CHAPTER XXI.Dinner—The Persian's wife is poorly—The wonderful wet paper—Thesamovar—The harem—Be not alarmed—She is in a delicate state of health—Jaundice—She feels better already—No medicine for your complaint—A mustard plaster would be useless—Sons of the devil—My lord's baksheesh—Commotion amongst the servants.Later in the day dinner was brought in—a chicken surrounded by a huge pile of rice. A Turk as rich as our Persian host would have provided his guest with fifteen or twenty courses, but the Persians are satisfied with one. I was not aware of the custom, and only tasted the chicken. Presently it was taken away; instead of a fresh dish making its appearance, some water was brought, in an ewer, for us to wash our hands."You Englishmen are very temperate," said the host, rising.I did not tell him what was passing through my mind. I was ravenously hungry, and wouldgladly have had that chicken brought back again; but it was already in the hands of the servants outside. They were devouring the contents."You are a great hakim," now observed the proprietor."Who told you that?" I remarked, surprised that the reputation acquired in the Kurd's house had thus preceded me."The Usebashe knows it. Mohammed, too, has told my servant. Praise be to Allah who has sent you here!""I am not a hakim!" I hastily replied. "I am an officer.""Do not say that," said the Persian, who spoke Turkish fluently. "Do not deny the talents that Allah has given you. Your arrival has cast a gleam of sunshine on our threshold, and you will not go away without gladdening the hearts of my family.""What do you want me to do?" I inquired."My wife is poorly: I ask you to cure her.""But really I know very little about medicine. I have only a few simple remedies with me.""Simple remedies indeed!" said the Persian. "A man who can set a person's shoulder on fire with a piece of wet paper!""What is the matter with your wife?""I do not know, but you will tell me.""Well, I must see her," I replied."Impossible!" said the Persian. "She is in the harem. I cannot take you there!""But how can I tell you what is the matter with her if I do not see her?""Give me a piece of that wonderful wet paper, perhaps it will cure her.""Effendi," said the Usebashe, turning to the Persian, "you cannot tell a horse's age without looking into his mouth. The Frank cannot tell your wife's ailments without looking at her tongue."A consultation took place between my host and some other Persian visitors. It was at length agreed that, as a hakim, I might be admitted into the harem.In the meantime, a servant brought in asamovar(tea-urn), which the proprietor had purchased at Erivan; and whilst the Usebashe and myself were drinking tea, with lemon-juice instead of cream—as is the custom in Persia as well as in Russia—my host left the room and proceeded to the harem to announce to his wife that I would see her.Presently he returned, and, taking my hand, helped me to rise from the ground. Then, goingfirst, he led the way across a yard, surrounded by a high wall and planted with fruit-trees, to a detached building, which I had previously thought was a mosque."This is the harem," said the proprietor. We entered an outer room, he drew a thick curtain which hung against one of the walls. An opening now appeared: stooping low, I entered the inner apartment. It was furnished, or rather unfurnished, like the one set apart for the Usebashe and myself. A pan of live charcoal stood in one corner. In the other, reclining on a quantity of silk cushions, was the wife of my host.She was enveloped from head to foot in a sheet made of some gauze-like material. There were so many folds that it was impossible to distinguish her features or even divine the contour of her form. Her feet, which were very small and stockingless, were exposed to view. She had taken them out of two tiny white slippers which lay by the side of the charcoal pan, and was nervously tapping the ground with her heel."She is alarmed," said my host. "Be not alarmed," he added, turning to his wife. "It is the hakim who has come to make you well."These remarks did not tranquillize the lady.Her heel tapped the ground more quickly than before, the whole of her body shook like an aspen-leaf."She has never seen any man save myself in the harem," said her husband; "and you—you are a European.""What is the nature of her illness?""She is in a delicate state of health.""Can I look at her tongue?"There was a whispered conversation with the lady. By this time she was a little more calm. Removing the folds of her veil, she allowed the tip of a very red little tongue to escape from her lips."Well, what do you think of it?" said my host, who was taking the greatest interest in these proceedings."It is a nice tongue; but now I must see her eyes.""Why her eyes?""Because she may have what is called jaundice, I must see if her eye is yellow.""Perhaps she had better expose the whole face," said the Persian."Perhaps she had," I remarked.And the poor little lady, whose nerves were now less excited, slowly unwound the folds of muslin from around her head. She was certainly pretty,and had very regular features, whilst a pair of large black eyes, which looked through me as I gazed on them, were twinkling with an air of humour more than of fear.She understood Turkish well, as she came from the border, and, looking at me, said something in a low voice."She feels better already," said my host. "The sight of you has done her good, when you have given her some medicine, she will doubtless be quite well.""What is the matter with you?" I said, turning to the patient.She blushed. Her husband then remarked that she fancied strange dishes at her meals, and in fact was delicate.It gradually dawned upon me what the nature of her malady was, and the more particularly as I was informed by my host that they had been married but a very few months."I have no medicine for your complaint," I remarked."No medicine!" said the Persian indignantly. "Mohammed has shown me the bottles and the little boxes. Besides that, you have the wet paper!""A mustard plaster would be useless.""But she must have something!" said the husband.Now, my medicine-chest was very limited in its contents. It merely contained cholera medicine, pills, and a few ounces of quinine, besides the prepared mustard plasters.A pill, in the lady's condition, would not have been safe: I could not have answered for the consequences. Cholera mixture might have been equally disastrous in its effects. Quinine, I thought, could not do any harm; it is exceedingly nasty, an infinitesimally small dose leaves a very disagreeable taste in the mouth."You shall have some medicine," I observed. "Please God it will do you good.""Inshallah! Inshallah!" replied my host devoutly; and accompanying me to the room prepared for the Usebashe and myself, I gave him three grains of quinine, to be taken in three doses, one grain in each dose."Will it do her much good?" inquired the Persian."That depends upon Allah," I remarked."Of course it does," said my host, and taking the medicine, he returned to his seraglio.As we were leaving the house, I observed a great commotion amidst my host's servants.Mohammed was some time before he joined our party."What was the matter?" I asked."Effendi, they are sons of the devil, these Persians!" vociferated my man indignantly. "I waited behind to give them my lord's baksheesh, but they were greedy creatures, and one—a strong man—snatched all the paras out of my hand, and thrust the money in his waist-belt. The others cursed and called him many dogs, but the fellow did not care. They then wanted me to give them more money; I had none to bestow. They are like jackals, these Persians. They would cut a man's throat as soon as eat a pillaff!"
Dinner—The Persian's wife is poorly—The wonderful wet paper—Thesamovar—The harem—Be not alarmed—She is in a delicate state of health—Jaundice—She feels better already—No medicine for your complaint—A mustard plaster would be useless—Sons of the devil—My lord's baksheesh—Commotion amongst the servants.
Later in the day dinner was brought in—a chicken surrounded by a huge pile of rice. A Turk as rich as our Persian host would have provided his guest with fifteen or twenty courses, but the Persians are satisfied with one. I was not aware of the custom, and only tasted the chicken. Presently it was taken away; instead of a fresh dish making its appearance, some water was brought, in an ewer, for us to wash our hands.
"You Englishmen are very temperate," said the host, rising.
I did not tell him what was passing through my mind. I was ravenously hungry, and wouldgladly have had that chicken brought back again; but it was already in the hands of the servants outside. They were devouring the contents.
"You are a great hakim," now observed the proprietor.
"Who told you that?" I remarked, surprised that the reputation acquired in the Kurd's house had thus preceded me.
"The Usebashe knows it. Mohammed, too, has told my servant. Praise be to Allah who has sent you here!"
"I am not a hakim!" I hastily replied. "I am an officer."
"Do not say that," said the Persian, who spoke Turkish fluently. "Do not deny the talents that Allah has given you. Your arrival has cast a gleam of sunshine on our threshold, and you will not go away without gladdening the hearts of my family."
"What do you want me to do?" I inquired.
"My wife is poorly: I ask you to cure her."
"But really I know very little about medicine. I have only a few simple remedies with me."
"Simple remedies indeed!" said the Persian. "A man who can set a person's shoulder on fire with a piece of wet paper!"
"What is the matter with your wife?"
"I do not know, but you will tell me."
"Well, I must see her," I replied.
"Impossible!" said the Persian. "She is in the harem. I cannot take you there!"
"But how can I tell you what is the matter with her if I do not see her?"
"Give me a piece of that wonderful wet paper, perhaps it will cure her."
"Effendi," said the Usebashe, turning to the Persian, "you cannot tell a horse's age without looking into his mouth. The Frank cannot tell your wife's ailments without looking at her tongue."
A consultation took place between my host and some other Persian visitors. It was at length agreed that, as a hakim, I might be admitted into the harem.
In the meantime, a servant brought in asamovar(tea-urn), which the proprietor had purchased at Erivan; and whilst the Usebashe and myself were drinking tea, with lemon-juice instead of cream—as is the custom in Persia as well as in Russia—my host left the room and proceeded to the harem to announce to his wife that I would see her.
Presently he returned, and, taking my hand, helped me to rise from the ground. Then, goingfirst, he led the way across a yard, surrounded by a high wall and planted with fruit-trees, to a detached building, which I had previously thought was a mosque.
"This is the harem," said the proprietor. We entered an outer room, he drew a thick curtain which hung against one of the walls. An opening now appeared: stooping low, I entered the inner apartment. It was furnished, or rather unfurnished, like the one set apart for the Usebashe and myself. A pan of live charcoal stood in one corner. In the other, reclining on a quantity of silk cushions, was the wife of my host.
She was enveloped from head to foot in a sheet made of some gauze-like material. There were so many folds that it was impossible to distinguish her features or even divine the contour of her form. Her feet, which were very small and stockingless, were exposed to view. She had taken them out of two tiny white slippers which lay by the side of the charcoal pan, and was nervously tapping the ground with her heel.
"She is alarmed," said my host. "Be not alarmed," he added, turning to his wife. "It is the hakim who has come to make you well."
These remarks did not tranquillize the lady.Her heel tapped the ground more quickly than before, the whole of her body shook like an aspen-leaf.
"She has never seen any man save myself in the harem," said her husband; "and you—you are a European."
"What is the nature of her illness?"
"She is in a delicate state of health."
"Can I look at her tongue?"
There was a whispered conversation with the lady. By this time she was a little more calm. Removing the folds of her veil, she allowed the tip of a very red little tongue to escape from her lips.
"Well, what do you think of it?" said my host, who was taking the greatest interest in these proceedings.
"It is a nice tongue; but now I must see her eyes."
"Why her eyes?"
"Because she may have what is called jaundice, I must see if her eye is yellow."
"Perhaps she had better expose the whole face," said the Persian.
"Perhaps she had," I remarked.
And the poor little lady, whose nerves were now less excited, slowly unwound the folds of muslin from around her head. She was certainly pretty,and had very regular features, whilst a pair of large black eyes, which looked through me as I gazed on them, were twinkling with an air of humour more than of fear.
She understood Turkish well, as she came from the border, and, looking at me, said something in a low voice.
"She feels better already," said my host. "The sight of you has done her good, when you have given her some medicine, she will doubtless be quite well."
"What is the matter with you?" I said, turning to the patient.
She blushed. Her husband then remarked that she fancied strange dishes at her meals, and in fact was delicate.
It gradually dawned upon me what the nature of her malady was, and the more particularly as I was informed by my host that they had been married but a very few months.
"I have no medicine for your complaint," I remarked.
"No medicine!" said the Persian indignantly. "Mohammed has shown me the bottles and the little boxes. Besides that, you have the wet paper!"
"A mustard plaster would be useless."
"But she must have something!" said the husband.
Now, my medicine-chest was very limited in its contents. It merely contained cholera medicine, pills, and a few ounces of quinine, besides the prepared mustard plasters.
A pill, in the lady's condition, would not have been safe: I could not have answered for the consequences. Cholera mixture might have been equally disastrous in its effects. Quinine, I thought, could not do any harm; it is exceedingly nasty, an infinitesimally small dose leaves a very disagreeable taste in the mouth.
"You shall have some medicine," I observed. "Please God it will do you good."
"Inshallah! Inshallah!" replied my host devoutly; and accompanying me to the room prepared for the Usebashe and myself, I gave him three grains of quinine, to be taken in three doses, one grain in each dose.
"Will it do her much good?" inquired the Persian.
"That depends upon Allah," I remarked.
"Of course it does," said my host, and taking the medicine, he returned to his seraglio.
As we were leaving the house, I observed a great commotion amidst my host's servants.Mohammed was some time before he joined our party.
"What was the matter?" I asked.
"Effendi, they are sons of the devil, these Persians!" vociferated my man indignantly. "I waited behind to give them my lord's baksheesh, but they were greedy creatures, and one—a strong man—snatched all the paras out of my hand, and thrust the money in his waist-belt. The others cursed and called him many dogs, but the fellow did not care. They then wanted me to give them more money; I had none to bestow. They are like jackals, these Persians. They would cut a man's throat as soon as eat a pillaff!"