The Women of the Arabs Part 24

When our good friend Yusef, whom we saw in Safita, asked the Nusairiyeh women to repeat to him their nursery rhymes, they denied that they had any. They were afraid to recite them, lest he write them down and use them as a magic spell or charm against them. When a child is born among them, no one is allowed to take a coal or spark of fire from the house for a week, lest the child be injured. They always hang a little coin around the child's neck to keep off eruptions and diseases from its body.

You must be weary by this time, after Handumeh's wedding and the story telling and the Bedawin songs. Let us retire to rest for the night, thankful for the precious Bible, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You are safe indeed in the hands of G.o.d, and need not fear the Ghoul nor the Bah'oo. Good night.

Such is life. Yesterday a wedding, and to-day a funeral. Do you hear that terrific wail, those shrieks and bitter cries of anguish? Young Sheikh Milham has died. The Druze and Christian women are gathered in the house, and wailing together in the most piteous manner. It is dreadful to think what sufferings the poor women must endure. They do everything possible to excite one another. They not only call out, "Milham, my pride, my bridegroom, star of my life, you have set, my flower, you have faded," but they remind each other of all the deaths that have occurred in their various families for years, and thus open old wounds of sorrow which time had healed. Yet they have regular funeral songs, and we will listen while they sing in a mournful strain:

Milham Beg my warrior, Your spear is burnished gold; Your costly robes and trappings, Will in the street be sold.

"Where is the Beg who bore me?"

I hear the armor crying-- Where is the lord who wore me?

I hear the garments sighing.

Now Im Ha.s.sein from Ainab bursts out in a loud song, addressing the dead body, around which they are all seated on the ground:

Rise up my lord, gird on your sword, Of heavy Baalbec steel; Why leave it hanging on the nail?

Let foes its temper feel!

Would that the Pasha's son had died, Not our Barmakeh's son and pride!

Then Lemis answers in another song in which they all join:

Ten thousands are thronging together, The Beg has a feast to-day; We thought he had gone on a visit, But alas, he has gone to stay.

Then they all scream, and tear their hair and beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Alas, they have no light beyond the grave. Who could expect them to do otherwise? The Apostle Paul urges the Christians "not to sorrow even as others which have no hope!" This is sorrow without hope. The grave is all dark to them. How we should thank our Saviour for having cast light on the darkness of the tomb, and given us great consolation in our sorrows! Here comes a procession of women from Kefr Metta. Hear them chanting:

I saw the mourners thronging round, I saw the beds thrown on the ground; The marble columns leaning, The wooden beams careening, My lord and Sheikh with flowing tears, I asked what was its meaning?

He sadly beckoned me aside, And said, To-day _my son_ has died!

Then an old woman, a widow, who has been reminded of the death of her husband, calls out to him:

Oh, Sheikh, have you gone to the land?

Then give my salams to my boy, He has gone on a long, long journey, And took neither clothing nor toy.

Ah, what will he wear on the feast days, When the people their festal enjoy?

Now one of the women addresses the corpse:

Lord of the wide domain, All praise of you is true.

The women of your hareem, Are dressed in mourning blue.

Then one sings the mother's wail:

My tears are consuming my heart, How can I from him bear to part.

Oh raven of death, tell me why, You betrayed me and left him to die?

Oh raven of death begone!

You falsely betrayed my son!

Oh Milham, I beg you to tell, Why you've gone to the valley to dwell?

From far, far away I have come, Who will come now to take me back home?

Then rises such a wail as you never heard before. A hundred women all screaming together and then men are coming to take it away. The women hug and kiss the corpse, and try to pull it back, while the men drive them off, and carry it out to the bier. Some of the women faint away, and a piercing shriek arises. Then you hear the mother's wail again.

Then one sings the call of the dead man for help:

Oh ransom me, buy me, my friends to-day, 'Tis a costly ransom you'll have to pay, Oh ransom me, father, whate'er they demand, Though they take all your money and houses and land.

And another sings his address to the grave-diggers:

Oh cease, grave-diggers, my feelings you shock, I forbade you to dig, you have dug to the rock; I bade you dig little, you have dug so deep!

When his father's not here, will you lay him to sleep?

Then a poor woman who has lately buried a young daughter begins to sing:

Oh bride! on the roofs of heaven, Come now and look over the wall: Oh let your sad mother but see you, Oh let her not vainly call!

Hasten, her heart is breaking, Let her your smile behold; The mother is sadly weeping, The maiden is still and cold.

The Druzes believe that millions of Druzes live in China and that China is a kind of heaven. So another woman sings:

Yullah, now my lady, happy is your state!

Happy China's people, when you reached the gate!

Lady, you are pa.s.sing, To the palace bright, All the stars surpa.s.sing, On the brow of night!

And now the body is taken to be buried, and the women return to the house, where the wailing is kept up for days and weeks. They have many other funeral songs, of which I will give two in conclusion:

Ye Druzes, gird on your swords, A great one is dead to-day; The Arabs came down upon us, They thought us in battle array, But they wept when they found us mourning, For our leader has gone away!

The next is the lament of the mother over her dead son:

The sun is set, the tents are rolled, Happy the mother whose lambs are in fold; But one who death's dark sorrow knew, Let her go to the Nile of indigo blue, And dye her robes a mourning hue!

And now, my dear boy, our Syrian journey is ended. You have seen and heard many strange things. Whatever is good among the Arabs, try to imitate; whatever is evil, avoid. Perhaps you will write to me some day, and tell me what you think of Syria and the Syrians. Many little boys and girls will read this long letter, but it is your letter, and I have written it for your instruction and amus.e.m.e.nt.

May the good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep, lead you beside the still waters of life, and at last when He shall appear, may He give you a crown of glory which fadeth not away!

THE END