Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1881 — An Evening in Damascus. [ARTICLE]

An Evening in Damascus.

S. S. Cox, In the N*w York Son. It was a sweet and pensive evening, fitted to make one think of dear friends at home, and the sadness which afflicts my country in its lours of bereavement and sorrow. I am not one of those who are ashamed to confess that the teachings of Nature not only lead me to love my friends and my coumtry, but in a larger sense to 'love the ftrimal loving cause of all our blessngs. Nothing so binds me in “willing fetters” as the silver meshes ofa brook, and these seven rivers of Damascus produce , a pleasing acquiesenec, to which thd beautiful moon adds its fascination. There was a song in the groves of tali poplars and cypresses, like music heard in dreams. Besides, there were old plane trees, whose branches have listened to many a story of the good Caliph’s time. They spread their great arms in gestures of Eastern welcome while giving their veperable asj>cct to the mellow light and reflecting their shadows in the pleasant waters. We entered a garden where, along with the murmur of the fountains, we hear the tinkle of the guitar and the ‘thrumming of the tambourine. They accompany some voices singing that olden drawling ditty of {the Orient, heard from Morocco to Bagdad. Seated under the trees are some hundreds of Arab* in every posture smoking cigarettes and nargiles. They are old and young, but* all grave as their tombstones. We ordered a chibouque and coffee and listened. I ask the the dragoman, “What is the song about?” “It is the old love song,” he says. “P heart! why lovest thou so much? Knoweet thou not that thy- beloved will fade as the roses? Come to me, beloved, before thou diest! Heart o my heart! come and solace me before the end cometh,” This was too lacbry-

’ moe» for our jocund spirit, so we ask: “Csn npt lYoife get dPp* jolly song, and smile?” No one smiles in this strange country. The dogs even partake of the geueral gravity. The way they howl, even bteJbre hurt, is a sample of the melancholy characteristic of all. Men —big men—burst into tears on the least occasion. They are tender and simplehearted. I should infer, therefore, thfet they would be pervious to mirth: and Rt thls festive place! bscame .to know what resource this land has, f«>r any vent and vein of humor. The guide tries it with a silver mejideab (a dollar). And the baud ’ strikes up a roundelay, which was only a quicker variation, of the same lyrical drawl. This - music barf words a little more spiightly. v I ask wbat they purport. “Oh, it is a song of a love-sick boy for a passionate girl and the girl’s anxiety to see the boy.” A few old Arabs make a hilarious grifhf at some of the verses, and soma, cl the young men look at me askant with t curious smile. It w*as a song not ail "fitted for cars polite, as I surmised: but, not understanding Arabic, I stood the embarrassment The truth is, this Arab music has an Offenbach immoral twang, and much of its sweetness and characteristics in certain tones: but it is incapable of notation on account of its short quarter notes and its irregularity and capriciousness. I have had enough of it. I prefer the sweet solace (ffrhe bray of the meek and miserable, donkey to this “damnable iteration” of barbaric wailing.