, I, and Omar went up to the
Sittee (Lady) Zeyneb's mosque, to inquire for Mustapha Bey Soubky, the
Hakeem Pasha, whom I had known at Luxor. I was told by the porter of the
mosque to seek him at the shop of a certain grocer, his particular
friend, where he sits every evening. On going there we found the shop
with its lid shut down (a shop is like a box laid on its side with the
lid pulled up when open and dropped when shut; as big as a cobbler's
stall in Europe). The young grocer was being married, and Mustapha Bey
was ill. So I went to his house in the quarter--such narrow
streets!--and was shown up by a young eunuch into the hareem, and found
my old friend very poorly, but spent a pleasant evening with him, his
young wife--a Georgian slave whom he had married,--his daughter by a
former wife--whom he had married when he was fourteen, and the female
dwarf buffoon of the Valideh Pasha (Ismail's mother) whose heart I won by
rising to her, because she was so old and deformed. The other women
laughed, but the little old dwarf liked it. She was a Circassian, and
seemed clever. You see how the 'Thousand and One Nights' are quite true
and real; how great Beys sit with grocers, and carpenters have no
hesitation in offering civility to _naas omra_ (noble people). This is
what makes Arab society quite unintelligible and impossible to most
Europeans.

My carpenter's boy was the son of a _moonsheed_ (singer in the Mosque),
and at night he used to sit and warble to us, with his little baby-voice,
and little round, innocent face, the most violent love-songs. He was
about eight years old, and sang with wonderful finish and precision, but
no expression, until I asked him for a sacred song, which begins, 'I
cannot sleep for longing for thee, O Full Moon' (the Prophet), and then
the little chap warmed to his work, and the feeling came out.

Palgrave has left in my charge a little black boy of his, now at Luxor,
where he left him very ill, with Mustapha A'gha. The child told me he
was a _nyan-nyan_ (cannibal), but he did not look ogreish. I have
written to Mustapha to send him me by the first opportunity. Achmet has
quite recovered his temper, and I do so much better without a maid that I
shall remain so. The difference in expense is enormous, and the peace
and quiet a still greater gain; no more grumbling and 'exigencies' and
worry; Omar irons very fairly, and the sailor washes well enough, and I
don't want toilette--anyhow