CHAPTER XXV—­MARIAM

There is no spirit of propagandism in the Mussulmans of the Ottoman dominions.  True it is that a prisoner of war, or a Christian condemned to death, may on some occasions save his life by adopting the religion of Mahomet, but instances of this kind are now exceedingly rare, and are quite at variance with the general system.  Many Europeans, I think, would be surprised to learn that which is nevertheless quite true, namely, that an attempt to disturb the religious repose of the empire by the conversion of a Christian to the Mahometan faith is positively illegal.  The event which now I am going to mention shows plainly enough that the unlawfulness of such interference is distinctly recognised even in the most bigoted stronghold of Islam.

During my stay at Nablus I took up my quarters at the house of the Greek “papa” as he is called, that is, the Greek priest.  The priest himself had gone to Jerusalem upon the business I am going to tell you of, but his wife remained at Nablus, and did the honours of her home.

Soon after my arrival a deputation from the Greek Christians of the place came to request my interference in a matter which had occasioned vast excitement.

And now I must tell you how it came to happen, as it did continually, that people thought it worth while to claim the assistance of a mere traveller, who was totally devoid of all just pretensions to authority or influence of even the humblest description, and especially I must explain to you how it was that the power thus attributed did really belong to me, or rather to my dragoman.  Successive political convulsions had at length fairly loosed the people of Syria from their former rules of conduct, and from all their old habits of reliance.  The violence and success with which Mehemet Ali crushed the insurrection of the Mahometan population had utterly beaten down the head of Islam, and extinguished, for the time at least, those virtues and vices which had sprung from the Mahometan faith.  Success so complete as Mehemet Ali’s, if it had been attained by an ordinary Asiatic potentate, would have induced a notion of stability.  The readily bowing mind of the Oriental would have bowed low and long under the feet of a conqueror whom God had thus strengthened.  But Syria was no field for contests strictly Asiatic.  Europe was involved, and though the heavy masses of Egyptian troops, clinging with strong grip to the land, might seem to hold it fast, yet every peasant practically felt, and knew, that in Vienna or Petersburg or London there were four or five pale-looking men who could pull down the star of the Pasha with shreds of paper and ink.  The people of the country knew, too, that Mehemet Ali was strong with the strength of the Europeans—­strong by his French general, his French tactics, and his English engines.  Moreover, they saw that the person, the property,