Part 50

A stranger presenting himself before a douar, stands some little way off, and pronounces these words: Dif rebi—"a guest sent by Allah." The effect is magical. Whatever may be his condition of life, they throw themselves on him, tear him from one another, and hold his stirrup while he alights. The servants lead away his horse, about whom, if he be a man of good breeding, he will not give himself any further trouble. He himself is almost dragged into a tent, and whatever is ready to hand is set before him, until a banquet can be prepared. Nor is less attention shown to a traveller on foot. The master of the tent keeps his guest company throughout the whole of the day, and only leaves him to make way for sleep. No indiscreet questions are ever asked, such as: Whence comest thou? Who art thou? Whither goest thou? There is no instance of any evil having ever befallen a stranger thus received as a guest, even though he were a mortal enemy. At his departure, the master of the tent will say to him: "Follow thy good fortune;" and after the guest has fairly taken his departure, his entertainer is no longer answerable for anything. In retiring from the hospitable repast, if the stranger pass before a douar and be seen, he is obliged again to accept the invitations that are pressed upon him.

A certain class of men live entirely on alms and hospitality. These are the dervishes. Absorbed in prayer, these pious individuals are the object of universal veneration. "Beware of offering them an insult, for Allah will punish you." A request made by them is never refused. By the side of these mendicant monks, who so exactly reproduce a particular feature of the Middle Ages, it seems appropriate to place the tolbas, or learned men, and the "wise women," who fill in the Sahara the part that belonged in the olden times to the magicians, alchemists, and sorcerers, and those other impostors celebrated by Tasso and Ariosto, and ridiculed by Cervantes. It is to these tolbas and aged dames that both men and women apply for a philter, composed of various herbs prepared with solemn invocations and awesome or grotesque ceremonies, which is mixed with the food of the swain or damsel whose love is longed for. It is they, again, who write magic words and the name of the hated one on a piece of paper and a dead man's bone taken from a cemetery, and then bury together the paper and the bone, which will soon be joined by the enemy, "with his belly full of worms." They will teach you, too, the formula you must pronounce while closing your knife, in order to sever the life of an odious rival; and that which you must throw into the furnace over which is being cooked the food of the family you would poison; and that which you must write on a copper plate, or flattened ball, to be flung into the stream whither repairs to drink the woman on whom you would avenge yourself—seized with a dysentery as rapid as the river, she will die, if she do not yield herself up to you. To effect her cure, the first sorcery must be counteracted by a second.

After these come the long train of spectres, the phantoms of those who have died a violent death. If one of them pursue you, lose no time in exclaiming: "Return to thy hole. Thou canst not frighten me. I feared thee not when thou didst carry arms." It will follow you yet a little, but will soon desist. If you are seized with terror and attempt to flee, you will hear in the air the clashing of arms, and a horse in full pursuit behind, with yells and horrible uproar, until you drop exhausted by fatigue.

In Morocco, on the banks of the Ouad Noun, about twenty days march westward of Souss, the most famous sorcerers are found. There is there a whole school of alchemists and necromancers, and of occult sciences, besides a talking mountain, and many others marvels of the magical world. The common people alone are debased to these superstitions. The wealthy, the marabouts, the tolbas of the zaouïa; and the sheurfaa, scrupulously follow the precepts of religion and read the sacred books; but the vulgar herd are plunged in ignorance, and barely know two or three prayers and the confession of faith. They likewise pray very rarely, and only perform their ablutions when they find water. The chiefs do their utmost to dispel this ignorance. Even on a journey they take care that the moudden never fail to proclaim the hour of prayer, and they establish schools in their tents. But a life of fatigue, wandering, and migration, soon causes the Arabs to forget the lessons of their childhood. Men of all ranks, however, take pleasure in having them recalled to mind in the garb of poesy by the meddah, or religious bards, who go about at festivals singing the praises of Allah, and the saints, and the holy war, accompanying themselves the while with flute and tambourine. These bards are rewarded with numerous presents.

THE ARAB ARISTOCRACY.

"Take a thorny shrub," said the Emir Abd-el-Kader to me one day, "and water it for a whole year with rose-water, and it will still yield nothing but thorns. But take a date-tree, and leave it without water, without cultivation, and it still will produce dates." From the Arab point of view the nobles are this date-tree, and the common people that thorny shrub. In the East, great faith is placed in the power of blood and in the virtue of race. The aristocracy is regarded not only as a social necessity, but as an absolute law of nature. No one ever dreams of revolting against this truism, which is accepted by all with a placid resignation. The head is the head and the tail the tail, is what the lowest of the Arab shepherds would say.

In addition to this long descended and sacred nobility composed of the sherifs, or descendants of the Prophet, there are two distinct classes of aristocracy—the one the aristocracy of religion, the other the aristocracy of the sword. The marabouts and the djouad—for such are their designations—the former deriving their position from their piety, the latter from their courage, the former from prayer, the latter from battle, regard each other with an implacable hatred. The djouad reproach the marabouts with the offences which in all countries are eagerly attributed to religious orders that aim at the direction of human affairs. They accuse them of ambition, of intriguing, of underhand proceedings, and of an insatiable covetousness for the good things of the earth masked by a pretended love of Allah and of Heaven. One of their proverbs declares "From the zaouïa a serpent is ever issuing." From this it appears that the Arabs, while chaunting the praises of the aristocracy, do not hesitate, sound Believers as they are, to speak the truth with regard to their priesthood. The marabouts, on the other hand, charge the djouad with violence, rapine, and impiety. This last accusation furnishes them with a terrible weapon of offence. They stand in the same relation towards their rivals as did the clergy of the Middle Ages towards the lay nobles who, notwithstanding the imposing appearance of their warlike power, could yet be reached by an anathema. In like manner, if the djouad exercise an influence over the people through the memory of perils encountered and blood shed, and all the prestige of military achievements, the marabouts on their part are armed with the omnipotence of religious faith acting on popular imagination. More than once has a marabout, feared or loved by the people, imperilled the power and even the life of a djieud. Nevertheless it is the djieud whom I now propose to portray, because the life of the desert is especially the life of the warrior. To exhibit at one glance a noble of the Sahara in all the pomp, noise, and animation of his existence, it is necessary to depict the interior of a great tent at the moment when the day begins, from eight o'clock to noon.

The poets of antiquity have many a time described the crowd of clients who were wont to inundate the porticoes of a patrician palace in ancient Rome. A great tent in the desert in these days resembles in its way the luxurious mansions painted by Horace and Juvenal. Gravely seated on a carpet, with that dignified demeanour which is the peculiar privilege of Orientals, the chief of the tribe receives in their turn all who come to invoke his authority. This one complains of a neighbour who has endeavoured to seduce his wife, that one accuses a wealthy man of refusing to pay a debt, another is anxious to recover some cattle that have been stolen from him, while a fourth demands protection for his daughter whom a brutal husband maltreats in the most shameful manner. The first quality in a chief is patience. Assailed on all sides by violent recriminations, he lends an attentive ear to each, and strives to heal the wounds of every description which are disclosed to him. "A man in authority," says an eastern apophthegm, "ought to imitate the physicians who never apply the same remedies to all diseases." In these "beds of justice" that recall the primitive manner in which our ancient kings disposed of the private interests of their subjects, the Arab chief employs the utmost sagacity, the greatest force of character, with which he may have been endowed. To some he gives orders, to others advice: to no one does he refuse the aid of his wisdom and influence. Nor has he need only of the quality that Solomon demanded of the Lord. Wisdom must be combined with generosity and valour. The highest praise that can be awarded is to say of him that "his sabre is always drawn, his hand always open." He must never weary of practising the somewhat ostentatious, and yet at the same time noble and touching, charity, enjoined by the Mussulman law as an obligation on all Believers. His tent must be a refuge for the unfortunate, nor may any one die of hunger in his neighbourhood; for the Prophet hath said: "Allah will never accord his mercy but to the merciful. Believers, give alms, if it be only the half of a date. Whoso gives alms to-day shall be amply recompensed to-morrow."

If a warrior loses the horse that was his sole strength, if a family is robbed of the flocks that furnished its subsistance, it is to the chief, and to the chief alone, the sufferers address themselves. However strong may be the love of pelf, it never goes so far as to make him risk the loss of his influence; and the Arab noble, while in so many respects resembling the Baron of the Middle Ages, differs from him in one essential point—he abhors gambling. Neither cards nor dice ever wile away the leisure hours in a tent. An Arab chief may neither indulge in play, nor lend money at usurious rates of interest. The only way in which he may turn his money to account, is by indirect participation in some commercial enterprise. He hands over a certain sum to a merchant, who trades with it, and, at the end of so many years, divides with the lender the profits he has gathered. It must not, however, be supposed that riches are therefore despised by Orientals. With them, as in every other part of the world, wealth is one of the indispensable conditions of power. Whoever falls into poverty, falls also very quickly into obscurity, while he who makes a fortune enters upon the path of honours. But, in order to follow out an ambitious career, it is by the right arm rather than by industry that wealth must be acquired. When a warrior has made a number of razzias that have brought him at the same time glory and gold, he is surnamed Ben-Deraou, "the son of his arm," and may aspire to the highest dignities of the tribe. This brings us back to the quality which should be the groundwork of every noble Arab's soul—valour.

"Nothing," said Abd-el-Kader, "throws out so well as blood the dazzling whiteness of a burnous." An Arab chief, like our captains in the olden times, should be more valiant than all his men at arms. He must distinguish himself by warlike feats as much as by his bearing at fantasias. His influence would be for ever lost if he were suspected of faintness of heart. But it is the reality, not the appearance, which the Arabs appreciate. What they admire is a spirit nobly tempered, and not the frame of a mere giant, or athlete. This is the place to combat the widely spread prejudice that a lofty stature and bodily strength make a deep impression upon them. Such is far from being the case. They take pleasure in man's being robust, patient of thirst and hunger, and capable of enduring severe fatigue; but they care very little for tallness of stature, or for muscular force like that of our porters, or showman's Hercules. They reserve their esteem for activity, address, and courage. It little matters to them whether a man be tall or short; and not unfrequently, while looking at some Colossus whose huge proportions are being vaunted in their presence, they may be heard to murmur sententiously: "What to us is the stature or strength! Let us see the heart. After all, it may be only the skin of a lion on the back of a cow."

But notwithstanding this admiration of valour, there is no point of honour among the Arabs such as prevails among ourselves. In their eyes there is no cowardice in retreating before superior numbers, or even in fleeing before an enemy of inferior strength, if there is nothing to be gained by fighting. They often laugh among themselves at our chivalrous scruples. Fond as they are of riding at furious speed, and of the noisy discourse of fire-arms, they nevertheless desire to have some object of public utility as their motive for battle. Full of ardour so long as Fortune leads them on, they disperse and disappear as soon as she betrays them. In forming, therefore, their judgment of acts of bravery, there are many essential points of difference between them and ourselves. Their respect for courage never urges them to excessive severity towards those who are deficient in that quality. A coward will never rise to any post of dignity in his tribe, but neither will he be an object of contempt. They will merely say of him, with that absence of anger which usually accompanies fatalism: "It was not the will of Allah that he should be brave. He is to be pitied rather than blamed." A man of faint heart is expected, however, to redeem his shortcomings by the prudence of his counsels, and above all by an unfailing generosity.

Braggadocio is treated with greater contempt than cowardice. "If thou sayest that the lion is an ass, go and put a halter on him," is an oriental proverb in very general use. In spite of the heat of their blood and the hyperbolical character of their speech, the Arabs demand from true courage that dignified silence which they regard so highly. In this respect they have nothing in common with the nations with whom they fought in the time of the Cid; nor yet under the head of single combats, which are entirely unknown among them. A tradition, which probably dates from the crusades, asserts that in the olden time illustrious chiefs met each other in single combat, but the oldest members of the tribes of the present day have no personal recollection of anything of the kind. If a man deems himself seriously affronted, he avenges himself by assassination. There are individuals with easy consciences and complacent dispositions who, for a very moderate sum, will rid you of an enemy. But if the aggrieved happens to be more sparing of his gold than of his life—his hand being more ready to strike than his purse to open—he watches his opportunity to fall upon the man who has wronged him. He kills him, or is killed by him. In the former case it is a common thing to bequeath to another the debt of blood; for, in the absence of duelling, private revenge is in a very flourishing condition among the Arabs, and descends from generation to generation. Among them still prevail those family feuds which formerly dyed red the pavements of Italian cities, and which even in the present day stain the soil of an island of France.

The ordinary causes of the Arab vendetta are disputes as to wells, pasturage and landmarks, the rape of a young wife or daughter, the murder of a jealous husband, of a successful rival, or of a woman who has refused compliance,—or rivalries of chiefs, whose quarrel is espoused, first of all, by their relations, friends, and clients, then by the whole tribe, and at last by the tribes in alliance with them. As a natural consequence of the absence of the duello, private disputes are settled by assassination, and the feud, being transmitted from kin to kin and constantly provided with new fuel, goes on to eternity. The vendetta is either of a private or public nature, according as the injury to be avenged affects an individual or a tribe. If from any cause a man happen to lose his life through the act of a chief, or even of a humble member of a neighbouring tribe, the homicide can arrange the affair legally by paying the dya, or blood money, to the heirs of the deceased. The dya is the same as the Wehrgeld of the Germans, with this difference—that not only is it legal, but from its first institution it assumed a religious character. According to the tolbas, it may be traced back to Abd-el-Mettaleb, the grandfather of Mohammed, and was indirectly the cause of the birth of the Prophet. Abd-el-Mettaleb, chief of the tribe of the Koreishites, had no children, and in his despair he offered up the following prayer to Allah: "Lord, if thou wilt bestow upon me ten sons, I swear to sacrifice one of them unto thee as a thanksgiving offering." Allah heard his prayer and made him ten times a father. Faithful to his vow, Abd-el-Mettaleb left it to the drawing of lots to decide who should be the victim. The lot fell upon Abd-Allah; but, the tribe opposing this sacrifice, it was resolved by the chiefs that, instead of Abd-Allah, ten camels should be set aside as a stake and recourse again had to lots until they turned up in favour of the lad, ten camels being added to the first for every time the lots had been unfavourable. It was not until the eleventh trial that Abd-Allah was redeemed, and one hundred camels were sacrificed in his place. Some time afterwards Allah manifested His satisfaction with this exchange, for He caused Mohammed his Prophet to be born to Abd-Allah; and ever since then the price of an Arab's life has been fixed at one hundred camels. Circumstances, however, sometimes occur to reduce this high standard.

There is scarcely an instance on record of a homicide who has paid the dya being otherwise proceeded against, or of the parents or the children of the deceased hesitating to accept this satisfaction. But if he be too poor to pay it, or if the Government has thought fit to interfere in the matter, he is condemned to suffer like for like, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. When I was consul for France at Mascara, in 1837, accredited to Abd-el-Kader, I had an opportunity of witnessing the application of the lex talionis in its utmost rigour. Two children having quarrelled in the street, their fathers interposed, and from insults proceeded to threats, until one of them, gradually becoming infuriated, drew his knife and stabbed his adversary, who fell down dead upon the spot. The latter received five wounds; one on his right, a second on his left, breast, two in the stomach, and the fifth in the back. A mob collected, and the shaoushs, or police agents seized the murderer and led him before the hakem, or mayor of the town. The aoulemas, or doctors of the law, immediately assembled, and constituted themselves a tribunal. In less than half an hour the witnesses were heard, and the culprit was sentenced to undergo the full penalty of the lex talionis at the hands of his victim's brother. At a signal given by the Cadi, two shaoushs bound his wrists together with a rope, and, placing themselves on either side of him, conducted him, preceded by the executioner, to the market-place, thronged at the time by two or three thousand Arabs. However horrible might be the singular drama about to be acted, it furnished me with an opportunity for a rare experience, and I succeeded in overcoming the instinctive repugnance, which I at first felt, to being present. By the time I reached the spot, the shaoushs, by dint of freely plying their sticks, had forced back the crowd to the circumference of a spacious circle, the centre of which was occupied by the executioner and his victim, the one with his knife in his hand, the other calm and indifferent to what was about to happen. According to the sentence, the murderer was to receive as many stabs as he had inflicted, and in the same order and in the same parts of the body as the man he had murdered. When all was ready,—and the preparations were merely what I have described,—a shaoush raised his staff, by way of signal. The Arab with the knife immediately rushed on his victim, and stabbed him first on the right and then on the left breast, but evidently without touching the heart, for the poor wretch cried aloud: "Strike! Strike! But think not that it is thou who takest my life. Allah alone takes away life." The punishment, however, was continued with horrible fury, and the criminal, whose entrails protruded from two fresh wounds he received in the belly, never ceased to revile his executioner. There still remained one other blow to give. The wounded man turned round of himself, and the blade of the knife disappeared entirely in his loins. He staggered, but did not fall. "Enough! Enough!" cried the mob. "He gave only five blows, and he ought not to receive more." The execution was over, and the unfortunate man who underwent all this torture had still sufficient strength to return to his own house on foot. M. Warnier, physician to the consulate, arrived there almost at the same instant as himself, and while he was endeavouring to sew together the gaping mouths of the two wounds in the belly, the patient kept crying aloud: "Oh! I pray you, heal me! They say thou art a great physician; prove it, heal me, so that I may kill that dog!" It was all in vain, for that night he died.

But if the murderer be the master of a great tent, and sufficiently influential to induce the tribe to exercise forbearance towards him, and therefore refuses to pay any blood money, he will sooner or later expiate that refusal with his life, which the vendetta will overtake though justice lag behind. From his death, however, will arise a deadly feud, as I have already shown. I could give many instances of the vendetta; and the one that follows, being equally illustrative of the customs of a powerful Saharene tribe, the Shamba, and of those of a people of the Great Desert, the Touareg, separated from one another by at least two hundred leagues, will afford a just notion of those obstinate hatreds, of that thirst for vengeance which always embody themselves in the same acts of violence. A band of the Shamba, commanded by Ben-Mansour, chief of Ouargla, surprised, near the Djebel-Baten, some Touaregs who were watering their camels in the Oued-Mia, under the leadership of Kheddash, chief of the Djebel-Hoggar. An implacable hatred, the origin of which is unknown, divides the Shamba from the Touaregs—the latter, besides, being in a state of perpetual vendetta against the Saharenes, either because they are Berbers and not Arabs, or because they levy a tax on the caravans to and from Soudan. A bloody conflict ensued, and the Touaregs were put to the rout, leaving ten of their party dead upon the ground, and among them their chief, whose headless body they found some days afterwards. Ben-Mansour had carried off his head, which he exposed, as a trophy of his victory, over one of the gates of Ouargla. The tidings spread mourning throughout the Djebel-Hoggar, and an oath was taken: "May my tent be destroyed if Kheddash be not avenged!" Kheddash left behind him a widow of great beauty named Fetoum, and one young child. According to usage, Fetoum was entitled to rule, assisted by the Council of Nobles, until such time as her son should be of age to assume the leadership. One day, therefore, when the leading men were assembled in her tent, she said to them: "My brethren, whichever of you will bring me Ben-Mansour's head shall have me for wife." That same evening all the young men of the mountain armed themselves for war, and went to her, saying: "To-morrow we will set out with our servants to seek thy wedding present." And at the dawn of day three hundred Touaregs, commanded by Ould-Biska, a cousin of Kheddash, set out on their march to the northward. Hardly had they taken up their position at their first halt, when they beheld coming up behind them half a score of camels with riders, and among them one fleeter of foot and more richly accoutred than the others. They at once recognized the camel of Fetoum, for Fetoum had come in person to join their little army. She was greeted with loud acclamations, for it seemed to them, and perhaps with reason, that she had come expressly to be able more promptly to fulfil her promise. It was the month of May, when water is to be found in every ravine, and the sands are clothed with herbage. During the halt on the eighth day, the scouts came in with the news that a strong body of the Shamba, commanded by Ben-Mansour, were driving their flocks towards the grazing grounds of the Oued-Nessa. The Shamba, however, having received intelligence of the approach of the Touaregs, had turned suddenly towards the north and had already gained the Oued-Mzab. But their retreat was speedily discovered, and by a forced march of a day and a night, the Touaregs placed themselves in ambush in ravines and brushwood at a distance of only a few leagues from the enemy, who had now no suspicion of their presence. All that day they rested, and when night came they again took to the plain, putting their camels to a long swinging trot. At length about midnight the barking of the dogs betrayed the douar of which they were in search. The next moment, on a signal given by Ould-Biska, they dashed forward uttering their war-cry. Of the Shamba, at the most not more than five or six escaped, and one even of these was wounded by Ould-Biska who, with a thrust of his long spear, struck him in the loin. Run away with by his mare, the ill-fated horseman, rolling from side to side but still keeping his seat, went on a few steps, but presently he sank forward and fell over on to the sand, dragging down with him in his fall a child seven or eight years of age whom he had till then kept concealed in his burnous. "Ben-Mansour! Ben-Mansour! knowest thou Ben-Mansour?" demanded Ould-Biska. "He was my father—behold him!" replied the boy, calm and erect beside the dead body. At that moment, Fetoum came up, followed, surrounded, and closely hemmed in by a group of the Touaregs. "It is I who have slain him!" cried Ould-Biska. "And it shall be done as I said," answered Fetoum; "but take thy poniard, open the body of the accursed, tear out his heart, and throw it to the dogs."

While Ould-Biska, kneeling on the ground and stooping over the corpse, proceeded to execute this order, Fetoum, her lips compressed and her whole frame trembling with nervous excitement, gloated over the shocking spectacle. And when at last the slougui had finished their horrible repast, her revenge being now complete, Fetoum remounted her mahari and gave the signal for retreat, without taking any heed of the booty her followers were piling up, or of the flocks they were driving together. As to the son of Ben-Mansour, his life was spared, but they abandoned him to his fate. For two days he remained there, weeping, thirsting, hungering, and exposed to the sun, but on the third day he was found by some shepherds who conveyed him to Ouargla, where he was living in 1845. Thus the dogs of the Touaregs have eaten the heart of the chief of the Shamba, and it may be easily imagined that this will be the subject of an undying feud, that will know neither respite nor mercy.

I will not dwell any further upon customs impressed with such savage energy. By way of contrast, I will now trace some family sketches, commencing with the reverence attached to the paternal authority. So long as the child is in his infancy, the tent belongs to him, and his father is in some respects the first of his slaves. His sports are the delight of the family, his whims the life and soul of the domestic circle. But as soon as he attains to puberty, he is taught the utmost deference. He is not even allowed to speak in the presence of his father, or to attend the same meetings. This absolute respect which he is bound to exhibit towards the head of the family, he is also obliged to pay to his eldest brother. However, notwithstanding their aristocratic severity, the customs of the Arabs do not come up to the gloomy rigour of the Roman Patricians. A father, for instance, would never condemn his son to death unless he has dishonoured his couch—for any other offence he would merely banish him from his presence.

Thus far I have sketched with a coarse and rapid pencil the character of the Arab aristocracy; I will now endeavour to represent the actual life of a noble in some of its most solemn moments.

The day on which a child is born in a great tent is one of much rejoicing. Every one visits the father of the new-born, and says to him: "May thy son be happy!" And while the men press round the father, the mother is not neglected, for the women of the tribe flock to see her. Both men and women have their hands full of presents, proportioned to their means. From camels, sheep, and costly apparel, down to grain and dates, all the treasures of the desert abound in the tent which Allah has just visited with his blessing. The recipient of all these tokens of affection and respect is obliged to exercise a large hospitality. Sometimes for twenty consecutive days, he feeds and entertains his guests. These festivals in the desert have that air of grandeur which belongs to all the scenes that are enacted in this solemn theatre of primitive life.

As soon as the child is old enough, he learns to read and write, which is an innovation among the djouad, for until recently the marabouts alone cultivated letters. The man of the sword, like our mediæval barons, held learning in contempt. It seemed to him that, in cultivating his mind, some sort of injury was done to his energy of character. But since they have beheld the humblest of our soldiers possessed of knowledge without their courage being impaired, the Arabs have changed their opinion on the subject. Besides, those who took service with us soon discovered that education conferred a title to favours. Many of them too, murmur to one another with a tone of sad resignation: "Formerly we were able to live in ignorance, for peace and happiness were with us; but in this time of trouble through which we are compelled to pass, science must come to our aid." Our influence thus gradually accomplishes, in the very heart of the desert, the work of civilisation, of which some among us speak so despondingly, and others so lightly.

The culture of letters, however, does not lead, in the education of the Arab, to any neglect of the art of managing a horse or of handling fire-arms. As soon as a child can sit on a horse, he is placed, first of all, on the back of a colt, and then on the full grown animal. When his frame begins to take form, he is taken out hunting, and taught to fire at a mark, and to bury his spear in the flanks of a wild boar. By the time he has attained his sixteenth or seventeenth year, has learned the Koran, and has been accustomed to fast, he is married. The Prophet has said: "Marry when young. Marriage subdues the glance of the man's eye, and regulates the conduct of the woman." Up to that epoch, paternal tenderness watches over the purity of his manners with unceasing vigilance. The lad is never left to himself. A tutor or an attendant accompanies him wherever he goes. Men of dissolute habits and women of a loose course of life are carefully kept away from him. He is expected to bring to the companion of his life a body in robust health, and a soul untainted by pollution. They select for him a youthful maiden of birth equal to his own, of unspotted reputation, and, if possible, of great beauty. It is the women of the family who ascertain these points, being permitted to examine the tents in which dwell young girls of marriageable years. A betrothal takes place, followed in due time by the wedding.

The first of these days of festival, which like those at the birth of a child, last for some time, is called nahr refoude, or the day of the rape. Four or five hundred horsemen, magnificently attired, riding their finest horses, carrying their most valuable arms, and conducted by the kinsmen of the bride, proceed to the tent of the latter. They are accompanied by women closely veiled and mounted on camels and mules. The youngest and most beautiful damsels of the tribe are chosen for this joyful mission. The journey, which sometimes lasts three days, is one continual fantasia. The horsemen gallop to and fro, there is a constant discharge of fire-arms, and the women utter that long drawn cry of love and joy which fills the heart of the children of the desert with ineffable emotion. At the arrival of this triumphal procession, the father of the bride comes forth and exclaims "You are welcome, O guests of Allah!" Then follow banquetings and rejoicings until the morrow, when they again set out. This time the bride forms one of the cavalcade, mounted on a camel, or mule, richly caparisoned. She has taken no leave of her father. An almost false sense of delicacy forbids her to appear in his presence at a moment when her fate is about to undergo an entire change. She is equally prohibited from seeing her elder brothers. Her girlhood's life is finished. Henceforth she belongs to another family.

When she is on the point of starting, her mother tenderly embraces her and says: "You are going away from those from whose loins you sprang. You are going far away from the nest that has so long sheltered you, and whence you issued forth to learn to walk, and that in order to go to a man whom you know not, and to whose society you have never been accustomed. I advise you to be to him as a slave, if you wish that he should be to you as a servant. Be satisfied with little. Keep a constant watch over all that is likely to come under his eyes, and let not his eyes ever behold an evil action. See to his food and his sleep. Hunger causes anger, the want of sleep produces ill humour. Take care of his property. Treat his kinsfolk and slaves with kindness. Be dumb as to his secrets. When he rejoices, show no signs of sorrow. When he is sorrowful, show no signs of joy. Allah will bless you!"

While this nuptial journey is being accomplished, the bridegroom prepares a tent richly ornamented, which he places under the safeguard of some of his friends. Into this the bride enters with her mother and female relatives. A choice banquet is presented to her, and outside a festival is celebrated, which, with gunpowder and music, combines all that enters into the desert notion of rejoicing. At ten at night the husband glides into the tent, now silent and deserted.

A wedding feast is often prolonged over three days and nights, and is repeated each time the husband takes a fresh wife. An Arab chief is permitted by the law to have four wives at the same time, but even these do not suffice for the gratification of these fickle and voluptuous temperaments. It is in vain that, by a custom which recalls to mind Biblical manners, a Mussulman husband is allowed to associate concubines with his legitimate wives. Even this tolerance is insufficient, and recourse is had to divorce to appease these insatiable and ever craving appetites. Instances have been known of an Arab chief having had a dozen to fifteen lawful wives. As may easily be imagined, peace is far from reigning in households where the law recognizes the existence of such elements of discord. Sometimes the tent is divided into two parts, one chamber being exclusively reserved for the women, the other belonging to the husband, who selects from among his wives the one he fancies for that night. Terrible jealousies secretly spring into being, and, gradually gaining strength, finish by an explosion. Frequently a wife who is preferred to her fellows is seized with a mysterious illness, under which she languishes, fades away, and dies—a poison prepared by a rival's hand has passed into her veins. This is the gloomy side of eastern manners—crime allying itself to lust.

The immense part played by wives in the life of the Mussulmans is shown by the following fact. Tell an Arab that he is a coward, he will submit to the insult—if he is a coward, it is the will of Allah that it should be so. Call him a thief, he will smile; for in his eyes a theft is sometimes a meritorious act. But address him as tahan—a word which the language of Molière could alone translate with concise forcibleness—and you will kindle in his breast a fury that blood only can extinguish. The only man whom an Arab will never forgive is one who can with truth cast in his teeth that ill-omened epithet.

After marriage the noble of the desert enters upon a new life, and upon a sphere of individual action. He is now emancipated, though not in an absolute fashion unless he is the head of the tent, and master of his own goods and chattels, or if his father is still alive. However, even under these circumstances, he henceforth counts among his tribe as a man of action and of counsel, and by accumulated experience he will put the finishing touch to his training as a great lord, thus far sketched out by the habit of seeing good examples and hearing good advice. Already he has his own clients, his own horses, his own greyhounds, his own falcons, and all the equipments for war and the chace. His clients are young men of his own age, the courtiers of his future eminence. His horses have been chosen from among those that bring good fortune, and of the best authenticated descent. His greyhounds have been fed on dates crushed in milk, and on the kouskoussou of his own meals. They have been broken in by himself; and, while the vulgar dogs of the tribe bark all night at the hyænas and jackals, they lie couched at his feet, beneath the tent, and even upon his very bed. His falcons have been reared under his own eyes by his own falconer, and he himself has taken care to accustom them to his cry on throwing them off and on calling them back. Among his hunting and warlike equipments there are guns from Tunis, or Algiers, damascened and mounted in silver, the stocks incrusted with coral or with mother of pearl—sabres from Fez with scabbards of chased silver—and saddles embroidered in gold and silk on a groundwork of velvet or morocco leather. To complete his accoutrements, I may mention the sabretache ornamented with panther's skin, plated spurs incrusted with coral, the medol, or high-crowned broad-brimmed straw hat, with a plume of ostrich feathers, and the malhazema, or cartridge-box of morocco leather pinked with silk, gold, and silver.

At some future days when his father has paid "the contribution levied by Allah on every head," that spacious tent will be his, with all its luxurious furniture, carpets, pillows, jewel-bags, silver cups, and supplies of arms, ammunition, and food for the whole family, consisting of from twenty-five to thirty individuals, including master and servants. His, also will be that stallion and those mares picketed in front of the tent, those eight or ten negroes and negresses, those stores of wheat, barley, dates, and honey prudently placed beyond all danger of a coup de main in a town or village of the desert, those eight or ten thousand sheep, and those five or six hundred camels scattered over the grazing ground, in the care of shepherds who follow their wanderings. His fortune may then be estimated at from twenty-five to twenty-six thousand douros [nearly £6,000].