A Pilgrimage to Nejd, the Cradle of the Arab Race. Vol. 1 [of 2]

Some slaves now brought a tray, which they placed before me. On it was a regular solid breakfast: a large dish of rice in the middle, set round with small bowls of various sorts of rich and greasy sauces to be eaten with the rice. I excused myself as well as I could for my want of appetite, and said that I had this very morning eaten one of the hares sent to us by the Emir. Of course I was only exhorted all the more to eat, and obliged to go through the form of trying; but fortunately there were other hungry mouths at hand, and eager eyes watching till the dishes should be passed on to them, so I got off pretty easily.

Amusheh afterwards invited me to go upstairs, that she might show me her own private apartment, on the floor above the kahwah. I followed her up a steep staircase, of which each step was at least eighteen inches in height. It led nowhere, except to a single room, the same size as the one below, and built in the same way, with two columns supporting the roof, and with a window in a recess corresponding to the door beneath. This apartment was well carpeted, and contained for other furniture a large bed, or couch, composed of a pile of mattresses, with a velvet and gold counterpane spread over it; also a kind of press or cupboard, a box (sanduk) rather clumsily made of dark wood, ornamented by coarse, thin plaques of silver stuck on it here and there. The press stood against the wall, and might be five feet long and two to three feet high, opening with two doors, and raised about two feet from the floor on four thin legs. Underneath and in front of it were three or four rows of china and crockery of a common sort, and a few Indian bowls, all arranged on the carpet like articles for sale in the streets. Amusheh asked what I thought of her house, was it nice? And after satisfying herself of my approbation, she conducted me down again, and we sat as before on the mattress between the brazier and the wall.

During my stay, the Emir paid two visits to the kahwah, and each time that he appeared at the door the crowd and the wives, except Amusheh, rose and remained standing until he left. Amusheh only made a slight bow or movement, as if about to rise, and kept her place by me while her husband stood opposite to us talking. He addressed himself almost entirely to me, and spoke chiefly in the frivolous, almost puerile, manner he sometimes affects. He inquired my opinion of his wives, whether they were more beautiful and charming than Ibn Shaalan’s wife, Ghiowseh, the sister of El Homeydi ibn Meshur, or than his former wife, Turkya, Jedaan’s daughter, who had left him and returned to her father’s tent. In the forty-eight hours since my arrival at Haïl, the Emir had already asked me many questions about these two ladies, and I now answered for the hundredth time that Turkya was pretty and nice, and that Ghiowseh was still prettier, but very domineering. He was, however, determined on a comparison of the two families, and it was fortunate that now, having seen Amusheh, Hedusheh, and Lulya and Atwa, I could say with truth they were handsomer, even the poor little despised Atwa, than their rivals. He was rather impatient of Atwa being classed with the others, and said, “Oh, Atwa, I don’t want her; she is worth nothing.” His character is, as I have already said, a strange mixture of remarkable ability and political insight on the one hand, and on the other a tendency to waste time and thought on the most foolish trifles, if they touch his personal vanity. Of his ability I judge by his extremely interesting remarks on serious subjects, as well as by the position he has been able to seize and to keep. Of his energy no one can doubt, for he has shown it, alas, by his crimes; but he is so eaten up with petty personal jealousies, that I sometimes wonder whether these would influence his conduct at an important political crisis. I think, however, that at such a moment all little vanities would be forgotten, for he is above all things ambitious, and his vanity is, as it were, a part and parcel of his ambition. He is personally jealous of all other renowned chiefs, because here in Arabia personal heroism is, perhaps more than anywhere else in the world since the age of chivalry, an engine of political power. He would, I doubt not, make alliance with Sotamm, if necessary to gain his ends; nevertheless, he could not resist talking to me about Ibn Shaalan at this most inappropriate moment, evidently hoping to hear something disparaging of his rival. I confess I found it embarrassing to undergo an examination as to the merits of Ghiowseh and Turkya in the presence of Mohammed’s own wives, who all listened with wide open eyes, breathless with attention. My embarrassment only increased when, after the Emir was gone, Amusheh, on her part, immediately attacked me with a volley of questions. While he remained he had persisted in his inquiries, especially about Turkya, till I, being driven into a corner, at last lost patience, and exclaimed, “But why do you ask me these questions? Why do you want to hear about Turkya? What is it to you whether she is fair or kind? You never have seen her, nor is it likely you ever will see her!” “No,” he replied, “I have never seen her. Yet I want to know something about her, and to hear your opinion of her. Perhaps some day I may like to marry her. I might take her instead of this little girl,” pointing to Atwa, “who will never do for me, and whom I will not have. She is worthless,” he repeated, “worthless.” Poor little Atwa stood listening, but I think with stolid indifference, for I watched her countenance, and could not detect even a passing shade of regret or disappointment. Indeed, of all the wives, Amusheh alone seemed to me to have any personal feeling of affection for the Emir. She, the moment he had left, fell upon me with questions. “Who is Turkya?” she asked, almost gasping for breath. It surprised me that she did not know, for she knew who El-Homeydi ibn Meshur was. I had to explain that his sister Ghiowseh had married Sotamm ibn Shaalan, and to tell her the story of Sotamm’s second marriage; and of how Ghiowseh had determined to get rid of her rival, and succeeded in making the latter so uncomfortable, that she had left, and had since refused to return. Amusheh certainly cares about Ibn Rashid, and I thought she feared lest a new element of discord should be brought into the family. As to her own position, it could hardly be affected by the arrival of a new wife; she, as Hamúd’s sister, must be secure of her rank and influence, and the Emir, with his guilty conscience, would never dare, if he ever wished, to slight her or Hamúd, to whose support he owes so much.

From Amusheh’s house I went with a black slave girl to another house also within the kasr, that of Hamúd’s wife, Beneyeh, a daughter of Metaab. There I saw Urgheyeh, her sister, married to Majid, son of Hamúd; also another wife of Hamúd’s. This last person I found was not considered as an equal, and on asking about her birth and parentage, was told, “She is the daughter of a Shammar.” “Who?” I inquired. “Ahad” (one). “But who is he?” “Ahad, – fulan min Haïl min el belad” (some one, a person of the town). She was hardly considered as belonging to the family. The third and fourth wives, whom I afterwards saw, are, like the first, relations, one a daughter of Tellál, and the other of Suleyman, Hamúd’s uncle on the mother’s side (khal). These four are young; Majid’s mother, whose name I never heard, died, I believe, several years ago. Hamúd, like the Emir, keeps up the number of his wives to the exact figure permitted by the law of the Koran, any one who dies or fails to please being replaced as we replace a servant.

Beneyeh met me at her door, and we went through a little ante-room or vestibule into her kahwah. Here we remained only a few moments till, to my surprise, three arm-chairs were brought and placed in the ante-room. On these I and Beneyeh and the second class wife sat, drinking tea out of tea-cups, with saucers and tea-spoons. The cups were filled to the brim, and the tea in them then filled to overflowing with lumps of sugar. It was, however, good. A pile of sweet limes was then brought; slaves peeled the fruits, and divided them into quarters, which they handed round. After these refreshments Beneyeh wished to show me her room upstairs. It was reached, like Amusheh’s private apartment, by a rugged staircase from the kahwah, and was built in the same style, with two columns supporting the rafters, only it had no outlook, being lighted only by two small openings high up in the wall. It was, however, more interesting than Amusheh’s room, for its walls were decorated with arms. There were eighteen or twenty swords, and several guns and daggers, arranged with some care and taste as ornaments. The guns were all very old-fashioned things, with long barrels, but most of them beautifully inlaid with silver. Two of the daggers we had already seen in the evening, when the Emir sent for them to show us as specimens of the excellence of Haïl goldsmiths’ work. The swords, or sword-hilts, were of various degrees of richness, the blades I did not see. Unfortunately at the moment I did not think of Obeyd and his three wishes, and so forgot to ask Beneyeh whether Obeyd’s sword was among these; it would not have done to inquire about the widow, but there would have been no impropriety in asking about the sword, and I afterwards the more regretted having omitted to do so, because this proved to be my only opportunity. It would have been curious to ascertain whether Obeyd wore a plain unjewelled weapon in keeping with Wahhabi austerity. He would surely have disapproved, could he have foreseen it, of the gold and jewels, not to mention silks and brocaded stuffs now worn by his descendants; for his own children have none of the severe asceticism attributed to him, although they inherit his love of prayer.

Hamúd came upstairs while I was there with Beneyeh, but he only stayed a few minutes. They seemed to be on very good terms, and after he left she talked a great deal about him, and seemed very proud of him. “This is Hamúd’s, and this, and this,” said she, “and here is his bed,” pointing to a pile of mattresses with a fine coverlid. There were several European articles of furniture in the room, an iron bedstead with mattresses, several common looking-glasses, with badly gilt frames, and a clock with weights. Urgheyeh now joined us, and Beneyeh particularly showed me a handsome necklace her sister wore of gold and coral, elaborately worked. “This was my father’s,” she told me, adding that the ornament came from Persia. Beneyeh is immensely proud of her son, Abdallah, a fine boy of four months old. She and her sister were so amiable and anxious to please, that I could willingly have spent the rest of the afternoon with them. But it was now time to pay my next visit. After many good-byes and good wishes from both sisters, my black guide seized hold of my hand, and we proceeded to the apartments of another wife of Hamúd, Zehowa, daughter of Tellál. She is sympathetic and intelligent, extremely small and slight, with the tiniest of hands. Like the other ladies, she wore rings on her fingers, with big, irregular turquoises. We sat by the fire and ate sweet limes and trengs and drank tea. Zehowa sent for her daughter, a baby only nine months old, to show me, and I told her I had a daughter of my own, and that girls were better than boys, which pleased her, and she answered, “Yes, the daughter is the mother’s, but the son belongs to the father.”

Presently one of the guards, a tall black fellow, all in scarlet, came with a message for me, a request from the Beg that I would join him in the Emir’s kahwah, where he was waiting for me. Zehowa, like her cousins, begged hard that I would stay, or at least promise to visit her again as soon as possible, and I, bidding her farewell, followed the scarlet and black swordsman through courts, alleys, and passages to the kahwah, where I found Wilfrid. He was being entertained by an elderly man with coffee and conversation. This personage was Mubarek, already mentioned as the chief of the slaves, and he had been giving Wilfrid a vast deal of interesting information about horses, especially the dispersion of Feysul ibn Saoud’s stud, and the chief sources from which that celebrated collection was obtained. It had been originally got together, he said, entirely from the Bedouins, both of Nejd and of the north, by purchase and in war.

I never saw Zehowa, Beneyeh, or Amusheh again, for the next few days were fully occupied, and afterwards, owing to our finding ourselves involved in a network of mystery, and subject to an adverse influence, the pressure of which made itself felt without our being able at first to lay hold of anything tangible, or even to conjecture the cause, it became more than ever an object to us to remain quiet and unobserved. But I am anticipating circumstances to be detailed further on.

About three days later I paid a visit to the harim of Hamúd’s uncle. This gentleman, Suleyman, we were already acquainted with, from seeing him at Court on several occasions. He had sent me an invitation to visit his family, and two black slaves came to escort me to their house, one of the dependencies of the palace. In a kahwah opening out of a small yard, I found the old man waiting to receive me. He dyes his beard red, and loves books, amidst a pile of which he was sitting. I was in hopes that his conversation would be instructive, and we had just begun to talk when, alas, his wife came in with a rush, followed by a crowd of other women, upon which he hastily gathered up all his books and some manuscripts which were lying about, and putting some of them away in a cupboard, carried off the rest and made his escape.

Ghut, his wife, was the stupidest person I had seen at Haïl, but very talkative, and hospitable with dates, fresh butter floating in its own buttermilk, and sugar-plums. The many-coloured crowd of white, brown, and black attendants, slaves, and children, were not in much awe of her, and chattered away without a check to their hearts’ content. All were, however, respectful and attentive to me. Ghut’s daughter, another Zehowa, presently arrived with a slave carrying her son, Abderrahman, a child about a year old. This Zehowa was good-looking, but nearly as stupid and tiresome as her mother. She was very much taken up with showing me her box of trinkets, which she sent for on purpose to display before me its contents. These were of the usual sort, gold ornaments for head and arms and ankles, set with turquoises and strings of pearls. The furniture of the room, which she and her mother specially pointed out for my admiration, was also like what I had already seen – presses or boxes on legs, and ornamented with rude silver plaques.

The conversation was dull. Here is a sample:

I. “What do you do all day long?”

Zeh. “We live in the kasr.”

I. “Don’t you go out at all?”

Zeh. “No; we always stay in the kasr.”

I. “Then you never ride as we do?” (I always ask if they ride, to see the effect.)

Zeh. “No, we have no mares to ride.”

I. “What a pity! and don’t you ever go into the country outside Haïl, the desert?”

Zeh. “Oh, no, of course not.”

I. “But, to pass the time, what do you do?”

Zeh. “We do nothing.”

Here a sharp black boy interrupted us, “O, khatún, these are daughters of sheykhs, they have no work – no work at all to do, don’t you understand?”

I. “Of course, I understand perfectly; but they might amuse themselves without doing work,” and turning to Zehowa I added, “Don’t you even look at the horses?”

Zeh. “No, we do nothing.”

I. “I should die if I did nothing. When I am at home I always walk round the first thing in the morning to look at my horses. How do you manage to spend your lives?”

Zeh. “We sit.” Thus supreme contentment in the harim here is to sit in absolute idleness. It seems odd, where the men are so active and adventurous, that the women should be satisfied to be bored; but such, I suppose, is the tyranny of fashion.

Every evening after dinner we used to receive a message from the Emir, inviting us to spend the evening with him. This was always the pleasantest part of the day, for we generally found one or two interesting visitors sitting with him. As a sample of these I give an extract from my journal:

“We found the Emir this evening in high good humour. News had just come from El-Homeydi ibn Meshur, a Roala sheykh of the faction opposed to Sotamm, that a battle was fought about a month ago between the Roala and the Welled Ali, and that Sotamm has been worsted. Sotamm, at the head of a ghazú numbering six hundred horsemen, had marched against Ibn Smeyr at Jerud, but the latter refused to come out and fight him, and so Sotamm retired. On his way back home, however, he fell in with an outlying camp of Welled Ali, somewhere to the east of the Hauran, and summoned it to surrender. These, numbering only a hundred and fifty horsemen, at first entered into negotiation, and, it is said, offered to give up their camp and camels if they were permitted to retire with their mares (the women and children would of course not have been molested in any case), and to this Sotamm wished to agree. But the younger men of his party, and especially the Ibn Jendal family, who had a death to avenge, would not hear of compromise, and a battle ensued. It ended, strangely enough, in favour of the weaker side, who succeeded in killing four of the Roala, and among them Tellal ibn Shaalan, Sotamm’s cousin and heir presumptive. Sotamm himself is said to have been saved only by the speed of his mare. Though the forces engaged were so disproportionate, nobody here seems surprised at the result, for victory and defeat are “min Allah,” “in the hand of God;” but everybody is highly delighted, and the Emir can hardly contain himself for joy. “What do you think now of Sotamm?” he said; “has he head, or has he no head?” “Not much, I am afraid,” I answered, “but I am sorry for him. He is weak, and does not know how to manage his people, but he has a good heart.” “And Ibn Smeyr, what do you say to Ibn Smeyr?” “He has more head than heart,” I said. This delighted the Emir. “Ah,” he replied, “it is you, khatún, that have the head. Now what do you say to me? have I head, or not head?” “You have head,” I answered. “And Hamúd?” “You all of you have plenty of head here, more of course than the Bedouins, who are most of them like children.” “But we are Bedouins too,” he said, hoping to be contradicted. “I like the Bedouins best,” I replied; “it is better to have heart than head.” Then he went on to cross-question me about all the other sheykhs whose names he knew. “Which,” he asked, “is the best of all you have met with?” “Mohammed Dukhi,” I said, “is the cleverest, Ferhan ibn Hedeb the best-mannered, but the one I like best is your relation in the Jezireh, Faris Jerba.” I don’t think he was quite pleased at this. He had never heard, he said, good or bad of Ibn Hedeb, who belonged to the Bisshr. He was not on terms with any of the Bisshr except Meshur ibn Mershid, who had paid him a visit two years ago. We told him that both Meshur and Faris were Wilfrid’s “brothers.” Meshur he liked, but Faris Jerba was evidently no favourite of his.

I fancy the Emir has taken Ferhan’s part in the family quarrel. It is certain that when Amsheh, Sfuk’s widow and Abdul Kerim’s mother, came with her son Faris to Nejd, he would see neither of them. They stayed in the desert all the time they were here, and never came to Haïl. Rashid ibn Ali, too, is Faris’s friend, and of course in no favour at this court.22 He then asked about Jedaan, touched rather unfeelingly on the idiocy of Turki, Jedaan’s only son, and then cut some jokes at the expense of our old acquaintance, Smeyr ibn Zeydan. “An old fool,” the Emir exclaimed, “why did they send him here? They might as well have sent a camel!” This is the Smeyr who came to Nejd a year and a half ago to try and get Ibn Rashid’s assistance for Sotamm, and arrange a coalition against Jedaan and the Sebaa. We knew his mission had failed, but the fact is Ibn Rashid is eaten up with jealousy of anyone who has the least reputation in the desert. We are surprised, however, to find him so well informed about everything and everybody in the far north, and we are much interested, as he has solved for us one of the problems about Nejd which used to puzzle us, namely, the relations maintained by the tribes of Jebel Shammar with those of the north. The Emir has told us that the Shammar of the Jezireh and his own Shammar still count each other as near relations. “Our horses,” he said, “are of the same blood.” With the Roala he has made peace, and with Ibn Haddal; but the Sebaa and the rest of the Bisshr clan are out of his way. They never come anywhere near Nejd, except on ghazús, and that very rarely. Once, however, a ghazú, of Fedaan, had got as far as Kasím, and he had gone out against them, and captured a Seglawi Jedran mare of the Ibn Sbeni strain. He promised to show it to us. We then talked a good deal about horses, and our knowledge on this head caused general astonishment. Indeed, I think we could pass a better examination in the breeds than most of the Ibn Rashids. By long residence in town they have lost many of the Bedouin traditions. Hamúd, however, who takes more interest in horses than the Emir, has told us a number of interesting facts relating to the stud here, and that of the late Emir of Riad, Feysul ibn Saoud, solving another problem, that of the fabulous Nejd breed; but we are taking separate notes about these things.

We had not been talking long with the Emir and Hamúd, when a fat vulgar-looking fellow was introduced and made to sit down by us. It was evident that he was no Haïl man, for his features were coarse, and his manners rude. He talked with a strong Bagdadi accent, and was addressed by everyone as “ya Hajji.” It was clear that he belonged to the Haj, but why was he here? The mystery was soon cleared up, for after a whispered conversation with Hamúd, the new visitor turned to Wilfrid, and began addressing him in what we at first took to be gibberish, until seeing that we made no answer, he exclaimed in Arabic, “There, I told you he was no Englishman!” Wilfrid then cross-questioned him, and elicited the fact that he had been a stoker on board one of the British India Company’s steamers on the Persian Gulf, and that the language he had been talking was English. Only two phrases, however, we succeeded in distinguishing, “werry good,” and “chief engineer” – and having recognised them and given their Arabic equivalents, our identity was admitted. The fellow was then sent about his business, and a very small, very polite old man took his place. He was conspicuous among these well-dressed Shammar by the plainest possible dress, a dark brown abba without hem or ornament, and a cotton kefiyeh on his head, unbound by any aghal whatsoever. He was treated with great respect, however, by all, and it was easy to see that he was a man of condition. He entered freely into conversation with us, and talked to Mohammed about his relations in Aared, and it presently appeared that he was from Southern Nejd. This fact explained the severity of his costume, for among the Wahhabis, no silk or gold ornaments are tolerated. He was, in fact, the Sheykh of Harík, the last town of Nejd towards the south, and close to the Dahna, or great southern desert. This he described to us as exactly like the Nefûd we have just crossed, only with more vegetation. The ghada is the principal wood, but there are palms in places.

It is not the custom of Haïl to smoke, either from Wahhabi prejudice, or, as I am more inclined to think, because tobacco has never penetrated so far inland in quantities sufficient to make the habit general. No objection, however, has been made to Wilfrid’s pipe, which he smokes when and where he chooses, and this evening when the call to prayer sounded, and the Emir and Hamúd had gone out to perform their devotions, the old man I have just mentioned, Nassr ibn Hezani, hinted without more ceremony that he should like a whiff. He has quarrelled with Ibn Saoud, and probably hates all the Wahhabi practices, and was very glad to take the opportunity of committing this act of wickedness. He was careful, however, to return the pipe before the rest came back. He, at any rate, if a Wahhabi, is not one of the disagreeable sort described by Mr. Palgrave, for he invited us very cordially to go back home with him to Harík. The Emir, however, made rather a face at this suggestion, and gave such an alarming account of what would happen to us if we went to Riad, that I don’t think it would be wise to attempt to go there now. We could not go in fact without the Emir’s permission. I do not much care, for town life is wearisome; we have had enough of it, and I have not much curiosity to see more of Nejd, unless we can go among the Bedouins there. If Ibn Saoud still had his collection of mares the sight of them would be worth some risk, but his stud has long since been scattered, and Nassr ibn Hezani assures us that there is nothing now in Arabia to compare with Ibn Rashid’s stud. Ibn Hezani, like everybody else, laughs at the story of a Nejd breed, and says, as everybody else does, that the mares at Riad were a collection made by Feysul ibn Saoud in quite recent times.