ABSTRACT
Signor Battista capped his good offices by promising to find me a horse for the following morning. Now that I was satisfied upon this point, there was nothing else for me to do but take a walk in the town, and I began by crossing the square to see what was happening at the Pasha's castle. There was a great crowd there, and in the middle of it the Maronite sheiks proceeding two by two, like a procession of supplication, the head of which had already entered the courtyard of the palace. Their ample turbans, red or particoloured, their machlahs and caftans with gold and silver trimmings, their shining weapons—all that outward splendour which in other countries of the Orient is confined to the Turks—gave this procession a very imposing appearance. I went after them into the palace, where the band was still transfiguring the Marseillaise, with the aid of fifes, triangles, and cymbals.
