pared for so sudden an exodus. We found the rooms in “most admired disorder,” and everything looked as if the late occupants had been menaced with, and taken flight from fire and sword, earthquake, or other convulsion. There were on the carpets and the divans, Cashmere shawls and unfinished embroidery, and decorated slippers, and musical instruments, and broken nosegays; but absolute silence reigned. Beyond these last apartments I neither penetrated nor sought to penetrate, any such attempt would have been alike a great discourtesy to the rules of the country, and an offensive intrusion. The ladies were not unaware of the presence of foreign guests, and the next morning bouquets of fragrant flowers and sweetmeats prepared by their own fair fingers were brought to us for acceptance. The most distinguished and acceptable present from the ladies of the harem is, however, a fairly woven kerchief, or napkin, on which the receiver’s name, or a verse of poetry, or a sentence of the Koran, is wrought in Arabic letters of gold.
There is a little hidden coquetry in all women’s nature which, conceal it as they may, will break out in the presence of admiring man, and ordinarily the coquetry will be in the proportion of the comeliness of the possessor. No woman is insensible to the charms of her own beauty, and she will seldom fail to exhibit it when she finds the opportunity. It is not an unusual thing among Mussulmans of wealth, when they invite strangers, to give musical or theatrical entertainments after their meals, which the women of the harem honour with their presence; but they are concealed behind gratings and curtains, so that no guest can distinguish their faces, even when their voices are heard; but I have remarked that the prettiest feet are invariably put out under the curtain to be observed and admired, and that through every opening of the damask the brightest eyes were to be seen; and one might always be certain that the loudest tittle-tattle was from the youngest and fairest of the crowd; the master of the house seldom reproves an exhibition from his birds of paradise when fairly and safely caged. If the chances are few which a pretty girl of the harem has to exhibit her graces, she has the ready ingenuity to avail herself of them. There is no doubt a charm in winning the admiration of the other sex—a charm which in the Levant sometimes tempts a lady beyond the limits of maiden modesty and Western decorum. It is the breaking of the string of an overstretched bow.
The first resting-place on the principal road from Damascus to Jerusalem is a very ancient city, and was known by the name of Khan Shekune. It has still some gates of brass, evidence of the great antiquity of the place. The government is administered by a native Syrian, an old man, to whom, as to all the rulers of the country, I had a general recommendatory firman signed by the Sultan, which had been forwarded to me by the courtesy of the British ambassador at Constantinople; and a circular letter from Mahomet Ali, Pacha of Egypt, for which I was indebted to Boghos Bey, then the prime minister at Cairo, a man whose history resembled in many respects that of Joseph, for the vicissitudes through which both passed in their ascent to the highest dignities of the Egyptian State; Boghos Bey had been the adviser and the favorite of Mahomet Ali. On one occasion, when he offered some unpalatable counsel to his despotic master, great offence was taken at his boldness, and the Pacha in a moment of rage ordered his attendants to fling Boghos into the Nile. His Highness was informed that his mandate had been obeyed, instead of which, an old friend, an Hungarian by birth, concealed the Bey, under the conviction that when the moment of passion had passed away, Mahomet Ali would regret the loss, and long for the restoration of his ancient and faithful councillor; and so it was, for some months afterwards the Pacha was seen walking up and down the palace in a disturbed and excited state, saying aloud:—
“O, that I had Boghos Bey to consult! what a misery it is that people are so willing to obey the hasty words they hear!”
After some time the attendant, who had been the saviour of Boghos, found courage to ask his master whether, indeed, the Bey would be welcome if he could be restored, and on Mahomet Ali saying he would purchase his return at any cost, Walmas (for that was the name of his protector), told the Pacha what had happened, and how he had dared to disregard the viceregal mandate, believing that reflection would bring regret at its having been issued. And he introduced Boghos Bey to the Pacha, who received him with the most affectionate expressions, and restored him to his office of Prime Minister with greatly extended powers and influence, an office he held to the day of his death.
But we return to our journey towards Khan Shekune, and on our way thither we heard much of the extraordinary beauty of the old Sheikh’s young wife, who had the fame of being the most lovely woman that had ever been spoken of in those regions, and who was—jealous and distrustful as Oriental husbands frequently are—the object of special jealousy, but, at the same time, of the most affectionate admiration, on the part of her husband. Concealed and secluded, though she lived in the darkness of the harem, yet the brightness of her fair countenance shone by the reflection of its fame like a remote star in the heavens, and the old Sheikh was an object of envy to a thousand youths less privileged than he in their domestic treasures. It was sunset when we reached the Sheikh’s abode, but he came to meet us with the most urbane and perfect courtesy, and the usual phrases that his house was honoured by our presence.
We observed evidence of much disquietude on the good Sheikh’s visage, and it was obvious he was wrestling with some sore but untold anxiety, and that he desired to get rid of a burden which pressed heavily on his mind. At last he let fall that there was sorrow in the harem, that the child of his old age was sick, and, as he feared, at the point of death. It is a habit among Orientals to conceal from others, and even from themselves, the extent of any danger or affliction that seems