THE SHTAH SECT	: ,*    305
man also gains access to his "wife's" immediate
relations, which may be the chief object desired. To * cite'-
a concrete example: A widow wishing to have a proper
escort to Mecca may arrange a temporary marriage between
her daughter and some trusted friend of her late husband's,
who is thus enabled to care for both ladies with the freedom
of a brother till the end of the pilgrimage, when the bond
is dissolved. It may be added that in regular marriage
divorce does not depend, as with the Sunnls, on the caprice
of the husband, but upon a regular legal process.
The exclusiveness of the Metawileh is enhanced by their
own idea that ceremonial uncleanness is produced by con-
tact, even at second hand, not only with members of other
religions, but even with the Stinni Moslems, though fear of
the power of the latter leads to a relaxation of the principle
in Syria. . They will not eat the meat of animals killed by
aliens, drink of water from their vessels, nor permit them to
bake bread in ovens used by themselves. If compelled to
eat with others, they will not use the same side of the plate,
and, after the meal, must wash away the defilement by
pouring water over the mouth. If a Metawali sell leben
(sour milk) to a Christian, he must pour it himself into a
vessel brought by the latter, for, should the buyer touch the
shop vessel or dip his finger into the leben, the defiled liquid
must all be poured away. The Metawileh will not touch, a
stranger whose clothes are wet, nor permit him to enter their
houses, if they can help it. One travelling among them will
find it hard to get a drink of water unless he provide his own
cup. An especially polite or kind-hearted host maj con-
cede the use of his own cup to a thirsty Christian, but on
the departure of the guest the cup must be broken. It may
be emphasized that this insistence on cleanness is strictly
ceremonial. In the Metawileh villages of the interior actual
cleanliness is sadly wanting. Never shall I forget the night
spent by my father and myself on the filthy floor of a khan, or
stable of a squalid village in Naphtali, where shadowy cats,
lean and grim, prowled around the saddle-bags that served
us for pillows, nor the surprise I felt at two in the morning,
when my father returned from a raid on the reluctant