flea was dead.
THE NURSERY RHYMES OF THE ARABS.
Who is that singing in such a sweet plaintive voice in the room beneath
our porch? It is the Sit Leila, wife of Sheikh Abbas, saying a lullaby
to her little baby boy, Sheikh Fereed. We will sit on the porch in this
bright moonlight, and listen while she sings:
Whoever loves you not,
My little baby boy;
May she be driven from her house,
And never know a joy!
May the "Ghuz" eat up her husband,
And the mouse her oil destroy!
This is not very sweet language for a gentle lady to use to a little
infant boy, but the Druze and Moslem women use this kind of imprecation
in many of their nursery songs. Katrina says that many of the Greek and
Maronite women sing them too. This young woman Laia, who sits here, has
repeated for me not less than a hundred and twenty of these nursery
rhymes, songs for weddings, funeral wails, etc. Some of the imprecations
are dreadful.
They seem to think that the best way to show their love to their babies,
is to hate those who do not love them.
Im Faris says she has heard this one in Hasbeiya, her birthplace:
O sleep to God, my child, my eyes,
Your heart no ill shall know;
Who loves you not as much as I,
May God her house o'erthrow!
May the mosque and the minaret, dome and all,
On her wicked head in anger fall!
May the Arabs rob her threshing floor,
And not one kernel remain in her store.
The servant girl Nideh, who attends the Sit Leila, thinks that her turn
has come, and she is singing,
We've the white and the red in our baby's cheeks,
In pounds and tons to spare;
But the black and the rust,
And the mould and the must,
For our neighbor's children are!
I hope she does not refer to _us_ for we are her nearest neighbors. But
in reality I do not suppose that they actually mean what they sing in
these Ishmaelitic songs. Perhaps they do when they are angry, but they
probably sing them ordinarily without thinking of their meaning at all.
Sometimes snakes come down from the ceilings of these earth-roofed
houses, and terrify the people. At other times government horsemen come
and drag them off to prison, as they did in Safita. These things are
referred to in this next song which Nideh is singing:
If she love you not, my boy,
May the Lord her life destroy!
Seven mules tread her down,
Drag her body through the town!
Snakes that from the ceiling hang,
Sting her dead with poison fang!
Soldiers from Damascus city,
Drag her off and shew no pity!
Nor release her for a day,
Though a thousand pounds she pay!
That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to
listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the
Syrian Nursery Songs.
Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep!
The Pleiades bright their watches keep.
The Libra shines so fair and clear,
The stars are shining, hush my dear!
There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs
generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound.
Here is another:
My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow!
Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow!
Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven,
His care relieved, his sin forgiven!
She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next
one is a Moslem lullaby.
O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise,
Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes!
Lord of high heaven, Compassionate!
Keep my dear boy in every state!
This one is used by the women of all the sects, but in all of the songs
the name is changed to suit the name of the baby to whom the mother is
singing,
Ali, your eyes are sleeping,
But God's eyes never sleep:
Their hours of lonely weeping
None can forever keep.
How sweet is the night of health,
When Ali sleeps in peace!
Oh may such nights continue,
Nor ever, ever cease!
Among all the scores of nursery songs, I have heard only a very few
addressed to _girls_, but some of these are beautiful. Hear Katrina sing
this one:
Lûlû dear the house is bright,
With your forehead's sunny light;
Men your father honor now
When they see your lovely brow.
If father comes home sad and weary,
Sight of you will make him cheery.
The "fuller's soap" mentioned in Malachi 3:2, is the plant called in
Arabic "Ashnan or Shenan," and the Arabs sometimes use it in the place
of soap. The following is another song addressed to a baby girl:
Come Cameleer, as quick as you can,
And make us soap from the green "Shenan,"
To bathe our Lûlû dear;
We'll wash her and dress her,
And then we'll caress her,
She'll sleep in her little sereer. (cradle)
This song is sung by the Druze women to their baby girls:
Your eye is jet black, and dark are its lashes,
Between the arched brows, like a crescent it flashes;
When painted with "kohl" 'tis brighter by far,
Than the full-orbed moon or the morning star.
The following is supposed to be addressed by a Druze woman to her
neighbor who has a daughter of marriageable age, when she is obliged to
veil her face:
Hide your daughter, veil her face,
Neighbor, do not tarry:
For my Hanna is of age,
Says he wants to marry.
When I asked about his choice,
Said he was not needy:
But that if he ever wed,
He thought he'd like Fereedy.
The next one is also Druze and purely Oriental:
Two healths, one health,
Four healths more:
Four sacks of sesamé seed,
Scattered on the floor;
Pick and count them one by one.
Reckon up their number;
For every seed wish Hassan's health.
Sweetly may he slumber!
The Druze women delight in nothing so much as to have their sons ride
fine horses:
My Yusef, my cup of sherbet sweet,
My broadcloth red hung over the street,
When you ride the blood mare with sword and pistol,
Your saddle is gold and your stirrups crystal.
Katrina says that this little song is the morning salutation to baby
boys:
Good morning now to you, Little boy!
Your face is like the dew, Little boy!
There never was a child, so merry and so mild,
So good morning once again, Little boy!
This song is sung by the Druze women to their babes:
O Sparrow of Paradise,
Hush him to sleep?
Your feathers are "henna."
Watch him and keep!
Bring sleep soft and sweet
Upon your white wings!
For Hassan the pet
And his mother who sings!
The apples of Damascus are noted throughout Syria, though we should
regard them as very poor fruit:
What's he like? If any ask us,
Flowers and apples of Damascus;
Apples fragrant on the tray,
Roses sweet with scent of May.
Laia says that the next one is sung by the Druze women to their baby
boys:
I love you, I prize you, and for you I wish,
A hundred oak trees in the valley;
A hundred blood mares all tied in the court,
And ready for foray or sally.
Mount your horse, fly away, with your scarf flowing free,
The chiefs of the tribe will assemble;
Damascus, Aleppo, and Ghutah beside,
At the sound of your coming will tremble.
Nejmeh says that the Bedawin women who come to Safita, her native place,
often sing the following song:
Come little Bedawy, sit on my lap,
Pretty pearls shine in your little white cap,
Rings are in your ears,
Rings are in your nose,
Rings upon your fingers,
And "henna" on your toes.
They use the "henna" to dye their hands, feet and finger nails, when a
wedding or festive occasion occurs in the family.
Katrina recalls another little song which she used to sing to Harry:
Welcome now, my baby dear,
Whence did you come?
Your voice is sweet,
What little feet!
Make yourself at home!
Nideh, the Druze girl down stairs is ready with another song. She is
rocking little Sheikh Fereed in his cradle, and says:
In your cradle sleep my boy,
Rest from all your labor;
May El Hakim, heaven's God,
Ever be your neighbor!
It makes me feel sad to hear a poor woman praying to a man. This El
Hakim was a man, and a bad man too, who lived many hundred years ago,
and now the Druzes regard him as their God. But what difference is there
between worshipping Hakim as the Druzes do, and worshipping Mary and
Joseph as the Greeks and Maronites do. Laia says the Maronites down in
the lower part of this village sing the following song:
Hillû, Hillû, Hallelujah!
Come my wild gazelles!
He who into trouble falls
On the Virgin Mother calls;
To Damascus she's departing,
All the mountain monks are starting.
Come my priest and come my deacon,
Bring the censer and the beacon,
We will celebrate the Mass,
In the Church of Mar Elias;
Mar Elias, my neighbor dear,
You must be deaf if you did not hear.
Sit Leila sings:
I love you my boy, and this is the proof,
I wish that you had all the wealth of the "Shoof,"
Hundreds of costly silken bales,
Hundreds of ships with lofty sails.
Hundreds of towns to obey your word,
And thousands of thousands to call you lord!
Katrina is ready to sing again:
I will sing to you,
God will bring to you,
All you need, my dear:
He's here and there,
He is everywhere,
And to you He's ever near.
People say that every baby that is born into the world is thought by its
mother to be better than any other ever born. The Arab women think so
too, and this is the way they sing it:
One like you was never born,
One like you was never brought;
All the Arabs might grow old,
Fighting ne'er so brave and bold,
Yet with all their battles fought
One like you they never caught.
Im Faris asks if we would not like to hear some of the rhymes the Arab
women sing when playing with their children. Here are some of them. The
first one you will think is like what you have already seen in "Mother
Goose."
Blacksmith, blacksmith, shoe the mare,
Shoe the colt with greatest care;
Hold the shoe and drive the nail,
Else your labor all will fail;
Shoe a donkey for Seleem,
And a colt for Ibraheem.
Sugar cane grows luxuriantly in Syria, and it was first taken from
Tripoli, Syria, to Spain, and thence to the West Indies and America. But
all they do with it now in Syria, is to suck it. It is cut up in pieces
and sold to the people, old and young, who peel it and suck it. So the
Arab women sing to their children:
Pluck it and suck it, the green sugar cane,
Whatever is sweet is costly and vain;
He'll cut you a joint as long as a span,
And charge two piastres. Now buy if you can!
Wered says she will sing us two or three which they use in teaching the
little Arab babies to "pat" their hands:
Patty cake, baby! Make him dance!
May his age increase and his years advance!
May his life like the rock, long years endure,
Overgrown with lilies, so sweet and pure!
And now the Sit Leila is singing again one of the Druze lullabys:
Tish for two, Tish for two!
A linen shirt with a border blue!
With cloth that the little pedler sells,
For the father of eyes like the little gazelles!
Your mother will weave and spin and twine,
To clothe you so nicely O little Hassein!
Do you hear the jackals crying as they come up out of the valley? Their
cry is like the voice of the cat and dog mingled together, and Im Faris
knows some of the ditties which they sing to their children about the
jackals and their fondness for chickens:
You cunning rogues beware!
You jackals with the long hair!
You ate up the chickens of old Katrin,
And ran away singing like wild Bedawin.
It is not pleasant to have so many fleas annoying us all the time, but
we must not be more anxious to keep the fleas out than to get the people
in, and as the fellaheen come to see us, they will be likely to _flea_
us too. Safita is famous for fleas, so no wonder that Nejmeh knows the
following song of the boys about fleas:
I caught and killed a hopping flea,
His sister's children came to me:
One with drum my ears did pierce,
One was fluting loud and fierce,
Then they danced me, made me sing,
Like a monkey in a ring.
Come O Deeby, come I pray,
Bring the Doctor right away!
Peace on your heart feel no alarm,
You have not had the slightest harm.
Laia is never at a loss for something new, and I am amazed at her
memory. She will give us some rhyming riddles in Arabic, and we will put
them into English as best we may. The first is about the _Ant_:
'Tis black as night,
But it is not night:
Like a bird it has wings,
But it never sings:
It digs through the house,
But it is not a mouse:
It eats barley and grass,
But it is not an ass.
Riddle about a _gun_:
A featherless bird flew over the sea,
A bird without feathers, how can that be?
A beautiful bird which I admire,
With wooden feet and a head of fire!
Riddle on _salt_:
O Arab tribes, so bold and gay,
What little grain have you to-day?
It never on the trees is seen,
Nor on the flowers and wheat so green.
Its source is pure, 'tis pleasant to eat,
From water it comes that is not sweet,
Though from water it comes, and there's water in it,
You put it in water, it dies in a minute.
The door has opened down stairs, and some of Sit Leila's friends have
come to see her. The moment they saw the little baby Fereed, they all
began to call out, "Ism Allah alayhee," "The name of Allah upon him."
They use this expression to keep off the Evil Eye. This superstition is
universal throughout Western Asia, Northern Africa, and exists also in
Italy and Spain. Dr. Meshaka of Damascus says that those who believe in
the Evil Eye, "think that certain people have the power of killing
others by a glance of the eye. Others inflict injury by the eye. Others
pick grapes by merely looking at them. This power may rest in _one_ eye,
and one man who thought he had this power, _veiled one eye_, out of
compassion for others! The Moslem Sheikhs and others profess to cure the
evil eye, and prevent its evil effects by writing mystic talismanic
words on papers, which are to be worn. Others write the words on an egg,
and then strike the forehead of the evil eyed with the egg."
Whenever a new house is built, the workmen hang up an egg shell or a
piece of alum, or an old root, or a donkey's skull, in the front door,
to keep off the evil eye. Moslem women leave their children ragged and
dirty to keep people from admiring them, and thus smiting them with the
evil eye. They think that blue eyes are especially dangerous.
They think that the name of God or Allah is a charm against evil, and
when they repeat it, they have no idea of reverence for that Holy Name.
Here is a terrible imprecation against a woman who smites with the Evil
Eye:
May her hand be thrust in her mouth,
And her eyes be burned in the fire!
The blessings of Mighty God,
Preserve you from her ire!
Nideh sings
Upon you the name of Allah,
Around you Allah's eye!
May the Evil Eye be blinded,
And never harm my boy!
It is ten o'clock at night, and Katrina, Laia, Wered, and Handûmeh say
it is time to go. Handumeh insists that we come to her wedding
to-morrow. Amîn will go with them to drive away the dogs, and see that
no wolves, hyenas, or leopards attack them by the way.
PART VII.
The boys of Abeih are early risers. What a merry laugh they have! What
new song is that they are singing now?
There has been a shower in the night and Yusef and Khalil are singing
about the rain. We say in English "_it_ rains" but the Arabs tell us
what "it" refers to. They say "The world rains," "The world snows," "The
world is coming down," "The world thunders and lightens." So you will be
able to tell your teacher, when he asks you to parse "it rains," that
"_it_" is a pronoun referring to "world." Hear them sing:
Rain, O world, all day and night,
We will wash our clothing white.
Rain, O world, your waters shed,
On my dear grandmother's head.
The sun shines out now, and Khalil says the "world has got well" again,
so he sings:
Shines the sun with brightest beam
On the roof of Im Seleem;
Now the bear will dance a reel,
On the roof of Im Khaleel.
The roofs of the houses are low and flat, and on the hill-sides you can
walk from the street above upon the roof of the houses below. I once
lived in a house in Duma in which the cattle, donkeys, and sheep used to
walk on our roof every evening as they came in from pasture. It was not
very pleasant to be awakened at midnight by a cow-fight on the roof, and
have the stones and dirt rattling down into our faces, but we could get
no other house, and had to make the best of it. You can understand then
Khalil's song:
The sun is rising all so bright
Upon the Pasha's daughter:
See her toss the tassels blue,
As her mother taught her.
Turn the oxen on the roof
Of the village priest;
He will kill them one and all,
And give the poor a feast.
The boys seem to be in high glee. They all know Handûmeh and her
betrothed Shaheen Ma'ttar, so they are swinging and singing in honor of
her wedding.
But the time has come for the wedding, and we will go over to Ain Kesûr,
about a mile away, and join in the bridal procession. As we come near
the house we hear the women inside singing. They have been dressing the
bride, and after she is dressed they lead her around and try to make her
dance. Perhaps they will let us see how she is dressed. Her head is
covered with a head-dress of pink gauze, embroidered with gold thread
and purple chenille, and ornamented with pearl beads and artificial
flowers, and over all a long white gauze veil trimmed with lace. Her
ear-rings are gold filigree work with pendant pearls, and around her
neck is a string of pure amber beads and a gold necklace. She wears a
jacket of black velvet, and a gilt belt embroidered with blue, and
fastened with a silver gilt filigree buckle in the form of a bow knot
with pendants. On her finger is a gold ring set with sapphire, and
others with turquoises and amethysts. Her dress is of brown satin, and
on her arms are solid gold bracelets which cost 1400 piastres or
fifty-six dollars. You know Handûmeh is not a rich girl, and her
betrothed is a hard working muleteer, and he has had to work very hard
to get the money to buy all these things, for it is the custom for the
bridegroom to pay for the bride's outfit. The people always lay out
their money in jewelry because it is easily carried, and easily buried
in time of civil wars and troubles in the land. Shaheen's brothers and
relatives have come to take her to Abeih, but he is nowhere to be seen.
It would not be proper for him to come to her house. For weeks she has
not been over to Abeih, except to invite us to her wedding, and when
Anna asked her on what day she was to be married, she professed not to
know anything about it. They think it is not modest for a bride to care
anything about the wedding, and she will try to appear unwilling to go
when they are ready to start. The women are singing now:
Dance, our bride so fair,
Dance and never care;
Your bracelets sing, your anklets ring,
Your shining beauty would dazzle a king!
To Damascus your father a journey has made,
And your bridegroom's name is Abû Zeid.
And now the young men outside are dancing and fencing, and they all join
in singing:
Dance, my dancer, early and late,
Would I had like you seven or eight;
Two uncles like you, blithe and gay,
To stand at my back in the judgment day!
And now the young men, relatives of the bridegroom, address the brother
of the bride, as her father is not living, and they all sing:
O brother of the bride, on a charger you should ride;
A Councillor of State you should be;
Whene'er you lift your voice,
The judgment halls rejoice,
And the earth quakes with fear
From Acre to Ghuzeer.
And now the warlike Druzes, who are old friends of Shaheen and his
father, wish to show their good will by singing a wedding song, which
they have borrowed from the old wild inhabitants of this land of
Canaan:
O brother of the bride, your mare has gnawed her bridle,
Run for the blacksmith, do not be idle.
She has run to the grave where are buried your foes,
And pawed out their hearts with her iron shoes!
But the time has come for the procession to move, and we go along slowly
enough. The bride rides a mare, led by one of Shaheen's brothers, and as
we pass the fountain, the people pour water under the mare's feet as a
libation, and Handûmeh throws down a few little copper coins to the
children. The women in the company set up the zilagheet, a high piercing
trill of the voice, and all goes merry as a marriage bell. When we reach
the house of Shaheen, he keeps out of sight, not even offering to help
his bride dismount from her horse. That would never do. He will stay
among the men, and she in a separate room among the women, until the
hour of the ceremony arrives.
But the women are singing again, and this time the song is really
beautiful in Arabic, but I fear I have made lame work of it in the
translation:
Allah, belaly, belaly,
Allah, belaly, belaly,
May God spare the life of your sire,
Our lovely gazelle of the valley!
May Allah his riches increase
He has brought you so costly a dowry;
The moonlight has gone from his house,
The rose from his gardens so flow'ry.
Run away, rude men, turn aside,
Give place to our beautiful bride:
From her sweet perfumes I am sighing,
From the odor of musk I am dying.
Come and join us fair maid, they have brought you your dress,
Leave your peacocks and doves, give our bride a caress;
Red silk! crimson silk! the weaver cries as he goes:
But our bride's cheeks are redder blushing bright as the rose.
Dark silk! black silk! hear him now as he sings:
But our bride's hair is black, like the raven's dark wings;
With the light of our eyes with our Handûmeh sweet
No maid of the Druzes can ever compete.
She is worth all the wealth of the Lebanon domain,
All the vineyards and olives, the silk worms and grain.
And no maids of the Christians can with her compare
Tho' shining with pearls and with jewels so rare.
The house is now crowded full, the men being all in one room with
Shaheen, and the women in the other room, and the court with the bride
Handûmeh. One of Shaheen's brothers comes around with a kumkum, and
sprinkles orange flower water in all our faces, and Khalil asks us if we
wish the ceremony to take place now? We tell him that he must ask the
bride and groom. So Abû Shaheen comes into the court with the old priest
Eklemandus, as Shaheen's family belong to the Greek Catholic sect.
Handûmeh is really a Protestant, and Shaheen has nothing to do with the
priests, but the "old folks" had their way about it. A white curtain
hangs across the court, and the bride stands on one side, with her
bridesmaid, and all the women and girls, and on the other side is the
priest with Shaheen, and all of the men and boys. Then candles were
distributed, and lighted, and the old priest adjusted his robes and
began to read the marriage service. An assistant stood by his side
looking over his shoulder, and responding Amen in a loud and long drawn
voice. At length the priest called out to him, "A little shorter there
on those Amens. We don't want long Amens at a wedding!" This set the
whole crowd laughing, and on he went reading passages of Scripture,
prayers and advice to the bride and bridegroom in the most hasty and
trifling manner, intoning it through his nose, so that no one could
understand what he was saying. While he was reading from the gospel
about the marriage at Cana of Galilee, a small boy, holding a lighted
candle, came very near burning off the old man's beard, and he called
out to him, "Put out your candle! You have tormented my life out of me
with that candle." This raised another laugh, and on he read. Then he
took two rings, and drawing aside the curtain, placed one on the bride's
head, and the other on the bridegroom's head, pronouncing them man and
wife, and then gave them each a sip of wine and the ceremony was
concluded, all the men kissing Shaheen, and the women Handûmeh.
Refreshments were then served to the guests from the village, and a
dinner to those from other villages. In the evening there assembled a
great company in Shaheen's house, and the hour was given up to story
telling. Saleh, whose brother married Shaheen's sister, will begin with
the _Story of the Goats and the Ghoul_.
Once there was a Nanny Goat, strong and powerful, with long and strong
horns, and once upon a time she brought forth twin kids, fair and
beautiful. One was named _Sunaisil_, and the other Rabab. Now the Nanny
Goat went out every morning to the pasture, leaving her twin kids in the
cave. She shut the door carefully, and they locked it on the inside
through fear of the Ghoul, for her neighbor in the next house was a
Ghoul who swallowed little children alive. Then at evening when she came
home, she would stand outside the door, and sing to her twin kids this
little song:
Hearken now Sunaisil,
Come Rabab my dear:
Open to your mother,
Never, never fear.
She has sweet milk in her udder.
Tufts of grass upon her horn;
She'll give you both your supper,
And breakfast in the morn.
The little twin kids would know her voice, open the door in gladness,
and eat a hearty supper, and after hearing a nice story from the
Anzîyeh, (for so their mother was called), drop off to sweet sleep.
Now all things went on well for some time, until one day the Ghoul
neighbor being very hungry for a supper of twin kids, came to the door
of the cave and tried to push it open. But it was too strong for her, so
she went away in perplexity. At length she thought she would sing to
them the very song, which the Nanny Goat sang to them every evening on
her return, so she sang it:
Hearken now Sunaisil,
Come Rabab, my dear, etc., etc.
and when they heard this song, they opened the door with gladness to eat
their supper, when suddenly the Ghoul sprang upon them with her huge
mouth open, and swallowed them both down at once. She then shut the door
and fastened it as it was before, and went on her way. At evening the
Nanny Goat came home with milk and grass for her twin kids' supper, and
knocked at the door and sang:
Hearken now Sunaisil,
Come Rabab my dear, etc., etc.,
as usual, but no one opened the door. Then she knocked and sang again,
and at length she gave up all hope of their opening the door, and butted
against the door with her horns and broke it open. She then entered the
cave but there were no twin kids there. All was still. Then she knew
that the Ghoul had eaten them. So she hastened to the house of the
Ghoul, and went upon the top of the house, and began to stamp and pound
upon the roof. The Ghoul, hearing the stamping upon the roof, called
out, whosoever stamps on my roof, may Allah stamp on his roof! The Nanny
Goat replied, I am on your roof; I, whose children you have eaten. Come
out now, and we will fight it out by butting our heads together. Very
well, said the Ghoul, only wait a little until I can make me a pair of
horns like you. So the goat waited, and away went the Ghoul to make her
horns. She made two horns of dough and dried them in the sun until they
were hard, and then came to "butt" with the goat. At the first shock,
when the goat butted her with her horns, the horns of dough broke all to
pieces; then the goat butted her again in her bowels and broke her in
twain, and out jumped Sunaisil and Rabab, frisking and leaping and
calling out "ya imme," oh, my mother, Oh, my mother! The Ghoul being
dead they had no more fear, and lived long and happy lives with their
mother the Anazîyeh.
* * * * *
Did you notice how the little boys listened to Saleh's story of the
Goats and the Ghoul? This story is told by the mothers to their little
children, all over Syria, in the tents of the Bedawîn and in the houses
of the citizens. One of the women, named Noor, (_i.e._ Light), a sister
of the bridegroom, says she will tell the children the story of the
Hamam, the Butta, the Wez, and the Hamar, that is, of the Dove, the
Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey, if all will sit still on the floor. So
all the little boys and girls curl their feet under them and fold their
arms, and Noor begins:
Once the Dove, the Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey joined company and
agreed to live together. Then they took counsel about their means of
living, and said, how long shall we continue in such distress for our
necessary food? Come let us plough a piece of ground, and plant each one
such seeds as are suited to his taste. So they ploughed a piece of
ground and sowed the seed. The Goose planted rice, the Duck planted
wheat, the Dove planted pulse, and the Donkey planted barley, and they
stationed the Donkey on guard to watch the growing crop. Now when the
seeds began to grow and flourish, and the Donkey looked upon it green
and bright and waving in the wind, he arose and ate it all, and then
went and threw himself into a ditch near by. Then came the Dove, the
Goose, and the Duck to survey the growing crop, and lo and behold, it
was all eaten up, and the ground was red and barren. Then said they,
where is the Donkey whom we set on guard over our crop? They searched
near and far, and at length they found him standing in the ditch, and
they asked him where are the crops we so carefully planted and set you
to watch? Then said the Donkey, the Bedawîn came with their flocks of
sheep and pastured them on our crops, and when I tried to resist, they
threw me into this ditch. Then they replied, it is false, you have eaten
it yourself. He said, I did not. They said, yes, you did, for you are
sleek and fat, and the contest waxed hot between them, until at length
they all agreed to make each one swear an oath "by the life of the
Lake," which was near at hand, and whoever swore the oath, and sprang
into the Lake without falling, should be declared innocent. So the Dove
went down first and said:
Ham, Ham, Ham, I am the Dove Hamam,
Ham, Ham, Ham, My food is the plain Kotan, (pulse),
Ham, Ham, Ham, If I ate the growing crop,
May I suddenly throw it up!
May Allah tumble me into the Lake,
And none any news of me ever take!
Then the Dove leaped into the Lake, and flew to the limb of a tree on
the shore, and was proved innocent.
Then the Duck went down and said:
But But, But, I am the Butta Duck,
But, But, But, My food is wheat and muck;
But, But, But, If I ate the growing crop,
May I suddenly throw it up!
May Allah tumble me into the Lake,
And none any news of me ever take!
So the Duck leaped into the Lake, and then flew to the limb of a tree on
the shore and was proved innocent.
Then the Goose went down and said:
Wez, Wez, Wez, I am the Goose and the Wez,
Wez, Wez, Wez, I eat Egyptian riz, (rice),
Wez, Wez, Wez, If I ate the growing crop,
May I suddenly throw it up!
May Allah tumble me into the Lake,
And none any news of me ever take!
So the Goose leaped into the Lake and then flew to the limb of a tree on
the shore and was proved innocent.
Then the Donkey went down and said:
Hak, Hak, Hak, I am the Donkey Jack,
Hak, Hak, Hak, I barley eat by the sack:
Hak, Hak, Hak, If I ate the growing crop,
May I suddenly throw it up!
May Allah tumble me into the Lake,
And none any news of me ever take!
Then the Donkey leaped boldly into the Lake, and down he fell, and his
feet stuck fast in the mud and mire. Then his three companions, seeing
him proved guilty of the crime, flew away and left him to his fate. Then
the Donkey began to "bray" for mercy, and called at the top of his
voice:
Whoever will help me out of this plight,
May eat my tail at a single bite!
The Bear heard the braying,
And without long delaying,
He answered by saying:
Long eared Donkey will you pay,
Every word of what you say?
If I save you by my might,
Will you stand still while I bite?
The lying Ass lay still,
And answered, "Yes, I will."
The Bear then gave a fearful roar,
And dragged the Donkey to the shore,
And said, I saved you from your plight,
Now stand still, Donkey, while I bite!
He said: Wait Bruin till I rest,
And "smell the air" from East to West,
And then I'll run with all my might,
And turn my tail for you to bite!
Then Bruin took him at his word
Away he went swift as a bird,
And called out, now Bruin, I will rest,
I'll smell the air from East to West,
I'm running now with all my might,
I've "turned my tail" for you to bite!
The Bear resolved in grief and pain,
He'd never help an Ass again.
Abû Habeeb, who is just about to enter the college, has a story which
all the Arabs know, and love to hear. It is called:
The Lion and Ibn Adam, that is, the Lion and Man, the son of Adam.
Once there was a Lion who had a son, and he always charged him, saying,
my son, beware of Ibn Adam. But at length the old Lion died, and the
young lion resolved that he would search through the world and see that
wonderful animal called Ibn Adam, of whom his father had so often warned
him. So out he went from his cave, and walked to and fro in the
wilderness. At length he saw a huge animal coming towards him, with long
crooked legs and neck, and running at the top of his speed. It was a
Camel. But when the Lion saw his enormous size and rapid pace, he said,
surely, this must be Ibn Adam himself. So he ran towards him and roared
a fearful roar. Stop where you are! The Camel stopped, trembling with
fear of the Lion. Said the Lion, are you Ibn Adam? No, said the Camel, I
am a Camel fleeing from Ibn Adam. Said the Lion, and what did Ibn Adam
do to you that you should flee from him? The Camel said, he loaded me
with heavy burdens, and beat me cruelly, and when I found a fit chance,
I fled from him to this wilderness. Said the Lion, is Ibn Adam stronger
than you are? Yes indeed, many times stronger. Then the Lion was filled
with terror, lest he too should fall into the hands of Ibn Adam, and he
left the Camel to go his way in peace. After a little while, an Ox
passed by, and the Lion said, _this_ must be Ibn Adam. But he found that
he too was fleeing from the yoke and the goad of Ibn Adam. Then he met a
Horse running fleet as the wind, and he said, this swift animal must be
the famous Ibn Adam, but the Horse too was running away from the halter,
the bridle the spur or the harness of the terrible Ibn Adam. Then he met
a mule, a donkey, a buffalo and an elephant, and all were running in
terror of Ibn Adam. The Lion thought what terrible monster must he be to
have struck terror into all these monstrous animals! And on he went
trembling, until hunger drove him to a forest to seek for prey to eat.
While he was searching through the forest, lo and behold, a Carpenter
was at work cutting wood. The Lion wondered at his curious form, and
said, who knows but this may be Ibn Adam? So he came near and asked him
saying, Are you Ibn Adam? He replied, I am. Then the Lion roared a
fearful roar, and said, prepare for battle with the Lion, the king of
beasts! Then Ibn Adam said: What do you want of me? Said the Lion, I
want to devour you. Very well, said the Carpenter, wait until I can get
my claws ready. I will go and take this wood yonder, and then I will
return and fight you. If you kill me, eat me, and if I conquer you I
will let you go, for we the sons of Adam do not eat the flesh of wild
beasts, nor do we kill them, but we let them go. The Lion was deceived
by those artful words, for he had seen the Camel and his companions
running away, and he thought within himself, now, if Ibn Adam did really
eat the flesh of beasts, he would not have let the Camel and the Horse,
the Buffalo and the Mule escape into the desert. So he said to the
Carpenter very well, I will wait for you to take the wood, and return
with your claws. Not so, said the Carpenter, I am afraid that you will
not wait for me. You are a stranger, and I do not trust your word. I
fear you will run away before I return. Said the Lion, it is impossible
that the Lion should run away from any one. Said the Carpenter, I cannot
admit what you say, unless you will grant me one thing. And what is
that, said the Lion. The Carpenter said, I have here a little rope. Come
let me tie you to this tree until I return, and then I shall know where
to find you. The Lion agreed to this plan, and the Carpenter bound him
with ropes to the tree until he and the tree were one compact bundle.
Then the Carpenter went away to his shop, and brought his glue pot, and
filling it with glue and pitch boiled it over the fire. Then he returned
and besmeared the Lion with the boiling mixture from his head to the end
of his tail, and applied a torch until he was all in a flame from head
to tail, and in this plight the Carpenter left him. Then the Lion roared
in agony until the whole forest echoed the savage roar, and all the
animals and wild beasts came running together to see what had happened.
And when they saw him in this sad plight, they rushed to him and loosed
his bonds, and he sprang to the river and extinguished the flames, but
came out singed and scarred, with neither hair nor mane. Now when all
the beasts saw this pitiable sight, they made a covenant together to
kill Ibn Adam. So they watched and waited day and night, until at length
they found him in the forest. As soon as he saw them, he ran to a lofty
tree, and climbed to its very top, taking only his adze with him, and
there awaited his fate. The whole company of beasts now gathered around
the foot of the tree, and tried in vain to climb it, and after they
walked around and around, at length they agreed that one should stand at
the foot of the tree, and another on his back, and so on, until the
upper one should reach Ibn Adam, and throw him down to the ground. Now
the Lion whose back was burned and blistered, from his great fear of man
demanded that he should stand at the bottom of the tree. To this all
agreed. Then the Camel mounted upon the Lion's back, the Horse upon the
Camel, the Buffalo upon the Horse, the Bear upon the Buffalo, the Wolf
upon the bear, and the Donkey upon the Wolf, and so on in order, until
the topmost animal was almost within reach of the Carpenter, Ibn Adam.
Now, when he saw the animals coming nearer and nearer, and almost ready
to seize him, he shouted at the top of his voice. Bring the glue pot of
boiling pitch to the Lion! Hasten! Hasten! Now when the Lion heard of
the boiling pitch, he was terrified beyond measure and leaped one side
with all his might and fled. Down came the pile of beasts, tumbling in
confusion, the one upon the other, and all lay groaning bruised and
bleeding, some with broken legs, some with broken ribs, and some with
broken heads. But as soon as the clamor of their first agony was over,
they all called out to the Lion, why did you leap out and bring all
this misery upon us! The Lion replied:
The story's point he never knew,
Who never felt the burning glue!
Monsoor, who has just been to Damascus, says that if he can have another
pipe, and a cup of Arab coffee, he will tell the story of the famous Jew
Rufaiel of Damascus. So he begins:
The story of Rufaiel, the rich Jew of Damascus, and the Moslem Dervish.
Once there lived in Damascus a rich Jew named Rufaiel. He had great
wealth in marble palaces and rich silk robes, and well stored bazaars,
and his wife and daughters were clad in velvets and satins, in gold and
precious stones. He had also great wit and cunning, and often helped his
fellow Jews out of their troubles. Now the Pasha of Damascus was a
Mohammedan, who had a superstitious fear of the holy Moslem Dervishes,
and they could persuade him to tax and oppress the Jews in the most
cruel manner. In those days there came to Damascus a holy Dervish who
had long, uncombed black hair, and although he was a vile and wicked
man, he made the people believe that he was a holy saint, and could
perform wonderful miracles. The Pasha held him in great reverence, and
invited him often to dinner, and when he came in, he would stoop and
kiss the Dervish's feet! And what was most wonderful of all, the Dervish
left Damascus every Thursday night after bidding the Pasha farewell, and
journeyed to Mecca and returned in the morning and told the Pasha all
the Mecca news and what he had seen and heard. This he did every week,
though all wise men laughed at him, and said he only went out of the
City Gate and slept in the gardens of Damascus!
Now the Dervish was a great enemy of the Jews. He hated them, cursed
them, spat upon them, and called them infidel dogs, and he persuaded the
Pasha to increase their taxes fourfold. Their sufferings now became very
great. They had to sell their houses and furniture to pay the heavy
taxes, and many were beaten and thrust into prison. So the leading Jews
in their distress came to Rufaiel, and begged him to go to the Pasha and
obtain relief for them and their families. He said he would think about
the matter. So after they had gone, he called the chief jeweller and
pipe maker of the city, and ordered them to make a long pipe of
exquisite workmanship, with a stem of rosewood carved and inlaid with
pearls, a bowl of pure gold set with diamonds, and a mouth-piece of gold
and amber. Then he went one day to call on the Pasha, and made him a
present of this elegant pipe, the like of which had never been seen in
Damascus. The Pasha was greatly pleased and ordered all in his presence
to retire that he might enjoy the society of Rufaiel, the munificent
Jew. Then Rufaiel turned to the Pasha and said, "may your Excellency
live forever! I have brought you this pipe as a faint token of my high
esteem and affection, but I am filled with deepest sorrow that it is not
perfect." "Not perfect?" said the Pasha. "In what respect could it be
more perfect than what it is?" Said Rufaiel, "you will notice that
between the amber and the gold of the mouth-piece a little ring is
wanting. This ring was the very gem and excellence of the pipe. It was
cut from the Black Stone of the Kaaba in Mecca, and has miraculous
properties. But when the pipe was brought from Mecca, the ring was left
with Mustafa, the jeweller, who is ready to send it by the first fit
opportunity." "Alas," said the Pasha, "but how can we send for it now?
The Pilgrim caravan has gone, and there will be none again for a year."
"Oh," said Rufaiel, "this is easily arranged. To-day is Thursday, and
to-night the holy Dervish will go to Mecca and return to-morrow morning.
Your Excellency need only command him to bring the black ring, and
before this time to-morrow the pipe will be complete in its beauty and
excellency." "El Hamdû Lillah! Praise to Allah! It shall be done!" So
when Rufaiel had gone, the Pasha summoned the Dervish, and told him of
this wonderful pipe which had come to him from Mecca, and that it only
needed the black ring to make it absolutely perfect, and that he was
hereby commanded on pain of death to bring the ring from Mecca before
Friday at the hour of noon prayer. The Dervish bowed most obeisantly and
retired black in the face with rage and despair. But it occurred to him
at once that none in Damascus but Rufaiel could have purchased such a
pipe. So he left the City Gate, called the Bab Allah, or Gate of God, at
sunset, bidding his friends farewell, and walked away in the gardens
until night came on. Then, at the sixth hour of the night he returned
by another gate, and crept along to the door of the mansion of Rufaiel.
The door was opened, and Rufaiel received him with great politeness. The
Dervish fell on the floor and kissed his feet and begged for his life.
Said he, "give me that black ring which belongs to the Pasha's pipe, and
we will be friends forever! Ask what you will and it shall be done to
you. Only give me this ring." Said Rufaiel, "you have ruined my people
with oppression, and now do you ask a favor?" "Yes," said the Dervish,
"and you shall have any favor you ask." So Rufaiel thought to himself a
moment, and then said, "I ask one thing. Do you obtain from the Pasha an
order on all the tax collectors of Damascus, that when any Jew shall
say, _I am one of the Seventy_, the collector shall pass him by, and no
tax ever be demanded of him." "Done," said the Dervish, and embracing
Rufaiel, he bade him good-night. Then in the morning he hastened in at
Bab Allah, and presented the ring to the Pasha, who was so delighted
that he granted his request, and orders were given that no tax should
ever be collected from any Jew who should say "I am one of the Seventy."
Then Rufaiel assembled all the Jews of Damascus, and bade them say to
the tax-gatherers whenever they came, "_I am one of the Seventy_." So
the Jews had rest from taxation, all the days of Rufaiel.
Saleh Bû Nusr, one of the best men in Mount Lebanon, and the father of
Khalil, who brought us the list of Arab boys' games, has already told us
the story of the Goats and the Ghoul, and he says that the savory odor
of the egg plant being cooked for the wedding guests, reminds him of the
story of the Badinjan or Egg Plant.
Once there was a great Emir or Prince who had a very abject and
obsequious servant named Deeb (Wolf). One day Deeb brought to the Emir
for his dinner a dish of stewed badinjan, which pleased the Emir so much
that he complimented Deeb, and told him that it was the best dinner he
had eaten for months. Deeb bowed to the earth and kissed the feet of the
Emir, and said, "may God prolong the life of your excellency! Your
excellency knows what is good. There is nothing like the badinjan. It is
the best of vegetables. Its fruit is good, its leaf is good, its stalk
is good, and its root is good. It is good roasted, stewed, boiled,
fried, and even raw. It is good for old and young. Your excellency,
there is nothing like the badinjan." Now the Emir was unusually hungry,
and ate so bountifully of the badinjan that he was made very ill. So he
sent for Deeb, and rebuked him sharply, saying, "you rascal, you Deeb,
your name is Wolf, and you are rightly named. This badinjan which you
praised so highly has almost killed me." "Exactly so," said Deeb, "may
your excellency live forever! The badinjan is the vilest of plants. It
is never eaten without injury. Its fruit is injurious, its leaf is
injurious, its stalk is noxious, and its root is the vilest of all. It
is not fit 'ajell shanak Allah,' for the pigs to eat, whether raw,
roasted, stewed, boiled or fried. It is injurious to the young and
dangerous to the old. Your excellency, there is nothing so bad as the
badinjan! Never touch the badinjan!"--"Out with you, you worthless
fellow, you Deeb! What do you mean by praising the badinjan when I
praise it, and abusing it when it injures me?" "Ah, your excellency,"
said Deeb, "am I the servant of the badinjan, or the servant of your
excellency? I must say what pleases you, but it makes no difference
whether I please the badinjan or not."
The wedding party is now over, and the guests are departing. Each one on
leaving says, "by your pleasure, good evening!" The host answers, "go in
peace, you have honored us." The guests reply, "we have been honored,
Allah give the newly married ones an arees," (a bridegroom). They would
not dare wish that Shaheen and Handûmeh might some day have a little
baby _girl_. That would be thought an insult.
We will walk up the hill to our mountain home, passing the fountain and
the great walnut trees. Here comes a horseman. It is Ali, who has been
spending a month among the Bedawin Arabs. He will come up and stay with
us, and tell us of his adventures. He says that the Sit Harba, the wife
of the great Arab Sheikh ed Dukhy, taught him a number of the Bedawin
Nursery Songs, and although he is weary with his journey, he will repeat
some of them in Arabic.
They are all about camels and spears and fighting and similar subjects,
and no wonder, as they see nothing else, and think of nothing else.
To-morrow is the feast day,
We've no "henna" on our hands;
Our camels went to bring it,
From far off distant lands;
We'll rise by night and listen,
The camel bells will ring;
And say a thousand welcomes
To those who "henna" bring.
And here is a song which shows that the Bedawin have the same habit of
cursing their enemies, which we noticed in the Druze lullabys:
On the rose and sweetest myrtle,
May you sleep, my eyes, my boy;
But may sharpest thorns and briars,
All your enemies destroy!
Ali says that one of the most mournful songs he heard in the desert was
the following:
I am like a wounded camel,
I grind my teeth in pain;
My load is great and heavy,
I am tottering again.
My back is torn and bleeding,
My wound is past relief,
And what is harder still to bear,
None other knows my grief!
The next is a song which the people sung in the villages on the borders
of the desert. By "the sea" they mean the Sea of Galilee:
My companions three,
Were fishing by the sea;
The Arabs captured one,
The Koords took his brother,
In one land was I,
My friends were in another.
I was left to moan,
In sorrow deep and sad,
Like a camel all alone,
Departing to Baghdad;
My soul I beg you tell me whether,
Once parted friends e'er met together?
The Bedawin have as low an idea of girls as the Bedawin in the cities,
and are very glad when a boy is born. Sometimes when the Abeih girls are
playing together, you will hear a little girl call out, "it is very
small indeed. Why it is a little wee thing, as small as was the
rejoicing the day I was born!" But hear what the Bedawin women sing when
a boy is born:
Mashallah, a boy, a _boy_!
May Allah's eye defend him!
May she who sees and says not _the Name_,
Be smitten with blindness and die in shame!
How would you like to live among the Bedawin, and have a dusky Arab
woman, clad in coarse garments, covered with vermin and odorous of
garlic and oil, to sing you to sleep on a mat on the ground?
Hasten my cameleer, where are you going?
It is eventide, and the camels are lowing:
My house in a bundle I bear on my back,
Whenever night comes, I my bundle unpack.
The next is a song of the pastoral Arabs:
Hasten my guide and lead us away,
For we have fought and lost the day;
To the well we went all thirsty and worn,
The well was dry! and we slept forlorn.
The Bedawin came in battle array,
Attacked us all famished at break of day
And took all our camels and tents away!
Death enters the Bedawin tents as well as the palaces of kings and the
comfortable homes of the people in Christian lands. But what desolation
it leaves behind in those dark sorrowing hearts, who know nothing of the
love of Jesus and the consolations of the gospel. This is a funeral song
the poor Bedawin women sing over the death of a child:
Oh hasten my camel, begone, begone,
Oh haste where your loved ones stay:
There weep and lament. There my "spirit" is gone,
Is gone to a night without day:
Oh Star of the Morning, thou Star of the day,
And Star of the Evening, both hasten away,
And bring me a balm for my wounded heart,
For I from my child, my "spirit" must part.
Soon may the "day dawn, and the day star arise" in their dark hearts,
and Jesus the "Bright and Morning Star" be their portion forever!
The next song is about the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Thousands of Greeks,
Armenians and Catholics go to Jerusalem every year to visit the "Holy
Places," and get a certificate of the pardon of all their sins. The
Greek Patriarch performs a lying imposture called the Holy Fire every
year at Greek Easter, by lighting a candle with a match inside a dark
room, and declaring that it is miraculously lighted by fire which comes
forth from the tomb of Christ! So the poor Greek woman sings to her
child:
Oh take me on a pilgrimage,
Jerusalem to see:
The Tomb of Christ and Holy fire,
And Hill of Calvary:
And then I'll to the Convent go,
Ask pardon for my sin:
And say, my Lady, now forgive,
And comfort me again.
The next is really beautiful, and is good enough for any mother to sing
to her child. It is a morning song:
Praise to Him who brings the light,
And keeps the birds in darkest night.
God is merciful to all,
Rise ye men and on Him call!
Allah praise in every lot,
He keeps you and you know it not.
And this one too, about the little worms, is curious enough:
Praise to Him who feeds the worms,
In the silent vale!
Provides their portion every day,
Protects them in the dangerous way.
No doubt they praise Him too, and pray,
In the silent vale!
When our good friend Yusef, whom we saw in Safita, asked the Nusairîyeh
women to repeat to him their nursery rhymes, they denied that they had
any. They were afraid to recite them, lest he write them down and use
them as a magic spell or charm against them. When a child is born among
them, no one is allowed to take a coal or spark of fire from the house
for a week, lest the child be injured. They always hang a little coin
around the child's neck to keep off eruptions and diseases from its
body.
You must be weary by this time, after Handumeh's wedding and the story
telling and the Bedawin songs. Let us retire to rest for the night,
thankful for the precious Bible, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You
are safe indeed in the hands of God, and need not fear the Ghoul nor the
Bah'oo. Good night.
Such is life. Yesterday a wedding, and to-day a funeral. Do you hear
that terrific wail, those shrieks and bitter cries of anguish? Young
Sheikh Milham has died. The Druze and Christian women are gathered in
the house, and wailing together in the most piteous manner. It is
dreadful to think what sufferings the poor women must endure. They do
everything possible to excite one another. They not only call out,
"Milham, my pride, my bridegroom, star of my life, you have set, my
flower, you have faded," but they remind each other of all the deaths
that have occurred in their various families for years, and thus open
old wounds of sorrow which time had healed. Yet they have regular
funeral songs, and we will listen while they sing in a mournful strain:
Milham Beg my warrior,
Your spear is burnished gold;
Your costly robes and trappings,
Will in the street be sold.
"Where is the Beg who bore me?"
I hear the armor crying--
Where is the lord who wore me?
I hear the garments sighing.
Now Im Hassein from Ainab bursts out in a loud song, addressing the
dead body, around which they are all seated on the ground:
Rise up my lord, gird on your sword,
Of heavy Baalbec steel;
Why leave it hanging on the nail?
Let foes its temper feel!
Would that the Pasha's son had died,
Not our Barmakeh's son and pride!
Then Lemis answers in another song in which they all join:
Ten thousands are thronging together,
The Beg has a feast to-day;
We thought he had gone on a visit,
But alas, he has gone to stay.
Then they all scream, and tear their hair and beat their breasts. Alas,
they have no light beyond the grave. Who could expect them to do
otherwise? The Apostle Paul urges the Christians "not to sorrow even as
others which have no hope!" This is sorrow without hope. The grave is
all dark to them. How we should thank our Saviour for having cast light
on the darkness of the tomb, and given us great consolation in our
sorrows! Here comes a procession of women from Kefr Metta. Hear them
chanting:
I saw the mourners thronging round,
I saw the beds thrown on the ground;
The marble columns leaning,
The wooden beams careening,
My lord and Sheikh with flowing tears,
I asked what was its meaning?
He sadly beckoned me aside,
And said, To-day _my son_ has died!
Then an old woman, a widow, who has been reminded of the death of her
husband, calls out to him:
Oh, Sheikh, have you gone to the land?
Then give my salams to my boy,
He has gone on a long, long journey,
And took neither clothing nor toy.
Ah, what will he wear on the feast days,
When the people their festal enjoy?
Now one of the women addresses the corpse:
Lord of the wide domain,
All praise of you is true.
The women of your hareem,
Are dressed in mourning blue.
Then one sings the mother's wail:
My tears are consuming my heart,
How can I from him bear to part.
Oh raven of death, tell me why,
You betrayed me and left him to die?
Oh raven of death begone!
You falsely betrayed my son!
Oh Milham, I beg you to tell,
Why you've gone to the valley to dwell?
From far, far away I have come,
Who will come now to take me back home?
Then rises such a wail as you never heard before. A hundred women all
screaming together and then men are coming to take it away. The women
hug and kiss the corpse, and try to pull it back, while the men drive
them off, and carry it out to the bier. Some of the women faint away,
and a piercing shriek arises. Then you hear the mother's wail again.
Then one sings the call of the dead man for help:
Oh ransom me, buy me, my friends to-day,
'Tis a costly ransom you'll have to pay,
Oh ransom me, father, whate'er they demand,
Though they take all your money and houses and land.
And another sings his address to the grave-diggers:
Oh cease, grave-diggers, my feelings you shock,
I forbade you to dig, you have dug to the rock;
I bade you dig little, you have dug so deep!
When his father's not here, will you lay him to sleep?
Then a poor woman who has lately buried a young daughter begins to sing:
Oh bride! on the roofs of heaven,
Come now and look over the wall:
Oh let your sad mother but see you,
Oh let her not vainly call!
Hasten, her heart is breaking,
Let her your smile behold;
The mother is sadly weeping,
The maiden is still and cold.
The Druzes believe that millions of Druzes live in China and that China
is a kind of heaven. So another woman sings:
Yullah, now my lady, happy is your state!
Happy China's people, when you reached the gate!
Lady, you are passing,
To the palace bright,
All the stars surpassing,
On the brow of night!
And now the body is taken to be buried, and the women return to the
house, where the wailing is kept up for days and weeks. They have many
other funeral songs, of which I will give two in conclusion:
Ye Druzes, gird on your swords,
A great one is dead to-day;
The Arabs came down upon us,
They thought us in battle array,
But they wept when they found us mourning,
For our leader has gone away!
The next is the lament of the mother over her dead son:
The sun is set, the tents are rolled,
Happy the mother whose lambs are in fold;
But one who death's dark sorrow knew,
Let her go to the Nile of indigo blue,
And dye her robes a mourning hue!
And now, my dear boy, our Syrian journey is ended. You have seen and
heard many strange things. Whatever is good among the Arabs, try to
imitate; whatever is evil, avoid. Perhaps you will write to me some day,
and tell me what you think of Syria and the Syrians. Many little boys
and girls will read this long letter, but it is your letter, and I have
written it for your instruction and amusement.
May the good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep, lead you beside
the still waters of life, and at last when He shall appear, may He give
you a crown of glory which fadeth not away!
THE END
INDEX.
Arabs of the Jahiliyeh, 1
Arabs of Kinaneh, 2
Arabic Proverbs, 3
Araman, Michaiel, 19, 99
Asîn Haddad, 101
Abu Selim, 138, 260
Abu Mishrik, 148
Aleppo, 151
Asur el Jedid, 168
American Seminary Abeih, 169
Anazy, 182
Arthington, Mr., 181, 184
Ali, 184, 359
Amount of Instruction, 57, 78, 81, 316
Abdullah Yanni, 220
Aintab, 88
Abu Asaad, 274, 276, 283
Abu Isbir, 281
Arab Camp, 295
Abdullamites, 298
Arkites, 262
Abu Hanna, 263
Asaad Mishrik, 233
Burying Alive, 1
Birth of Daughter, 28, 236
B'hamdûn, 93, 121
Bliss, Mrs. Dr., 104
Booth, Wm. A., 105, 106
Bird, Rev., 47, 48, 50, 58, 115
Bistany, Mr., 126, 134, 158, 200
Bedr, Rev. Yusef, 148
Belinda, 149
Bedawin Arabs, 180
British Syrian Schools, 84
Beattie, Rev., 41
Bird, Mrs., 50
Beit Beshoor, 274
Bells, 304
Bedawin Songs, 360
Carabet Melita, 62, 65, 67, 153
Cheney, Miss, 74, 81, 97
Carruth, Miss, 104
Calhoun, Mrs., 79, 114, 197
Crawford, Mrs., 204
Church of Scotland Schools for Jewish Girls, 214
Carabet, Bishop Dionysius, 49
Convent of the Sacred Fish, 296
Camels, 245
Divorce, 14, 17, 29, 37
Druze, 20
Dodds, Dr., 39
De Forrest, Dr., 23, 33, 73, 75, 134, 298
Dales, Miss, 204
Department of Women's Work, 219
Dodge, Dr., 50
Dodge, Mrs., 50, 52, 53
Dog River, 312
El Khunsa, the poetess, 4
Education of Girls, 18, 19
Everett, Miss, 103
Early Age of Marriage, 117
Eddy, Mr., 151
El Hakem, 331, 22
Evil Eye, 336
Female Prayer-Meeting, 56, 74
Ford, Mr., 126, 151, 156
French Lazarist School, 169
Francis Effendi Merrash, 91
Fast of Ramadan, 306
Feller's Soap, 328
Funerals, 316, 364
Female Seminary, Beirût, 222, 315
Fruits, 255
Fisk, Rev. Pliny, 47
Greek School Suk el Ghurb, 169
Ghubrin Jebara, 173
Goodell, Mrs., 50
Games, 319
Greek Priests, 259
Goodell, Dr., 47, 48
Houris, 10
Hamzé, 20
Hala of Abeih, 29
Hammûd, 39
Hums, 140
Hassan, 198
Hicks, Miss, 206
Howe, Fisher, 76, 80
Haj Ibraham, 297
Ishoc, 149, 263
Irish-American United Presbyterian Mission in Damascus, 204
Ishmaelitic Songs, 326
Imprecations, 326
Johnson, Miss, 97
Jacombs, Miss, 98, 225
Jackson, Miss Ellen, 104
Jenan, 136, 162, 165, 191
Jenneh, 136
Jeneineh, 136
Jesuit School Ghuzir, 169
Job, 229
Khozma Ata, 33, 75
Katrina Subra, 93, 95
Koukab es Subah, 33, 126
Koran, 1, 2, 11, 126, 297
Khalil Effendi, 167
Khalil Ferah, 286
King, Dr. Jonas, 47, 48
Latakiah Boarding School, 42
Loring, Miss Sophia, 104
Luciya, Shekkur, 114
Lyde, Mr., 38, 39
Lying, 284
Lullaby, 294
Letters, 311
Lokunda, 242
Moslem Paradise for Women, 10
Moslem Idea of Women, 12, 17
Moulah Hakem, 22, 331
Massacres of 1860, 24, 95, 196, 286
Marriage Ceremony of Druzes, 25
Marie, 43
Maronites, 45
Mason, Miss, 97
Meshakah, Dr., 118
Miriam the Aleppine, 15
Modern Syrian Views, 158
Moslem Schools, 168, 253
Miss Taylor's School Moslem Girls, 213
Methak en Nissa, 21
Metheny, Dr., 40
Manger, 265
Missionary Stations, 249
Miriam, 279, 282
Monasteries, 309
Marriage, 338, 117, 143
Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246
Naman, King of Hira, 3
Nusairîyeh, 35
Nusairîyeh Women, 38
Nejm, 110
Naame Tabet, 201
Nowar, 286
Nursery Songs, 325
Names, 242, 244
Othman, 2
Okkal, 24
Oulad el Arab, 46
Poetesses of Arabs, 6
Position of Woman in Mohammedan World, 7
Prussian Deaconess' Institute Beirût, 206
Post, Dr., 29
Praying, 305
Parsons, Rev. Levi, 47
Qualifications for Missionaries, 53
Rakâsh, the Poetess, 6
Rufka, Gregory, 60, 97, 99, 102, 138, 175, 277
Resha, 110
Raheel, 120
Ruella Arabs, 184
Sa Saah, 3
Schwire, 10
Sheikh Owad, 16
Sheikh Said el Ghur, 19
Sheikh Khottar, 31
Sheikh Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246
Sheikh Aiub el Hashem, 288
Sitt Abla, 30
Syrian Christianity, 46
Stale of Mission in 1828, 49,
--1834, 51, 53,
--1841, 55,
--1846, 57
--1852, 75,
--1864, 101
Seclusion of Oriental Females, 52
Sada Gregory, 18, 61, 70
Superstitions, 77, 317, 318, 336
Sada Barakat, 84
Stanton, Miss, 98
Sada el Haleby, 84, 100, 115
Sara Bistany, 101, 136
Smith, Dr., 50, 127
Sarkis, Mr. Ibraham, 127
Sulleba Jerwan, 142
Sara Huntington Bistany, 157
Sitt Mariana Merrash, 162
Sitt Wustina Mesirra, 165
Schools of Syria, 169, 171
Sitt Harba, 183, 185, 359
Safita, 277, 285, 302, 334
Seven Arbitrary Pillars of the Law, 22
Suggestions to Friends of Missions, 224
Sidon Female Seminary, 225
Saad-ed-Deen, 67
Sphere and Mode of Woman's Work, 218
Syed Abdullah, 288
Swine, 306
Story of the Goats and the Ghoul, 343
Story of the Hamam, Butta, etc., 346
Story of the Lion and Ibn Adam, 350
Story of the Jew Rufaiel, 354
Story of the Badinjan, 358
Shepherds, 313
Swearing, 240
Soum el Kebir, 260
Smith, Mrs., 27, 50, 120
Syrian School-Houses, 235
Tribe of Temîm, 3
Triangle of Solomon, 36
Temple, Miss, 97
Thomson, Dr., 48, 100, 123
Thomson, Miss Emilia, 104
Tod, Mrs. Alexander, 122
Thompson, Mrs. Bowen, 208
Thomson, Mrs., 50
Telegraph, 310
Tilden, 33, 54, 60
Van Dyck, 31, 107, 117, 127, 172
Value Set on Woman's Life, 196
Wahidy, 19
Women's Work, 1820 to 1872, 45
Wortabet, Salome, 49, 64
Whittlesey, Mrs. A.L., 74, 78
Watson, Mrs., 98, 204
Women's Boards of Missions, 104
Whiting, Mrs., 31, 57, 63, 125
Wilson, Rev. D.M., 83, 142
Werdeh, 156
Wortabet, Rev. John, 202
Whiting, Rev., 50, 58, 61
Waly, 291
Wortabet, Gregory, 49, 51
Williams, Miss Rebecca, 52, 55
Yusef Jedid, 40
Yusef Ahtiyeh, 278, 281
Yanni, 237, 254, 256, 289, 300, 309
Yusef Keram, 301
Zarifeh, the Poetess, 6
Zeyarehs, 37, 268
Zahara, 39
Zarify, 110
Zahidy, 287
Transcriber's Notes:
Replaced "Beirut" with "Beirût" for consistency throughout the book.
Replaced "Nusairiyeh" with "Nusairîyeh" for consistency throughout the
book.
Page 147: Added opening parenthesis before "etc., etc."
Page 206: Changed Aitah to Aitath.
Page 273: Changed Inshallah to Inshullah.
Page 311: Changed Mushullah to Mashallah.
Page 370: Changed Abdulla Yanni to Abdullah Yanni.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Women of the Arabs, by Henry Harris Jessup