Читать книгу The Thistle and the Cedar of Lebanon - Habeeb Risk Allah - Страница 7

During the summer evenings, the friends, at whose house I was staying, gave frequent entertainments to their numerous acquaintances amongst the inhabitants of Damascus. On these occasions, the ladies of the different families honoured us with their presence, and occasionally some of the European consuls and merchants were invited. A description of one evening party will describe the whole. First, then, we will introduce the stranger into the house where the farah (feast) is to be held. Women are busily occupied washing out and sweeping the court-yard; the flowers and other plants are fresh watered; the marble fountain is decorated with coloured lanterns and festoons of flowers; carpets are spread, and divan cushions ranged against the wall; the mistaba is tastefully lighted, and a highly inflammable torch, composed of the fat wood of fir, resin, and other ingredients, is planted in each of the four corners. In the smoking apartment of the mistaba, preparations are making on a grand scale. Large bags of ready-washed and prepared timbac are hung upon nails in the wall, to filter and to be fit for immediate use when the narghilies are called into requisition. Tobacco pouches are filled. Two additional mangals of charcoal fire, and some additional coffee-pots are prepared. Decanters are filled with arraki, wine, liqueurs, orange-flower, and rose-water; and the cut-glass saucers replenished with candied preserves; whilst two maid-servants and a boy, assisted and superintended by the mistress of the house, are busy grinding coffee and decocting huge bowls of deliciously-iced lemonade. In addition to all this, a side-table is groaning under the weight of plates of sliced oranges and picked pomegranates, with numerous other fruits, and a great variety of pastry. By the time all these arrangements are completed the night sets in; the whole yard is illuminated; the members of the household and the servants are busily engaged donning their best attire, and the company of hired musicians arrive. The music striking up, is the signal for the nearest invited neighbours to make their appearance. They arrive, the men clad in long, loose silken robes; the women enveloped in their white izars; but these latter are speedily thrown aside at the invitation of the lady of the house, who assists in helping the guests to disrobe, and then confides their izars to the trusty care of the handmaiden.

Now these veils are all of the same make, and they have no initials or other distinguishing mark. Notwithstanding this, no confusion ensues on the breaking up of a party as to identification, every lady is quick to recognise her own peculiar izar from the mass of white sheets that are folded and piled one above another upon the divan in the upstairs dressing-room. Soon the whole party have arrived, and the amusements of the evening commence with vocal and instrumental music. After this, some of the gentlemen stand up and go through the graceful attitudes of the Syrian dance, then some others volunteer the sword dance, or the Bedouin dance, some of the married ladies then take courage; but it requires coaxing and threats to induce the timid damsel to display her skill. Persuasion being out of the question, some old gentleman gets up and pretends that he is going to dance instead of her, and he goes through a few steps till he comes close up to some girl that he has singled out from the circle. Seizing her arm with no very gentle force, he whirls into the centre of the yard, and meanwhile, some one who has watched the manœuvre, acts the same part by some other blushing maiden. These are confronted face to face, and there is now no escape, so they commence at first timidly and bashfully, but getting gradually excited by the music, they lose all this pretended bashfulness, and do their best to outshine each other; and truly there is rarely a more graceful sight than two beautiful Damascene girls, elegantly dressed and bespangled with jewels, displaying their graceful figures to the best advantage, to the slow but becoming measures of the dance. All the other young ladies now follow their example, and as each couple retires at the termination of their efforts to please, they are hailed with shouts of applause, and liberally besprinkled with rose and orange-flower water. The old ladies evince their approbation by a peculiar vibrating scream, produced by the voice passing through the nearly closed lips, whilst the under lip is kept in a continual tremulous state by the rapid application of the back of the forefinger to that feature. When dancing is over for the evening, sometimes games of forfeit are introduced, and promote much mirth, especially one game called “Tuthun Tuthun, min Tuthun”—a game of Turkish origin, as its name denotes, and which is played thus:—Every one in the circle takes the name of a bird, a tree, or a flower, whilst the king of the game goes round and collects in a handkerchief some small article from each one present. These he afterwards shuffles together, and then drawing one out, which he carefully conceals in his hand, he fixes upon some one in the circle, to whom he puts the question “Tuthun Tuthun, min Tuthun?” or, “Tobacco tobacco, whose is it?” The party fixed upon is obliged to guess, and he names some bird or flower which he heard some one call himself; if the guess is wrong, he has to hold out his hand and receive three stripes from a closely knotted handkerchief, and then the party referred to is next obliged to guess to whom the “Tuthun” belongs, and so on all round the circle till the right name has been discovered. Then the king resigns his post and handkerchief, and is relieved in office by him or her that made the right guess.

After these games some one tells a story or recites a poem, a specimen of which I am enabled to introduce, literally translated.

I’ve gazed on many eyes, that shine

As bright; none ever yet so well

Have answered to my heart as thine,

My lovely, little, dear gazelle.

Oh give me but one smile, to tell

Of pity from those gentle eyes:

The thought shall ever with me dwell,

My love you did not all despise.

You move in beauty, while each charm

Subdues the more my amorous soul,

Until my fainting spirits warm

To strength beneath thy sweet control.

Hear then my prayer, to you alone

I bow—Let those who know me not,

Mock, if they will, at pangs unknown:

Your smile, though false, is ne’er forgot.

Mine eyes have often wearied long

To catch thine image passing by;

My saddened spirit grew more strong,

With thee one moment in mine eye.

But oh, if love should ever seek

Its seat within that beauteous breast,

Drive it afar; you see it wreak

On me its power to poison rest.

For bound beneath thy beauty’s sway,

My days in wasting sadness roll;

Though deaf to all, this dust can say,

You’ll meet in heaven, my parted soul.

Deign but my fevered heart to cool,

With but one passing word of hope,

Then shall my tortured spirit school

Itself, with all beside to cope.

But thought is useless, words are vain;

And my bewildered mind can fling

No effort from this maddening brain,

That can to thee its image bring.

For disappointed and beguiled,

I will not spend another sigh;

If you had never on me smiled,

No tear had ever dimmed mine eye.

I will now endeavour to give my readers a specimen of an original Arabic tale in the familiar and colloquial style of these Oriental storytellers so famed for their amusing delivery and gesticulation.