Mission; it is a busy and well-ordered printing and publishing house;
sending out, besides its religious works and school-books, a monthly and
a weekly publication and a child's paper, which has a large and paying
circulation, a great number of its subscribers being Moslems. These
regenerating agencies—the schools and the press—are happily
supplemented by the college, which offers to the young men of the Orient
the chance of a high education, and attracts students even from the
banks of the Nile. We were accompanied to the college by Dr. Jessup and
Dr. Post, and spent an interesting morning in inspecting the buildings
and in the enjoyment of the lovely prospect they command. As it is not
my desire to enter into details regarding the Mission or the college any
further than is necessary to emphasize the supreme importance of this
enterprise to the civilization of the Orient, I will only add that the
college has already some interesting collections in natural history, a
particularly valuable herbarium, and that the medical department is not
second in promise to the literary.
It is sometimes observed that a city is like a man, in that it will
preserve through all mutations and disasters certain fundamental
traits; the character that it obtains at first is never wholly lost, but
reappears again and again, asserting its individuality after, it may
be, centuries of obscurity. Beyrout was early a seat of learning and a
centre of literary influence for nearly three hundred years before its
desolation by an earthquake in the middle of the sixth century, and its
subsequent devastation by the followers of the Arabian prophet, it was
thronged with students from all the East, and its schools of philosophy
and law enjoyed the highest renown. We believe that it is gradually
resuming its ancient prestige.
While we were waiting day after day the arrival of the Austrian
steamboat for Constantinople, we were drawn into a little drama which
afforded us alternate vexation and amusement; an outline of it may not
be out of place here as an illustration of the vicissitudes of travel in
the East, or for other reasons which may appear. I should premise that
the American consul who resided here with his family was not in good
repute with many of the foreign residents; that he was charged
with making personal contributions to himself the condition of the
continuance in office of his subagents in Syria; that the character of
his dragomans, or at least one of them named Ouardy, was exceedingly
bad, and brought the consular office and the American name into
contempt; and that these charges had been investigated by an agent sent
from the ministerial bureau in Constantinople. The dragomans of the
consulate, who act as interpreters, and are executors of the consul's
authority, have no pay, but their position gives them a consideration in
the community, and a protection which they turn to pecuniary account. It
should be added that the salary of the consul at Beyrout is two thousand
dollars,—a sum, in this expensive city, which is insufficient to
support a consul, who has a family, in the style of a respectable
citizen, and is wholly inadequate to the maintenance of any equality
with the representatives of other nations; the government allows no
outfit, nor does it provide for the return of its consul; the cost
of transporting himself and family home would consume almost half a
year's salary, and the tenure of the office is uncertain. To accept
any of several of our Oriental consulships, a man must either have a
private fortune or an unscrupulous knack of living by his wits. The
English name is almost universally respected in the East, so far as
my limited experience goes, in the character of its consuls; the same
cannot be said of the American.
The morning after our arrival, descending the steps of the hotel, I
found our dragoman in a violent altercation with another dragoman, a
Jew, and a resident of Beyrout. There is always a latent enmity between
the Egyptian and the Syrian dragomans, a national hostility, as old
perhaps as the Shepherds' invasion, which it needs only an occasion
to blow into a flame. The disputants were surrounded by a motley crowd,
nearly all of them the adherents of the Syrian. I had seen Antoine
Ouardy at Luxor, when he was the dragoman of an English traveller.
He was now in Frank dress, wearing a shining hat, an enormous cluster
shirt-pin, and a big seal ring; and with his aggressive nose and brazen
face he had the appearance of a leading mock-auctioneer in the Bowery.
On the Nile, where Abd-el-Atti enjoys the distinction of Sultan among
his class, the fellow was his humble servant; but he had now caught
the Egyptian away from home, and was disposed to make the most of his
advantage. Chancing to meet Ouardy this morning, Abd-el-Atti had asked
for the payment of two pounds lent at Luxor; the debt was promptly
denied, and when his own due-bill for the money was produced, he
declared that he had received the money from Abd-el-Atti in payment for
some cigars which he had long ago purchased for him in Alexandria. Of
course if this had been true, he would not have given a note for
the money; and it happened that I had been present when the sum was
borrowed.
The brazen denial exasperated our dragoman, and when I arrived the
quarrel had come nearly to blows, all the injurious Arabic epithets
having been exhausted. The lie direct had been given back and forth, but
the crowning insult was added, in English, when Abd-el-Atti cried,—
“You 're a humbug!”
This was more than Ouardy could stand. Bursting with rage, he shook his
fist in the Egyptian's face:—
“You call me humbug; you humbug, yourself. You pay for this, I shall
have satisfaction by the law.”
We succeeded in separating and, I hoped, in reducing them to reason, but
Antoine went off muttering vengeance, and Abd-el-Atti was determined to
bring suit for his money. I represented the hopelessness of a suit in a
Turkish court, the delay and the cost of lawyers, and the certainty that
Ouardy would produce witnesses to anything he desired to prove.
“What I care for two pound!” exclaimed the heated dragoman. “I
go to spend a hundred pound, but I have justice.” Shortly after, as
Abd-el-Atti was walking through the bazaars, with one of the ladies of
our party, he was set upon by a gang of Ouardy's friends and knocked
down; the old man recovered himself and gave battle like a valiant
friend of the Prophet; Ouardy's brother sallied out from his shop to
take a hand in the scrimmage, and happened to get a rough handling from
Abd-el-Atti, who was entirely ignorant of his relationship to
Antoine. The whole party were then carried off to the seraglio, where
Abd-el-Atti, as the party attacked, was presumed to be in the wrong,
and was put into custody. In the inscrutable administration of Turkish
justice, the man who is knocked down in a quarrel is always arrested.
When news was brought to us at the hotel of this mishap, I sent for
the American consul, as our dragoman was in the service of an American
citizen. The consul sent his son and his dragoman. And the dragoman
sent to assist an American, embarrassed by the loss of his servant in
a strange city, turned out to be the brother of Antoine Ouardy, and the
very fellow that Abd-el-Atti had just beaten. Here was a complication.
Dragoman Ouardy showed his wounds, and wanted compensation for his
injuries. At the very moment we needed the protection of the American
government, its representative appeared as our chief prosecutor.
However, we sent for Abd-el-Atti, and procured his release from
the seraglio; and after an hour of conference, in which we had the
assistance of some of the most respectable foreign residents of the
city, we flattered ourselves that a compromise was made. The injured
Ouardy, who was a crafty rogue, was persuaded not to insist upon a suit
for damages, which would greatly incommode an American citizen, and
Abd-el-Atti seemed willing to drop his suit for the two pounds. Antoine,
however, was still menacing.
“You heard him,” he appealed to me, “you heard him call me
humbug.”
The injurious nature of this mysterious epithet could not be erased from
his mind. It was in vain that I told him it had been freely applied to a
well-known American, until it had become a badge of distinction. But
at length a truce was patched up; and, confident that there would be no
more trouble, I went into the country for a long walk over the charming
hills.
When I returned at six o'clock, the camp was in commotion. Abd-el-Atti
was in jail! There was a suit against him for 20,000 francs for horrible
and unprovoked injuries to the dragoman of the American consul! The
consul, upon written application for assistance, made by the ladies at
the hotel, had curtly declined to give any aid, and espoused the quarrel
of his dragoman. It appeared that Abd-el-Atti, attempting again to
accompany a lady in a shopping expedition through the bazaars, had been
sent for by a messenger from the seraglio. As he could not leave the
lady in the street, he carelessly answered that he would come by and by.
A few minutes after he was arrested by a squad of soldiers, and taken
before the military governor. Abd-el-Atti respectfully made his excuse
that he could not leave the lady alone in the street, but the pasha said
that he would teach him not to insult his authority. Both the Ouardy
brothers were beside the pasha, whispering in his ear, and as the result
of their deliberations Abd-el-Atti was put in prison. It was Saturday
afternoon, and the conspirators expected to humiliate the old man by
keeping him locked up till Monday. This was the state of the game when
I came to dinner; the faithful Abdallah, who had reluctantly withdrawn
from watching the outside of the seraglio where his master was confined,
was divided in mind between grief and alarm on the one side and his duty
of habitual cheerfulness to us on the other, and consequently announced,
“Abd-el-Atti, seraglio,” as a piece of good news; the affair had
got wind among the cafés, where there was a buzz of triumph over the
Egyptians; and at the hotel everybody was drawn into the excitement,
discussing the assault and the arrest of the assaulted party, the
American consul and the character of his dragoman, and the general
inability of American consuls to help their countrymen in time of need.
The principal champion of Abd-el-Atti was Mohammed Achmed, the dragoman
of two American ladies who had been travelling in Egypt and Palestine.
Achmed was a character. He had the pure Arab physiognomy, the vivacity
of an Italian, the restlessness of an American, the courtesy of the most
polished Oriental, and a unique use of the English tongue. Copious
in speech, at times flighty in manner, gravely humorous, and more
sharp-witted than the “cutest” Yankee, he was an exceedingly
experienced and skilful dragoman, and perfectly honest to his employers.
Achmed was clad in baggy trousers, a silk scarf about his waist, short
open jacket, and wore his tarboosh on the back of his sloping head. He
had a habit of throwing back his head and half closing his wandering,
restless black eyes in speaking, and his gestures and attitudes might
have been called theatrical but for a certain simple sincerity; yet any
extravagance of speech or action was always saved from an appearance of
absurdity by a humorous twinkle in his eyes. Alexandria was his home,
while Abd-el-Atti lived in Cairo; the natural rivalry between the
dragomans of the two cities had been imbittered by some personal
disagreement, and they were only on terms of the most distant civility.
But Abd-el-Atti's misfortune not only roused his national pride, but
touched his quick generosity, and he surprised his employers by the
enthusiasm with which he espoused the cause and defended the character
of the man he had so lately regarded as anything but a friend. He went
to work with unselfish zeal to procure his release; he would think of
nothing else, talk of nothing else.
“How is it, Achmed,” they said, “that you and Abd-el-Atti have
suddenly become such good friends?”
“Ah, my lady,” answers Achmed, taking an attitude, “you know
not Abd-el-Atti, one of the first-class men in all Egypt. Not a common
dragoman like these in Beyrout, my lady; you shall ask in Cairo what a
man of esteem. To tell it in Cairo that he is in jail! Abd-el-Atti is my
friend. What has been sometime, that is nothing. It must not be that he
is in jail. And he come out in half an hour, if your consul say so.”
“That is not so certain; but what can we do?”
“Write to the consul American that he shall let Abd-el-Atti go. You,
my lady,” said Achmed, throwing himself on his knees before the
person he was addressing, “make a letter, and say I want my dragoman
immediate. If he will not, I go to the English consul, I know he will
do it. Excuse me, but will you make the letter? When it was the English
consul, he does something; when it was the American, I pick your pargin,
my lady, he is not so much esteem here.”
In compliance with Achmed's entreaty a note was written to the consul,
but it produced no effect, except an uncivil reply that it was after
office hours.
When I returned, Achmed was in a high fever of excitement. He believed
that Abd-el-Atti would be released if I would go personally to the
consul and insist upon it.
“The consul, I do not know what kind of man this is for consul; does
he know what man is Abd-el-Atti? Take my advice,” continued Achmed,
half closing his eyes, throwing back his head and moving it alertly on
the axis of his neck, and making at the same time a deprecatory gesture
with the back of his hands turned out,—“take my advice, Mesr. Vahl,
Abd-el-Atti is a man of respect; he is a man very rich, God forgive me!
Firste-class man. There is no better family in Egypt than Abd-el-Atti
Effendi. You have seen, he is the friend of governors and pashas. There
is no man of more respect. In Cairo, to put Abd-el-Atti in jail, they
would not believe it! When he is at home, no one could do it. The
Khedive himself,” he continued, warming with his theme, “would not
touch Abd-el-Atti. He has houses in the city and farms and plantations
in the country, a man very well known. Who in Cairo is to put him in
jail? [This, with a smile of derision.] I think he take out and put in
prison almost anybody else he like, Mohammed Effendi Abd-el-Atti. See,
when this Ouardy comes in Egypt!”
We hastened to the consul's. I told the consul that I was deprived of
the service of my dragoman, that he was unjustly imprisoned, simply for
defending himself when he was assailed by a lot of rowdies, and that as
the complaint against him was supposed to issue from the consulate, I
doubted not that the consul's influence could release him. The consul
replied, with suavity, that he had nothing to do with the quarrel of
his dragoman, and was not very well informed about it, only he knew that
Ouardy had been outrageously assaulted and beaten by Abd-el-Atti; that
he could do nothing at any rate with the pasha, even if that functionary
had not gone to his harem outside the city, where nobody would disturb
him. I ventured to say that both the Ouardys had a very bad reputation
in the city,—it was, in fact, infamous,—and that the consulate was
brought into contempt by them. The consul replied that the reputation of
Antoine might be bad, but that his dragoman was a respectable merchant;
and then he complained of the missionaries, who had persecuted him
ever since he had been in Beyrout. I said that I knew nothing of his
grievances; that my information about his dragoman came from general
report, and from some of the bankers and most respectable citizens, and
that I knew that in this case my dragoman had been set upon in the first
instance, and that it was believed that the Ouardys were now attempting
to extort money from him, knowing him to be rich, and having got him
in, their clutches away from his friends. The consul still said that
he could do nothing that night; he was very sorry, very sorry for my
embarrassment, and he would send for Ouardy and advise him to relinquish
his prosecution on my account. “Very well,” I said, rising to go,
“if you cannot help me I must go elsewhere. Will you give me a note of
introduction to the pasha?” He would do that with pleasure, although
he was certain that nothing would come of it.
Achmed, who had been impatiently waiting on the high piazza (it is a
charming situation overlooking the Mediterranean), saw that I had not
succeeded, and was for going at once to the English consul; for all
dragomans have entire confidence that English consuls are all-powerful.
“No,” I said, “we will try the pasha, to whom I have a letter,
though the consul says the pasha is a friend of Ouardy.”
“I believe you. Ouardy has women in his house; the pasha goes often
there; so I hear. But we will go. I will speak to the pasha also, and
tell him what for a man is Abd-el-Atti. A very pleasant man, the pasha,
and speak all languages, very well English.”
It was encouraging to know this, and I began to feel that I could make
some impression on him. We took a carriage and drove into the suburbs,
to the house of the pasha. His Excellency was in his harem, and dining,
at that hour. I was shown by a barefooted servant into a barren parlor
furnished in the European style, and informed that the pasha would see
me presently. After a while cigarettes and coffee—a poor substitute
for dinner for a person who had had none—were brought in; but no
pasha.
I waited there, I suppose, nearly an hour for the governor to finish his
dinner; and meantime composed a complimentary oration to deliver upon
his arrival. When his Excellency at last appeared, I beheld a large,
sleek Turk, whose face showed good-nature and self-indulgence. I
had hopes of him, and, advancing to salute him, began an apology for
disturbing his repose at this unseasonable hour, but his Excellency
looked perfectly blank. He did not understand a word of English. I
gave him the letter of the consul, and mentioned the name “American
Consul.” The pasha took the letter and opened it; but as he was
diligently examining it upside down, I saw that he did not read English.
I must introduce myself.
Opening the door, I called Achmed. In coming into the presence of
this high rank, all his buoyancy and bravado vanished; he obsequiously
waited. I told him to say to his Excellency how extremely sorry I was to
disturb his repose at such an unseasonable hour, but that my dragoman,
whose services I needed, had been unfortunately locked up; that I was
an American citizen, as he would perceive by the letter from the consul,
and that I would detain him only a moment with my business. Achmed put
this into choice Arabic. His Excellency looked more blank than before.
He did not understand a word of Arabic. The interview was getting to be
interesting.
The pasha then stepped to the door and called in his dragoman, a
barefooted fellow in a tattered gown. The two interpreters stood in line
before us, and the pasha nodded to me to begin. I opened, perhaps,
a little too elaborately; Achmed put my remarks into Arabic, and the
second dragoman translated that again into Turkish. What the speech
became by the time it reached the ear of the pasha I could not tell, but
his face darkened at once, and he peremptorily shook his head. The word
came back to me that the pasha would n't let him out; Abd-el-Atti must
stay in jail till his trial. I then began to argue the matter,—to say
that there was no criminal suit against him, only an action for damages,
and that I would be responsible for his appearance when required. The
translations were made; but I saw that I was every moment losing ground;
no one could tell what my solicitations became after being strained
through Arabic and Turkish. My case was lost, because it could not be
heard.
Suddenly it occurred to me that the pasha might know some European
language. I turned to him, and asked him if he spoke German. O, yes! The
prospect brightened, and if I also had spoken that language, we should
have had no further trouble. However, desperation beat up my misty
recollection, and I gave the pasha a torrent of broken German that
evidently astonished him. At any rate, he became gracious as soon as he
understood me. He said that Abd-el-Atti was not confined on account of
the suit,—he knew nothing and cared nothing for his difficulty with
Ouardy,—but for his contempt of the police and soldiers. I explained
that, and added that Abd-el-Atti was an old man, that I had been
doctoring him for a fever ever since we were in Damascus, that I feared
to have him stay in that damp jail over Sunday, and that I would be
responsible for his appearance.
“Do you mean to say,” he asked, “that you will be personally
responsible that he appears at the seraglio Monday morning?”
“Certainly,” I said, “for his appearance at any time and place
your Excellency may name.”
“Then he may go.” He gave the order to his dragoman to accompany us
and procure his release, and we retired, with mutual protestations of
the highest consideration. Achmed was nearly beside himself with joy.
The horses seemed to him to crawl; he could n't wait the moment to
announce to Abd-el-Atti his deliverance. “Ah, they thought to keep
Abd-el-Atti in jail all night, and sent word to Cairo, 'Abd-el-Atti is
in jail.' Abd-el-Atti Effendi! Take my advice, a man of respect.”
The cobble-paved court of the old seraglio prison, to which the guards
admitted us without question, was only dimly lighted by an oil-lamp or
two, and we could distinguish a few figures flitting about, who looked
like malefactors, but were probably keepers. We were shown into a side
room, where sat upon the ground an official, perhaps a judge, and
two assistants. Abd-el-Atti was sent for. The old man was brought in,
swinging his string of beads in his hand, looking somewhat crest-fallen,
but preserving a portentous gravity. I arose and shook hands with
him, and told him we had come to take him out. When we were seated,
a discussion of the case sprung up, the official talked, his two
assistants talked, and Abd-el-Atti and Achmed talked, and there was
evidently a disposition to go over the affair from the beginning. It
was a pity to cut short so much eloquence, but I asked the pasha's
dragoman to deliver his message, and told Achmed that we would postpone
the discussion till Monday, and depart at once. The prisoner was
released, and, declining coffee, we shook hands and got away with all
haste. As we drove to the hotel, Abd-el-Atti was somewhat pensive, but
declared that he would rather give a hundred pounds than not be let
out that night; and when we reached home, Achmed, whose spirits were
exuberant, insisted on dragging him to the café opposite, to exhibit
him in triumph.
When I came down in the morning, Achmed was in the hall.
“Well, Achmed, how are you?”
“Firste-class,” closing his eyes with a humorous twinkle. “I'm
in it now.”
“In what?”
“In the case with Mohammed Abd-el-Atti. That Ouardy says I pay him
damage twenty thousand francs. Twenty thousand francs, I wish he may
get it! How much, I s'pose, for the consul? Take my advice, the consul
want money.”
“Then the suit will keep you here with Abd-el-Atti?”
“Keep, I don't know. I not pay him twenty thousand francs, not one
thousand, not one franc. What my ladies do? Who go to Constantinople
with my ladies? To-morrow morning come the steamer. To leave the old man
alone with these thiefs, what would anybody say of Mohammed Achmed for
that? What for consul is this? I want to go to Constantinople with my
ladies, and then to see my family in Alexandria. For one day in five
months have I see my wife and shild. O yes, I have very nice wife. Yes,
one wife quite plenty for me. And I have a fine house, cost me twenty
thousand dollars; I am not rich, but I have plenty, God forgive me. My
shop is in the silk bazaar. I am merchant. My father-in-law say what for
I go dragoman? I like to see nice peoples and go in the world. When I
am dragoman, I am servant. When I am merchant, O, I am very well in
Alexandria. I think I not go any more. Ah, here is Abd-el-Atti. Take my
advice, he not need to be dragoman; he is pooty off. Good morning, my
friend. Have they told you I am to be put in jail also?”
“So I hear; Ouardy sue you and Abdallah so you cannot be witness.”