Part 51

At the age, however, at which we parted from him, that is, at eighteen or nineteen, he will have no need as yet to trouble himself about the management of this fortune. At present, he is merely a man of pleasure. In time of peace, he goes forth on horseback, accompanied by his friends and followed by his attendants mounted on camels, who hold his greyhounds in leash or even carry them on their saddle-bow, and proceeds to the distant pasturages to inspect his flocks, taking advantage of the opportunity to hunt the ostrich, or the gazelle, or the bekeur el ouhash, according to the nature of the ground and the season of the year. His leisure hours will be especially devoted to the peculiarly aristocratic and lordly pastime of hawking. These violent sports, which I have already described, mould the nobility for the toils of war and the razzia, to which these children of the desert consecrate all the adventurous ardour and energy that enter into their character.

But as he advances in years, the Arab becomes more sedate. Every white hair in his beard leads him to thoughts of a religious nature. He more and more frequents the society of the men of Allah, and loads them with gifts; and more and more rarely he is seen at the chace, at wedding feasts, and the fantasia. His occupations as a chief leave him, besides, much less idle time. He has to administer justice, increase his means, bring up his children, and contract alliances. Nevertheless, the chivalrous spirit of his youth is only slumbering within him. Let the powder speak to redress an insult offered to his tribe, he will not be the one to remain in his tent. Too happy, he will say, to die like a man in battle, and not like an old woman. Some great families loudly boast that there is no tradition of any one of their ancestors having died in his bed. If, however, he escapes that coveted end, as soon as he feels the hand of death upon him, he summons his friends to his bed-side, for the presence of friends is desired at all the great acts of human existence. "My brethren," he will say to them if he be able to speak, "I shall never see you again in this world; but I was only a pilgrim upon the earth, and I die in the fear of Allah." He will then recite the shehada, or symbolical act of the Mussulman faith: "There is only one God, and Mohammed is the messenger of God." If his lips refuse to pronounce these sacred words, one of those present takes his right hand and lifts up the forefinger. This sign, to which the dying man adheres with all the energy still remaining in his earthly tenement, is a testimony offered to the unity of the Deity. After he has accomplished the shehada, he can die in peace.

Funeral ceremonies are not wanting to the Arab chief, especially to a warrior who has fallen in combating for his tribe. He is wrapped in a white shroud, and exposed to view on a carpet, the borders of which have been turned back. The neddabat, that is to say, the women who in the East replace the hired mourners of antiquity, stand round the corpse, their cheeks blackened with smoke, and their shoulders covered with tent-canvass, or with camel-hair sacks. A few paces off, a slave holds by the bridle the favourite mare of the deceased, and from the kerbouss of the saddle hang a long gun, a yatagan, pistols, and spurs. A little further off, the horsemen of the tribe, old and young, in silent sorrow, sit in a circle upon the sand, their haiks held up close to their eyes and the hood of their burnous brought down over their brow. The neddabat chaunt to a melancholy rhythm the following lamentations:

Where is he? His horse has come, but he has not come;

His sabre has come, but he has not come; His spurs are there, but he is not there; Where is he?

hey say that he died on his day, pierced to the heart. He was a sea of kouskoussou [generosity]; He was a sea of powder; The lord of men, The lord of horsemen, The defender of camels, The protector of strangers. They say that he died on his day.

THE WIFE OF THE DECEASED.

My tent is empty, I am a-cold; Where is my lion? Where shall I find his equal? He never struck but with the sabre; He was a man for the dark days: Fear is in the goum.

THE NEDDABAT.

He is not dead He is not dead! He has left thee his brethren. He has left thee his children; They shall be the bulwarks of thy shoulders. He is not dead! His soul is with Allah. We shall see him again some day.

After these funereal lamentations, the adjaïze, or old women, take possession of the body, wash it carefully, place camphor and cotton in all the natural orifices, and wrap it in a white shroud sprinkled with water from the well of Zem-Zem, and perfumed with benzoin. Four relatives of the deceased then lift by the four corners the carpet on which it is laid, and take the road to the cemetery, preceded by the Iman, the marabouts, and the tolbas, and followed by the others. The former chaunt in a grave manner: "There is only one God!" to which the latter respond in chorus: "And our lord Mohammed is the messenger of God!"

For a brief space resignation soothes their despair. Not a cry, not a sob, troubles these prayers offered in common, these professions of the faith of the deceased, which the pious assemblage repeats on his behalf. On arriving at the cemetery, the bearers depose their sacred burden on the edge of the grave, and the Iman, placing himself by its side and surrounded by the marabouts, recites with a strong sonorous voice the salat el djenazat, or the burial prayer:

"Praise to Allah who gives death and who gives life!

"Praise to Him who raises up the dead!

"To Him reverts all honour, all greatness. To Him alone belong the commandment and the power. He is above all!

"Let praise be also to the Prophet Mohammed, his kindred, and his friends! O Allah! watch over them and grant them Thy mercy as Thou didst to Ibrahim, and his, for to Thee belong glory and praise!

"O Allah! N*** was Thy worshipper, the son of Thy slave. Thou didst create him, and didst bestow upon him the good things which he enjoyed. Thou, too, didst take his life away, and Thou wilt raise him up again from the dead!

"Thou knowest his secrets and his innermost thoughts!

"We come here to intercede for him, O Allah! Deliver him from the horrors of the grave and from the fire of Hell. Forgive him. Grant him Thy mercy. Grant that the place he shall occupy be honourable and spacious. Wash him with snow and hail water, and cleanse him from his sins as they cleanse a white robe from the impurities that have soiled it. Give him a habitation better than his own, relations better than his own, and a spouse more perfect than his own. If he was good, make him still better. If he was wicked, forgive him his wickedness, O Allah! He has taken refuge with Thee, for Thou art the best of all refuges! It is a poor man who has gone to share Thy munificence, and Thou art too rich to chastise him and cause him to suffer.

"O Allah! strengthen the voice of the deceased at the moment when he shall render to Thee an account of his actions, and lay not upon him more than he is able to bear. We ask it of Thee through the intercession of Thy Prophet, of all Thy angels, and of all Thy saints. Amin!"

"Amin!" cry all who are present, at the same time making a genuflection. Then the Iman resumes:

"O Allah! Forgive our dead, our living ones, those of us who are present, those of us who are absent, our little ones, our great ones. Forgive our fathers, all those who preceded us, and all Mussulmans!

"Those whom Thou wilt bring to life again, bring to life in the faith. And those among us whom Thou wilt cause to die, let them die true Believers!

"Prepare us for a good death, and may that death give us rest, and the favour of beholding Thee. Amin!"

This prayer being terminated, and while the tolbas recite the salat el mokteâat, the body is lowered into the grave, the face turned towards Mecca. Large stones are fitted round it, and every one present makes it a point of honour to throw in a little earth. The gravediggers level the surface of the grave, and cover it with thorny shrubs to protect it from hyænas and jackals.

It is now time to return, and all retake the road to the tribe with the exception of a few women, the friends or relatives of the deceased, who, bowed down with sorrow over the grave, speak to the dead man and question him and wish him farewell, as if they thought he could hear them. At last the tolbas and the marabouts exclaim:

"Come, women. Retire trusting in Allah, and leave the dead in peace to settle with Azrael; cease your tears and lamentations. Death is a tax levied upon our heads. We must all of us pay it. There is no alternative, neither is there any injustice in this event. Allah alone is eternal. What! should we accept the will of Allah when it brings us joy, and refuse it when it brings us sorrow! Depart. Your cries are an impiety."

They understand these words, and with their hands before their eyes they go forth from the cemetery, but at every step turn round to renew their last adieus to him whom they will never again behold until the day of judgment. The foregoing funeral oration is pronounced in the desert over every grave. The monotony of habit is the handmaid of grandeur. If the Arab manners are deficient in variety, they are at least solemn and imposing.