The great court of the castle was crowded with men and horses, and fifty
mouths at once were drinking at the central basin; the arcades were full
of Sheikhs, smoking and squatted on their carpets, which in general they
had spread in this locality in preference to the more formal saloons,
whose splendid divans rather embarrassed them; though even these
chambers were well attended, the guests principally seated on the marble
floors covered with their small bright carpets. The domain immediately
around the castle was also crowded with human beings. The moment anyone
arrived, his steed was stabled or picketed; his attendants spread his
carpet, sought food for him, which was promptly furnished, with coffee
and sherbets, and occasionally wine; and when he had sufficiently
refreshed himself, he lighted his nargileh.
Everywhere there was a murmur, but no uproar; a stir, but no tumult. And
what was most remarkable amid these spears and sabres, these muskets,
handjars, and poniards, was the sweet and perpetually recurring Syrian
salutation of 'Peace.'
Fakredeen, moving about in an immense turban, of the most national and
unreformed style, and covered with costly shawls and arms flaming with
jewels, recognised and welcomed everyone.
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