The
Faithful Steel (Methley's Yorkshire Servant) Stood Aghast For A
Moment At The Sight Of His Master's Luggage Upon The
Shoulders of
these warlike porters, and when at last we began to move up he
could scarcely avoid turning round
To cast one affectionate look
towards Christendom, but quickly again he marched on with steps of
a man, not frightened exactly, but sternly prepared for death, or
the Koran, or even for plural wives.
The Moslem quarter of a city is lonely and desolate. You go up and
down, and on over shelving and hillocky paths through the narrow
lanes walled in by blank, windowless dwellings; you come out upon
an open space strewed with the black ruins that some late fire has
left; you pass by a mountain of castaway things, the rubbish of
centuries, and on it you see numbers of big, wolf-like dogs lying
torpid under the sun, with limbs outstretched to the full, as if
they were dead; storks, or cranes, sitting fearless upon the low
roofs, look gravely down upon you; the still air that you breathe
is loaded with the scent of citron, and pomegranate rinds scorched
by the sun, or (as you approach the bazaar) with the dry, dead
perfume of strange spices. You long for some signs of life, and
tread the ground more heavily, as though you would wake the
sleepers with the heel of your boot; but the foot falls noiseless
upon the crumbling soil of an Eastern city, and silence follows you
still. Again and again you meet turbans, and faces of men, but
they have nothing for you - no welcome - no wonder - no wrath - no
scorn - they look upon you as we do upon a December's fall of snow -
as a "seasonable," unaccountable, uncomfortable work of God, that
may have been sent for some good purpose, to be revealed hereafter.
Some people had come down to meet us with an invitation from the
Pasha, and we wound our way up to the castle. At the gates there
were groups of soldiers, some smoking, and some lying flat like
corpses upon the cool stones. We went through courts, ascended
steps, passed along a corridor, and walked into an airy,
whitewashed room, with an European clock at one end of it, and
Moostapha Pasha at the other; the fine, old, bearded potentate
looked very like Jove - like Jove, too, in the midst of his clouds,
for the silvery fumes of the narghile {2} hung lightly circling
round him.
The Pasha received us with the smooth, kind, gentle manner that
belongs to well-bred Osmanlees; then he lightly clapped his hands,
and instantly the sound filled all the lower end of the room with
slaves; a syllable dropped from his lips which bowed all heads, and
conjured away the attendants like ghosts (their coming and their
going was thus swift and quiet, because their feet were bare, and
they passed through no door, but only by the yielding folds of a
purder). Soon the coffee-bearers appeared, every man carrying
separately his tiny cup in a small metal stand; and presently to
each of us there came a pipe-bearer, who first rested the bowl of
the tchibouque at a measured distance on the floor, and then, on
this axis, wheeled round the long cheery stick, and gracefully
presented it on half-bended knee; already the well-kindled fire was
glowing secure in the bowl, and so, when I pressed the amber up to
mine, there was no coyness to conquer; the willing fume came up,
and answered my slightest sigh, and followed softly every breath
inspired, till it touched me with some faint sense and
understanding of Asiatic contentment.
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