CHAPTER V.SYRIA.
Sailing off Jaffa, we “of course” passed over the spot where Jonah was thrown overboard; but here at least nothing remained except the seething water to prove the fact, and so I felt quite at liberty to doubt it—that is, so far as the exact locality was concerned. Westward in the Mediterranean, and distant I think about two miles, we had a view of a rarely fine waterspout. The sky was overcast, and it evidently rained heavily in its vicinity. The appearance was just as shown in the pictures: a dark cloud was over it, gradually tapering downwards like a great inverted dome, and terminating in a long dark tube-lookingshape very similar to an elephant’s trunk. This reached down to the sea, which swelled upwards in a conical form to meet it. It gradually disappeared in the distance as our vessel advanced northward—of course we were too far off to hear its rushing sound.
Sailing along the coast of Palestine and Phœnicia, we passed Cæsarea, the elevated promontory of Mount Carmel, and the sites of Tyre and Sidon, so famous in ancient history. The island of Cyprus was just sighted in the distance on the left.
Beyrout, where we landed next day, is evidently a flourishing commercial city, the shipping port of the Lebanons and of Damascus, and is mentioned in the Bible as Berothath. It was bombarded by the British fleet in 1840, and showed marks of the war in some small demolished towers. Its population seemed about 80,000, and it is equally remarkable for its commercial activity and its educational establishments—chiefly Protestant. There areseveral large and excellent schools and higher seminaries, very liberally maintained by the Americans, Prussians, and English and Scotch, which we visited; and, whether considering the number or excellence of these schools, I know no place out of Scotland, and not many in it, so amply supplied. There are a number of Jews and Christians, and of course Arabs and Turks, besides other natives. The mercantile community consists of English, French, Germans, Greeks, Italians, and others; and many Consulates are established, showing flags of almost all nations. Beyrout promises to be a very important city; its exports are wool, silk, and olive oil, and it wants only a better harbour and good water to make it rival Alexandria. The shipping lies in the open bay, cargo being carried to and from by large boats. The aspect of the town is European and Eastern combined. Almost every one of the better class rides, and the horses seemed numerous and excellent. About a mile north-east, near the base of the Lebanon, is a smallwood of pine trees similar to one variety of our Scotch firs—to us a welcome and rare sight. There is a considerable sponge fishery on the coast of Asia Minor, but chiefly farther to the north.
After a short stay, we in the early morning, some hours before dawn, commenced our journey over the great mountain range of the Lebanon, ascending till we reached the region of snow, and thence descending, we crossed eastward the rich and picturesque Lebanon Valley. It is about 100 miles long from south to north, but only about eight miles broad.
Crossing this valley we recommenced the ascent on the Anti-Lebanon range, nearly parallel and not quite so high, but more bare and rugged. The descent eastward was again through a region equally wild, until we emerged in the great Syrian Valley, with Damascus below and only a few miles distant. This road over the Lebanons, with its six-horse diligences, is one of the modern wonders of theEast; and, like the Suez Canal, it was carried out by a French Company. The whole service is a marvel of excellence, and, considering its great steepness and length, the speed is wonderful—even down the steep mountain roads generally at a gallop pace, where oftener than once I found the drags almost at red heat. The journey by road is said to be 100 miles, and is accomplished in 14 hours, with as much punctuality as some English railway journeys are!
We reached our hotel before sundown. It was the only good one in the city, I think; and, with the exception of the dining-room, seemed Eastern in style and furnishing. In the large drawing-rooms or divans several of the guests sat cross-legged; but we seated ourselves in home fashion upon the rich cushions around the walls, and enjoyed our coffee, but without pipes, listening to the gentle murmur of the fountain just outside the open door leading from the inner court.
Having obtained an introduction to the English Consul, we called and received a very polite reception, with the usual pipes and coffee. His house was not large, but new, and with richly ornamented rooms in a curious mirrored Arabesque style. He advised us not to leave our hotel after sunset, as some political or religious uneasiness seemed to be felt at the time in the city, as indeed there too often is.
Damascus is the oldest city in the world, founded it is supposed by Noah’s grandson, and still remains an important one—geographically, religiously, politically, and commercially. Its history is long, eventful, and bloody; and even yet it is distinguished by religious and national bigotry beyond its compeers. Saul came hither breathing out threatenings and slaughter, and was himself let down by the wall in a basket to escape being killed. The Governor of Syria, whose appointment was then recent, we saw driving through the principal streets in anEnglish-looking carriage, with splendid horses, and attended by a large guard of cavalry. He was a rich Turk from Constantinople, from whose government, we were told, much had been at first expected, as he was supposed to be wealthy enough to be independent of selling his subordinate offices for gold—the bane of Turkish government. A vigorous and efficient administration of justice had been looked for, and for a month or two the unruly were over-awed, but this did not continue. We heard it whispered in the hotel that on the previous day there had been a fight in the street, in which four were killed and three wounded. Such was Damascus; and so, because no British or other foreign subject had suffered, nothing more was heard of the affair.
We ascended a hill on the north, on which is built what is called Mahomet’s Tower—from this point, says the legend, he viewed the beautiful scene below. “There can only be one Paradise,” he said, “and as mine is above,I will not even enter this one”—and so he forthwith retraced his steps. Had he entered, perhaps he would have somewhat modified his opinion. The valley extends as far as the eye can reach, and, so far as discernible from this elevation, it seems almost deserving of the Mahomedan’s praise of it—“beautiful beyond compare.”
The river Abana, sparkling in the sunbeams—save where it is partially concealed by a narrow belt of slender willow trees, which serves to shade it from the sun—flows down from the mountains and south-eastward along the plain. This, as well as the Pharpar, a smaller stream from Hermon on the south, falls into an inland lake far eastward in the valley. The Abana flows along the north border of Damascus, and, considering the coolness and fertilizing qualities of these rivers, it was somewhat natural that the Syrian general’s—Naaman—pride was hurt at being told—“Go wash in the Jordan.” Still,with all their beauty, the Syrian rivers certainly cannot be compared with the grander Jordan.
The houses of the city are plain-looking outside, the windows fronting the narrow streets are few in number, and, with their iron bars and fastenings, give somewhat a prison look. They are stone-built for the most part, but many seem of concrete or mud, cemented; inside, however, they show wealth and elegance entirely unexpected. The better class have always an inner paved court, and generally a marble fountain, with a few small trees; and the Arabesque decorations—sometimes with inlaid mother-of-pearl—and the furnishing of the rooms are very rich and luxurious-looking.
The veteran Emir chief, Abd-el-Kader, formerly Governor of Algiers, resided there in a kind of honourable banishment. He deserved the respect of the Christians for his exertions in saving them during the awful massacres which took place in 1860, when six thousand were cruelly murdered and their houses destroyed.I met him one morning at our hotel, when he called to see the Prussian Consul, who had come from Beyrout to meet the Duke of Mecklenburg, who was expected to arrive that day from Jerusalem. The chief was still a good-looking, soldierly man. The manners of the Easterns generally are very ceremonious, and the greetings appeared warm and cordial: in the Emir’s case they were courtly as well. Being performed in the open courtyard of the hotel—beside the beautiful orange and citron trees and the cool marble fountains—several of the inmates shared in the scene, and in the adieus of the once kingly chief. He has recently died, so will no more trouble France.
Since the massacre, of which traces are yet to be seen in the Christian quarter, all English—and indeed all foreigners—are well protected by Consuls, and security is felt in Syria by the condition then imposed on the Sultan that one of the Pashas should be a Christian. The result has been that schools of all kinds are now tolerated, or at leastnominallyso. Thedegraded and semi-captive condition of women is being very slightly ameliorated, and this must eventually loose the bonds of their servitude, which, although not a legal, is one of fashion—always the most despotic and impervious to improvement. Slavery has long been legally abolished; but it is said that young girls are yet frequently, though not publicly, sold for the harems of those who are able to pay for them, in most of the Moslem cities. Nor can I see how this monstrous trade can be eradicated, unless by the spread of Christian education amongst parents and children themselves. So long as profit is to be made, there will be found dealers to evade the law, especially if the judge is as guilty as the culprit; for there, if anywhere, gold is king, and bakshish is his prophet. For what could be expected when—as was then hinted—the new Governor had just introduced a harem of unusual magnitude, and indulged in all the luxurious pleasures of Mahomet’s paradise, besides something which is forbidden therein, as also to Good Templars at home?
But I must add that truth, or correct information on any subject, seems unattainable in the East generally. Moreover, this people disliked the Turks, and had become so accustomed to misgovernment, that any rumour in that direction found ready credence.They believed in no promises or professions of justice in any department whatever.Except in the Prophet, they individually seemed to believe in nothing but bakshish, and measured by the same rule every act of their Governor, from his appointment of a district Pasha to the avenging the poor widow of her adversary, or even to his protecting the lives of any number of Arabs, unless indeed under the protection of some of the religious sects or foreign consuls. The country appeared ripe for a change, and any change would, I think, be popular. The whole anxiety of the Porte now seems to be to avoid giving offence to foreign Powers, and to raise sufficient taxes for the Government. Improvement, therefore, is not to be looked for.
Damascus is rich in manufactures of silk,wool, and cotton, and gold and silver work. Its once famous steel “Damascus blades” are now only a myth, the secret of their manufacture having been lost. The work of the looms is excellent, but seems very far from uniformly so. Silk “Damasks” (the name, I presume, is given by “Damascus”), in manifold rich designs, differing from those both of Cashmere and Cairo, are the leading tissues, and gold and silver threads are largely introduced into some of them. The colours of the dyes are generally remarkably fine. I find that the green shade in a dragoman’s striped silk kerchief which I brought home, is as fine seen with gaslight as in that of the sun. The dresses of the men, especially the silk shawls or kerchiefs for the head and waist and the slippers for the feet, and even the saddles of the horses, have an extremely rich effect—altogether out of keeping with their general condition otherwise.
We witnessed the arrival of the royal cavalcade of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburgtravelling from Jerusalem overland. The Duke, his Duchess, I presume, and the Syrian Governor, were in an open carriage, and Damascus showed in its holiday attire. The crowds had some difficulty in keeping orderly, the streets being narrow avenues or lanes. The Turkish troops are not exactly like our 72nd, and the irregular cavalry are certainly described by their name, but they had stood in waiting some seven hours exposed to the hot sun.
On the whole the scene was rather showy, and the mien and bearing of the Arab population was fine. Although by no means commendable in detail, their general appearance was far superior to that of an English crowd, and, while free of awkwardness or vulgarity, was really picturesque. Females are seldom seen, but—fortunately for us—an unusual number of them were on this occasion abroad. Dressed generally in large pure white robes, with faces wholly or partially covered with an ugly coloured kerchief, they looked like somany ghosts. No doubt glances are occasionally obtained, and on that gala day I saw a few good faces; but the popular idea of Eastern beauties is, in England, one of the many Oriental romances which a journey sadly dispels. The boys and very young girls have generally fine eyes; but, as in Egypt, most of the adult females looked as if they had sore eyes or squinted, while many of the men there as well as in Egypt seemed blind of one eye.
This city is intensely Moslem. There are a number of Jews of very ancient Damascus settlers, having eight or ten small synagogues, and who have maintained their distinct nationality for many centuries. They are more willingly tolerated than the Greeks, Roman Catholics, and other Christian sects, who have all churches in the city, but are not numerous, or locally influential, and are tolerated only by protection of the Western Powers. The great Mosque is one of the largest in Turkey. On entering, we of course had taken off our shoes, and wore instead red Morocco slippers (as usual muchtoo large for easy walking), which we had borrowed from an adjoining stall for a trifling consideration. I had removed my white travelling hat quite inadvertently—perhaps feeling warm—forgetting at the moment that I was not entering a church but a Mosque, and that no greater insult can be offered a Moslem than uncovering the head in their “holy places.” Braham was behind me, and with more haste than ceremony he instantly seized and replaced the hat on my head, whispering that it was fortunate no Moslem had observed what, he said, would certainly have been resented as an intentional insult by the English infidel. This is probably true, for almost everywhere in Mahomedan countries, and especially about the Mosques, one meets with scowling faces and fierce vindictive glances. The Mosque is a range of buildings surrounding a large open quadrangle. The floors are of marble, covered with rich Persian carpets of great thickness. The Mosque carpets seem to be objects of special sacredness, and I suppose are brought fromMecca with great ceremony, as those for some of the Cairo Mosques at least are, and then received by a royal guard of honour in a public procession.
As usual in the great Mosques, there are many large and beautiful Corinthian columns, and the piers of the walls contain several fine specimens of various coloured marbles: in the roof are some small windows of beautiful coloured glass in small Arabesque patterns. Some portions of the buildings shown are of great antiquity, indicating that originally it had been a heathen temple, then a Christian church, and now it is a Moslem Mosque of the very strictest class. We climbed its highest minaret, from which we obtained an excellent view of the city. I was informed once more that on the opposite minaret Christ and Mahomet are to alight when they come to judge the world.
The population of the city is very variously estimated, but it appeared to contain about 150,000 inhabitants, nearly all Mahomedans,with 250 Mosques and Moslem chapels and schools. It was once an important seat of learning, but is now greatly degenerated. There are still many Arabic schools, but all education is now fostered only in connexion with their religion, which has in recent years become ultra-intolerant. Surrounding it on almost all sides are miles of trees, chiefly fruit trees, giving the appearance of a vast orchard—the olive with its dark green leaves, the oranges and lemons with their large yellow fruit, the fig, the walnut, and mulberry putting forth their leaves. The apricot and almond were in full bloom; their leaves were yet unopened, and as these trees were very numerous, the appearance in the bright sunlight was beautiful in the extreme. So richly loaded were these with blossom—almost pure white—that but for the evident incongruity they would, from a distance, have suggested a plantation just after a fall of snow!
A good many jokes have been made about “the street which is called Straight;” but itwas evident to me, looking out from the lofty minaret, that it really had originally been one of the finest streets I have ever seen—long, very wide, level, and straight, running nearly east and west, and terminating in the principal gateway of the city in its east wall. This gateway is evidently of Roman architecture, but the street or roadway seems covered some five or ten feet deep with the rubbish and dust of centuries. The great street itself has been encroached upon on both sides by paltry buildings, set down without regard to either line or level. The consequence is, as Mark Twain describes it, the great street Straight is now a narrow zigzag road—although not exactly like a corkscrew—the original street being hidden, but can still be traced by the eye from certain elevated points such as this, and Mahomet’s Tower hill on the north-west of the city. Outside this eastern gate is an immense mound of earth or rubbish, as high as the walls, and already almost blocking up the entrance into the gate. This is the ever-increasing rubbishof the city, which here is ordered outside the walls, but not a foot more is it carried than absolutely required to meet the letter of the law—Turkish all over!
The walls show three distinct eras in their history. The oldest parts may be the foundations, which, however, are not exposed, but the lower portions above ground are, as well as portions of the gates, evidently Roman, over which, and including the towers, is Arabic work of their best days, and now the upper portions are Turkish.
We stood on the road, west of the city, pointed out as the spot of Saul’s conversion. The house of Judas, where he received his sight, and that part of the walls from which he was let down in a basket are also pointed out. Possibly they are correct as to mere locality, but, as usual in almost every such case, the materialistic part of the story is in point of age sadly at variance with the historical, and so both can scarcely be affirmed. There is a tree sometimes called a cedar, butit seems a sycamore, of very large size and very old, growing in one of the streets, which it almost blocks up. Of course it will not compare with the Cedars of Lebanon, but seemed more than thirty-five feet in circumference, and was partially hollow by decay. Many of the gardens in the suburbs are enclosed by walls, made of concrete taken from the roads, and shaped in wood moulds of the simplest construction, which the sun soon dries. Many also have hedges of the large cactus or prickly pear plant: these have a singular appearance, but form an efficient fence.
The Bazaars are long, narrow streets, about twenty feet wide, having small shops along both sides almost open into the roadway. They are frequently covered across with branches of trees for protection from the sunshine. The buyers stand on the roadway, and the seller generally sits upon the raised floor of his little shop. They are divided into Quarters, such as Goldsmiths’ Quarter, Leatherdealers’Quarter, Cloth Quarter, and so on. The former have their workshops in a large open building adjacent, full of working benches and smelting furnaces, where I observed that much of the goldsmiths’ jewellery work was of silver, dipped in molten gold, which looked very well indeed. The latter have a very large central building, with galleries, where wholesale business seems carried on, and gives some idea of the immense variety of wares made and imported into Damascus, and there used, or perhaps more extensively distributed among the surrounding provinces and other countries. In one of the Bazaars we saw the famous Damascus “Otto of Roses”—a single drop of which on my handkerchief gave out its rich perfume for many months afterwards; also the henna with which the females tint their finger-nails a fine red colour. At the corners of the Bazaars and along their sides, are charcoal fires for cooking cakes, sweetmeats, and roasting coffee and peas, &c.;the former are sometimes as thin as a sheet of brown paper, and very tasteless. There are sherbet sellers and water sellers, moving about with their liquids in full-sized goats’ skin “bottles” carried on their backs. These Bazaars were larger and more businesslike than those of Cairo—extremely Eastern and novel, although not so continuously crowded.
Amongst the mass of goods exposed for sale I was glad to recognise several articles of English manufacture, also those of Italy, France, Switzerland, Austria, Russia, Constantinople, and other markets; but the most interesting were those of Persia, Bagdad, and the East. Of course the principal were those of Damascus manufacture, consisting of silks, woollens, and cottons, table-covers of peculiar patterns, saddlery, coppersmith work, and drugs. There is a very large sale of fruits and vegetables of excellent quality, confections, and bottles of curious liqueurs and preservedfruits, honey, grape-syrup, butter, and other good things. These eatables are carried about, the sellers keeping up a ceaseless hum of street calls, which, mingling with the other noises of a crowded city and the five times a day musical calls to prayer from the numerous minarets, have a peculiar and exciting effect upon the ear of a stranger. “Allah is great! I proclaim that there is no god but Allah, and Mahomet is his prophet.”
The pertinacity of some of the Bazaar dealers is extraordinary, and sometimes ludicrous. If an offer is made, or the least indication be given that you think of buying an article, you will probably find the dealer with his wares sitting at the door of your bedroom waiting an opportunity to renew the negotiation the next morning. They and the dragoman and the hotel waiters seem to have a business understanding. But, speaking generally, a judicious buyer finds the prices of many goods extremely moderate, and travellers often purchaseas many Damascus wares as they can afford to carry along with them.
Altogether Damascus is a most interesting city for a European, and is deserving of more time than travellers usually allow themselves for its inspection. It cannot be said to be prospering, and notwithstanding its great fertility, there are Dervishes and other beggars who proclaim their wants. Strangers generally give to get quit of them, and frequent acts of charity are shown by a few of the Moslems. One is a custom deserving of being made known and imitated at home. When desirous of doing an act of charity, a Moslem will pay a water seller for the whole contents of his large leather bottle or waterskin, and then order him to dispense it free to all who need; and so perhaps occasionally with other articles of food. Of all these retail pedlars each urges his own peculiar claim on the public attention. “In the name of the Prophet—Figs!” is not altogether fabulous, as I supposed.The cry of the water or sherbet seller may be, “O thirsty one, come!”—that of the seller of beetroot and cucumbers, “Buy, O father of a family!” But the best cry I have heard of is that of the seller of watercresses—“Tender cresses—if an old woman eats them she will be young again next morning!” Although Braham drew our attention to these cries, of course we were ignorant of their meaning at the time, and the populace generally did not seem to regard them as witty, probably because familiar.
This is the chief city of the Turk in Asia, and until recently the Governor ruled also over the Pashas of Palestine; now I think it is the chief Pasha at Beyrout who does so. There is a considerable garrison at Damascus, and indications are not wanting that it is needed to maintain order. The soldiers seemed a mixture of Turk, Arab, and Syrian natives.
There are two or three Protestant educational missions in Damascus. We met the principalsof the Scotch Mission, who informed us that the head of the Irish Mission was then confined to his bed with fever. There seemed no rivalry between them; indeed, they evidently were on friendly terms, as they need to be, for mutual sympathy, in the midst of hostile foes who would attack them if they dared.
Their educational operations occasionally extend to the numerous little villages of the Anti-Lebanon range, and southward into the country of the Hauran, situated east of Hermon and north of the land of Bashan. Here there seems to be a remarkably fine field for schools, which has been hitherto very much neglected—a field in which a comparatively small expenditure might produce rich results. At the central points—where Mahomedanism is strong—little or no progress has been made in enlightening the Moslem inhabitants, even where ample provision has long existed, as in Beyrout, and where education is well advanced amongst thechildren of Jewish and Christian sects. But in the villages I refer to, the inhabitants are not so much under direct local Moslem intimidation—indeed, a large portion of them are Maronite, a sect allied to the Roman Catholics. Rare opportunities seem to exist for reaching, at very small cost, the poor people of various sects, who seem very willing to learn, notwithstanding the occasional opposition of interested local priests and petty chiefs, especially of the Druses, a singularly proud and exclusive race, whose religion is a mystery, requiring secret initiation, but similar to Mahomedanism. In Beyrout, notwithstanding its large and influential Christian population, I was surprised to be told that no openly declared convert from Mahomedanism would be tolerated there—by law he was, but his life would not be safe. Still the influence of Christian teaching must prevail, and in the Lebanons there is a fine adjacent field.[9]
From the Prophet’s Tower hill, looking toward the sun rising, the plain of Damascus and desert beyond lay spread out like a great map. Except where partially limited by a low ridge of hills, the view was the most extensive I have ever seen, and bounded only by the power of the eye to scan it. But when the eye fails, imagination readily fills up the unseen beyond. Nearly north-east the beautiful ruins of Palmyra or Tadmor, in the desert; and farther east, between the Upper Euphrates and Tigris, lay the cradle of the human race—Mesopotamia—and Padan-Aram, the birthplace of Abram; and still farther beyond lay the once great kingdom of Assyria; while south of these, Media, Babylonia, and Chaldea, in the land of Shinar; and still farther south, Persia and Arabia. What a wealth of historic and sacred interest even in the names! And what are they now? Palestine is a desolation, yet the skeleton of its former self remains entire; but the once rich and fertile valley of theEuphrates is “empty and void, and a waste.” Nineveh—“that exceeding great city”—and Babylon, “the glory of kingdoms and the beauty of the Chaldees’ excellency”—travellers now describe as great mounds of mud—even their sites are uncertain. They are “the feeding places of the young lions,” and there “the voice of the messenger is no more heard.” As with an overflowing flood they have been utterly wasted. The ruins of Tadmor—said to have been built by Solomon in the desert—and of Persepolis, the capital of Cyrus of Persia, remain—like oases in the surrounding waste—to astonish the traveller with the magnificence of which they yet speak, and “to show where a garden had been.”
In the distance, travelling southward, we observed a caravan consisting of a long train of camels en route for Bagdad and the Persian Gulf. There was wont to be a very important Eastern trade, of which Damascus and Bagdad were the centres, but of late years it hasgreatly fallen off, partly because of most unwise taxation by the Turkish Government and partly by the opening of the Suez Canal, both for goods and passengers. Perhaps, however, at no distant day this trade may be much more than re-established by the construction of a railway from some point on the west coast of the Mediterranean, such as Sidon or Gaza, or Port Said, viâ Damascus, to Bagdad and the Persian Gulf.[10]The ground seems nearly level almost the entire distance, and there would certainly be very little private property of any value on the line. By this means Central Asia would be opened up to commerce and Christianity, the great civilizers, and I believe the shortest practicable route to India and the East obtained. If this great project be too long delayed, Russia will have established its rival line southward from the Caspian Sea, and by creating panic in our Indianempire, occasion a military expenditure costing vastly more than such a line of railway would.[11]To England it would be of great national importance, politically and commercially.
From Damascus we resolved to recross the Anti-Lebanon mountains en route for Balbec. This range is extremely bare and rugged from the action of the weather upon the friable rock, and probably also from earthquakes. The mountains are in many places worn or split open by great fissures into separate lofty and fantastic shapes. In the uncertain grey light of the early morning we passed under a hundred of these; some of them stood almost perpendicular, towering high over our heads like weird giant statues, minarets, and spires of almost every conceivable form, some airy and elegant, but most wildly grand or grotesque, and threatening to fall upon the passingtraveller. The scene around recalled the lines:
“What are the temples man hath built on earth?The monumental column, dome, and spire—His proudest works of art. Did he give birthTo one sublime design? Earth, air, and fire,His unacknowledged tutors. If amissHis plan, send him to study temples such as this!”
“What are the temples man hath built on earth?The monumental column, dome, and spire—His proudest works of art. Did he give birthTo one sublime design? Earth, air, and fire,His unacknowledged tutors. If amissHis plan, send him to study temples such as this!”
“What are the temples man hath built on earth?The monumental column, dome, and spire—His proudest works of art. Did he give birthTo one sublime design? Earth, air, and fire,His unacknowledged tutors. If amissHis plan, send him to study temples such as this!”
“What are the temples man hath built on earth?
The monumental column, dome, and spire—
His proudest works of art. Did he give birth
To one sublime design? Earth, air, and fire,
His unacknowledged tutors. If amiss
His plan, send him to study temples such as this!”
The absence of vegetation was remarkable: a very few slender willows were occasionally to be seen in the deeper gorges, but for many miles desolation and silence reigned supreme, broken perhaps by the occasional scream of the eagle, for which the range provides numerous eyries. On the mountains more northward numerous Greek Church monasteries and chapels have centuries ago been erected, and the hermits who inhabit them have certainly retired from the world.
We stopped at the half-way station on the diligence road, which is situated in the Great Lebanon Valley—Cœle-Syria. It consists of a small inn, with numerous stables and a small farmhouse. Here, on horseback, we resumedour journey northward along the foot of the Lebanon Mountains. This valley is well watered by numerous little streams, trickling down from the mountains, which feed the Leontes, a small river that flows southward, and eventually falls into the Mediterranean between the ruins of Tyre and Sidon. This river we had crossed in the diligence by a plain stone bridge, apparently of French construction.
Along the lower shoulders of the Lebanon there is a considerable population, forming numerous little villages, seated at a small elevation above the valley, and there is considerable cultivation upon some of the slopes, consisting of patches of corn, olive and other fruit trees, and occasionally vines. The population consists of Maronites, Druses, and Moslems. The latter, however, are the least numerous. These all live very much apart, especially the Druses, between whom and the Maronites great jealousy exists. The houses are of stoneand mud, of large size, generally of one, and sometimes of two storeys. Their roofs consist of mud and branches laid over beams of rough trees. This mud is largely used all over Syria as cement or concrete, which it somewhat resembles, being formed of the débris of the limestone and chalk rocks.
Scattered over this locality, and widely apart, are the well-known “Lebanon Schools.” We visited one of these, and certainly never were schools built and conducted on more economical principles. This building was like a large hut, with an earthen floor, having a few plain wooden seats, a desk, a lot of books and slates, a few maps hung on the walls, and no superfluities. There was room only for from twenty to thirty scholars; the teacher, who was a native Syrian, did not speak English, and therefore I had much difficulty in understanding him. He indicated that the attendance was good; but, being the dinner hour, we saw only a few of the scholars.They were healthy-looking boys, with intelligent countenances, and very plainly but cleanly dressed. Such schools, if well conducted, seemed calculated to do immense good at very small cost.
On riding through the villages, we were generally met by a somewhat unfriendly barking of dogs, then the women and children appeared; and if we chanced to alight for our mid-day lunch, nearly the whole of the women and children of the village—generally Maronites, I think—stood in a circle around us, patiently watching our movements with apparent interest, but always without rudeness. In this journey Braham had brought no tents, but he found accommodation for us in one of these houses. Our first night’s experience was by no means encouraging. Our bedroom was certainly very ample in point of dimensions, and our beds consisted of a tolerable mattress laid on the earthen floor; the windows were without glass, andthe doors by no means secure, although fastened by a wooden “lock;” but the atmosphere was extremely warm, for which, or other reasons, we found sleep by no means inviting. Our morning ablutions were generally performed in the open air, and were very refreshing.
Our next day’s ride brought us to Balbec. Seen from the distance, the ruins are picturesque. They are situated on a rising ground in the valley, near to the Anti-Lebanon range, but their magnificence was not appreciated until we stood within them. There are, I believe, no grander architectural ruins in the world, although consisting only of two great temples; the principal of these is called the “Great Temple,” of which six magnificent Corinthian columns remain standing entire. With their pedestals and entablature, they stand about eighty feet high, and measure upwards of seven feet in diameter. With what is called its “Courts” and portico thistemple had been of very great size. Almost adjoining on the south, and at a level, about twelve feet lower, is another temple—apparently of more recent date, and generally called the “Temple of the Sun,” which, although much smaller in size, is larger than the Parthenon at Athens. It is very difficult to imagine why these two magnificent temples should have been erected so huddled together, on different levels, and without apparent connexion.
Both buildings are of the rough-grained limestone rock of the Anti-Lebanon mountains adjoining, and the style of architecture in both is somewhat similar. The original size and form of the buildings are still traceable by the portions of the walls, in some parts twelve feet thick, which remain standing, and the pedestals of numerous columns and capitals which lie prostrate within them. The ornamentation and design of the Temple of the Sun is rich, and its great eastern doorway—ofwhich the photograph is familiar to most—seemed to me particularly fine, but has been very much destroyed by an earthquake. Much uncertainty exists, indeed nothing is known, as to the age of these temples, which some attribute to Solomon; but it is evident that they date from three or four widely different ages. The foundations and portions of the walls date very far back—probably to the days of that wise king—and contain some stones of enormous size; but the superstructures seem to belong to the Greek or early Roman period, while a third portion bears marks of Moslem work.
There is a legend told by historians that the Emperor Trajan, in order to test the oracle at Balbec, sent a blank sheet of paper, which he received back again blank. This confirming his faith in the oracle, he consulted it a second time, and received in response a few withered twigs folded up in cloth. Trajan’s death shortly afterwards was deemed a true interpretationof this oracular answer; and on his body being sent to Rome for burial, the fame of the oracle was greatly increased.
It was difficult, amongst the confused mass of ruins, to determine what the original ground level had been. What impressed us greatly was the size of the huge fallen capitals and entablature—how small even the tallest of our party looked as we moved amongst them. We descended by a hole in front of the east gateway into what is now an underground vault of excellent masonry, and we also passed through a grand archway of great length and width, apparently a carriage way, but now under the ground level, and partially dark.
The Syrians have been accused of overturning many of the columns of these grand temples for the sake of the pieces of metal which formed their joints, and certainly the fallen pieces bear marks of this spoliation. The quarry from which these great stones hadbeen taken is distant only about a mile eastward, and there still remains one of them upon the road, apparently left in transit, for what reason cannot now be known; but it indicates some political or other sudden change of circumstances or government. It measures, I think, about 60 feet in length, 15 in width, and fully 14 feet in thickness, being only a very little more than the dimensions of three other similar stones built into the original west wall of the temple, and, as the perfection of their joinings indicate, by the hands of a master builder. Even now, and with all the appliances of modern science, nothing approaching this feat in masonry has been attempted. The length of the Great Temple seemed to me nearly 1000 feet over all. Verily there were giants on the earth in those days.
Of Balbec, the great City of the Sun, there are now no other remains except two much smaller ruins, evidently Roman. There are only a few hundred inhabitants, who live inthe modern Syrian houses such as I have already described, and in two of these our party lodged for the night, resuming our journey southward in the morning. The view of this long valley is fine, with its green cornfields, the river Leontes flowing down its centre, the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountains on either hand, and Mount Hermon far south in the distance. The morning sun lighted up the whole scene, and the mountain tops were brilliantly white or vermilion and orange tinted. But the mountains were bare of vegetation—the famous Cedars of Lebanon no longer exist, except about a dozen of almost fabulous age and size, which, however, are several miles further north.
Balbec was probably the most northern city of the “Land of Promise,” which is repeatedly described in Scripture as extending “from the entering in of Hamath” on the north “unto the river of Egypt” on the south. But, except in the days of Solomon, the Israelites donot seem to have possessed their inheritance so far north; nor I think did they ever possess, in its full width eastward, the land promised to their fathers. Hamath appears to have been a semi-independent province situate in the centre of this Lebanon valley of Cœle-Syria, of which Toi is mentioned as the king in the days of David.
Braham took us to view the so-called tomb of Noah, which is at a small village upon a steep shoulder of the Lebanon range. Entering a very long narrow stone building we found a tomb rising fully two feet higher than the floor, and extending the whole length of the building, probably about seventy feet. It seemed stone-built, white coloured, and lighted up with numerous oil lamps, which are kept perpetually burning, at, as I understood, the expense of the Turkish Government. Here and there were bits of cloth and rags hung over the tomb, which we understood were used as talismanic charms or given as votiveofferings. The keeper explained as well as he could that the body of Noah lay upon its back the whole length, and that, as the house over the tomb, long as it was, was still too short, the legs of the saint from the knees downward were bent down into a perpendicular hole dug into the ground! Braham said the tomb of Shem, another antedeluvian of nearly as great length, was to be seen on the mountain opposite; but we assured him we were quite satisfied with Noah’s.
I listened with proper decorum to the description, merely remarking that, “although I always understood Noah had been a very great man, I was not aware he had been so very tall.” On remounting our horses to ride down to the valley I asked Braham, who had assisted the keeper in making his description, with all the gravity of a judge—“Do you believe this story now—and what did Mr. Buckle say of it?” Braham, who did not at all relish such questions, answered with great emphasis—“Mr.Buckle, master—Mr. Buckle, he believednothing, sir.” Two or three years previously, Mr. Buckle (the eminent historian) had I think, along with his son, travelled over the same ground, attended by Braham as his dragoman. He took ill of fever near this spot, and died. He is buried at Damascus, where his grave may be seen. Braham, who frequently spoke of other eminent men he had attended, never willingly mentioned Mr. Buckle, perhaps because he may have stated his opinion of such legends rather freely for Braham (who, however, was far too intelligent to believe them himself), or perhaps because this traveller had been so unfortunate as to die while under this careful dragoman’s guidance. Dragomans generally seem to maintain the current belief in all legends and “places,” however incredible.
After passing several villages and Zacleh, a small town, we reached Shtora Inn, where we next day resumed our journey by diligence, andsoon began to ascend the Lebanon range westward. From our road we observed from time to time donkeys, camels, and horses toiling along the old path, deep in the mountain gorges, loaded with goods. The French Company have an excellent service of goods waggons on their road, but the rate is high, and so the old mode of transport still continues as a competing route.
Near the highest point of our journey the sky became black, and thunder peals followed, but it cleared off in the course of two hours, and the prospect opened up as we proceeded south-westward towards Beyrout. The mountains became more and more verdant as we descended; we soon obtained a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean; and the rain having ceased, the view became grand. Altogether the Lebanon range is both populous and fertile. Snugly embosomed amongst the lower shoulders of the mountain were numerous cultivated patches with fruit trees, andeven a few palms, but the mulberry was the chief. There are several of what are called Silk Factories. These, we were told, were recently introduced by a Scotchman, and seem to have prospered as well as any manufacturing project may under Turkish rule. The silkworms are kept in large wooden sheds, where they are fed on the leaves of the mulberry trees, and not—as many suppose—upon the growing trees. This explains the stunted appearance of so many trees in Italy and other silk-producing countries, the top branches being annually lopped off for the factories.
Beyrout is situated on a gently rising ground, with a good many trees, and is surrounded by plains—especially southward. These plains are of red and yellow sands, giving a rich appearance to the scene when the afternoon sun shines upon it. Here we settled once more in the Grand Oriental, kept by a tall Greek, a large and only tolerably comfortable hotel, highly recommended by our dragoman.We here settled up our accounts in a formal and business style, for Braham was a correct man in all his ways; and so we parted in a friendly manner, and to our mutual satisfaction, I trust, for Braham added our “certificates” to his already ample store of them.[12]
Finding no letters here, as I had expected to do, I telegraphed home—an operation which was by no means very easy. It occupied me and my guide—a Turkish official—and a clerk who spoke French—for more than an hour. I was asked to print it over again in Roman characters. The charge for twenty-six words was 32s.It reached Scotland a sad jumble, having been translated and transmitted oftener than once, I think. Fortunately, however, its meaning was guessed at. This guide I had found standing like a sentry at the foot of the hotel stairs. He was a tall, reverend-looking, elderly man, dressed in a long robe, like the pictureswe see of the Pharisees of Jerusalem, and so dignified in appearance, and so very grave and ceremonious, that I hesitated to walk behind him, as he marched right before me with his turban and his staff through long streets of the city. He might have sat for a picture of Mordecai, I think, but with face more sanctimonious no doubt. Next morning, purposing to have a real Turkish bath, I walked out in search of it; but here again was my old patriarchal-looking guide unbidden marching before me. The bath was a very large building, well furnished, and I submitted myself to a pair of Arabs, who entered upon their duties with the energy and zest of schoolboys. They talked and laughed loudly as usual during the whole operation; but the only word I understood was “bakshish.” However, this bath, which occupied two hours, was, when finished, extremely refreshing.
I ascertained, on settling my hotel bill, that my dignified guide did not, after all, belongto the hotel, but elected himself as such to all strangers going into the city, so long as they permitted him, but always demanded bakshish when “discharged,” at a rate more commensurate with his dignity than his usefulness. On all other subjects he was a silent man and a deaf one, unless it suited him to hear.
We visited the principal educational establishments in the city, and found them in a state of great completeness in every respect. On Sunday we attended worship in the Scotch Chapel—a neat building, similar to that at Alexandria. The service was much the same as at home. The congregation seemed chiefly English, and there was no separation of the sexes, by curtain or otherwise, as at Alexandria. We felt it to be a privilege to worship in a Christian church after so long an interval.
We were detained in Beyrout[13]a few daysby the equinoctial gales, which kept back the steamers. We had wished to return home by Constantinople and the Danube, but rumours of quarantine—and especially our anxiety to reach home early—decided our course to be viâ Marseilles. The embarkation on board the French steamer from Constantinople was one of some danger. The gale from the west raised so much surf on the beach that considerable dexterity was required in leaping or stepping from a small rock into the boats just at the proper moment; but the ladies of our party accomplished the feat very neatly, and we all got on board dry. In the evening we sailed from the bay southward, bidding adieu to Syria. There were very few cabin passengers on board; the state rooms and cabin, however, were half filled with tobacco, in large bales, the odour of which we had the privilege of inhaling free. Fortunately it was the Latakia—a Turkish tobacco of very mild quality.
Next day we anchored off Jaffa for unloadingand loading cargo; and as the wind became very high, we witnessed one of the most exciting scenes I have ever seen as a mere onlooker. There are numerous boatmen, who do all this transport business each for himself and his own boat. The cargo for landing was delivered over the lee side of the steamer with comparative ease, but the cargo for loading was all taken in only from the windward side; and although not over thirty boats’ load in all, the day was spent and the sun was getting low without half completing the business. Many boats had to return with their cargo more or less damaged—some were upset, some adrift, and others driven on the beach far southward. Oranges in boxes, and many thousands loose, were floating all around, with half-sunk boats and young Arabs, some half submerged, some afloat, but all struggling and screaming as for very life. The scene exhibited the extraordinary activity of the Arabs, and for some hours the noise of their quarrels arose above the roar of thewinds. There was an utter absence of any guiding spirit to direct, and so it was a scramble and fight not only against time, but against winds and waves, and each other. I must say that I thought a very little aid from our deck might have prevented this damage and waste of time, but the mate of the steamer made no effort to mitigate the confusion—perhaps, however, he knew it to be impossible; and certainly no human voice could be heard amid the general uproar.
The deck, except the poop, was covered with Moslem pilgrims, chiefly from Constantinople, en route for Mecca viâ the Red Sea. They were generally elderly people, but many families, and even children, were amongst them. They appeared to be Turks of the common people, but several wore rich clothing and were well provided with excellent cushions. The females were veiled only partially. Of course their deck fares were very cheap, but they may have preferred notto go below, as many of them were evidently not good sailors. They ate their meals—which seemed to be of the simplest fare—and performed their devotions very regularly, rarely moving about, and sitting just where they slept. They always seemed to know—even in the open sea—the direction of Mecca, towards which they prayed.
Our steamer landed the tobacco at Alexandria, and took on board other cargo, as well as overland, cabin, and other passengers. Amongst these were a troupe of French opera artistes, whom the Khedive had brought from France for his new opera, which we witnessed at Cairo, and they were now returning to Marseilles. They slept on the poop deck during the voyage, and even the ladies of their party seemed to make themselves comfortable and at home.
We sailed northward by the east of Sicily. Malta was too distant to be seen, but we had a fine view of the Sicilian coast, on whichMount Etna is a very prominent object. Our steamer called for a few busy hours off Messina—a large city, beautifully situated on the shore, overtopped by a semicircle of lofty hills. The bay is very large, and the harbour seemed commodious. We were boarded by numerous boats, full of dealers with their little wares and articles of vertu, which they spread out on the steamer’s deck for sale.
Here we parted with our American fellow-travellers with regret. Mr. Dickson had telegraphed to his Italian courier to meet him here, and here he was on deck to enter upon his duties. They intended crossing over to Naples for a tour through Italy, and thence to Paris and England. We had the pleasure of a call from them at home some months later. I am sorry to add that the weather on that occasion was so unusually cold and wet that they must have gone home with a very unfavourable impression of Old Scotland. We were subsequently glad to hear of their safearrival in Pennsylvania—exactly twelve months after their setting out westward—they having followed the course of the sun round the world.
Passing through the narrow channel—on either side of which is supposed to be the famous Scylla and Charybdis, the terror of ancient navigators of Homer’s time and of our schoolboy days—we sailed along the coast of Italy, passing Capri during the night.
Civita Vecchia was too distant, but Monte Christo was visible, and the island of Elba barely so, while Corsica lay near on our left. Although we kept well north toward the French coast, Nice and Cannes were too distant to be distinctly seen, but we were close in shore off Toulon; and thence to Marseilles we sailed along miles of white barren rocks, which looked like a huge irregular wall, behind which La Belle France lay concealed. The harbour of Marseilles is hid and finely protected by one or two of such white rocks, but, onceentered, it appeared an excellent harbour, with a fine city beyond it.
We arrived some two days overdue, the wind being generally unfavourable. Our steamer had brought as cargo several large wooden frames or cages, filled with quails from Syria. They were nicely arranged along the bulwarks, and each contained numerous shelves, which enabled the whole to be regularly fed and watered; latterly each day a good many of them had died. Those safely landed would, however, be nearly two thousand in number, and formed a daily subject of interest to our passengers. They were said to be for the Paris hotels. These birds are migratory, and easily caught with nets; they are very common all over the East, and form a considerable article of export from Syria, Palestine, the north coast of Africa, and the various islands in the Mediterranean. The quail is, in appearance and size, between a partridge and a lark.
Between Marseilles and Lyons the country is well cultivated, and vines are trained up to the hilltops. Lyons, where we stopped for a day, is a large and fine old city, beautifully situated over the west bank of the Rhone. The soil here gets richer, and altogether this locality seems very wealthy, both in agriculture and in the silk manufactures.
On the following day we arrived in Paris, where we remained for two days. Coming out of the Louvre Hotel, we met for a few minutes our commander of the French steamer. He was a Frenchman of polished manners, rather over middle age, of whom we heard a somewhat romantic story.
He had, several years before, been a commander in the French navy; but having an affair of honour (in which it was said his own wife was interested) with the surgeon of his ship, he was, by the French laws of marine, prevented giving a challenge, seeing the surgeon was his own subordinate officer. However,they left the vessel together; and, landing in a neighbouring country, the challenge was there formally given and accepted, a duel fought, and the surgeon left dead on the field. For this he was cashiered—not for murder, but for deserting his ship for a day without instruction! He subsequently got this mercantile appointment, through the influence, it was said, of the same Minister who cashiered him. He was occasionally infirm from gout, was of quiet manners, somewhat of the old school, and by no means like a fire-eater.
London and Home occupied two days more. Any one who has for the first time returned from adailypilgrimage of some months—as ours had very much been—will understand what is meant by saying that “Home, sweet Home,” means something more than mere sentiment!
This little book has already swelled far beyond my intention; but I may be allowed to add, that the journey proved altogether mostpleasant, health-giving, and profitable. I was specially fortunate in my fellow-travellers, the weather throughout was fine, and my umbrella was daily unfurled, but only as a parasol. No accident nor illness ever delayed us for a single hour, and we were free even of the usual misadventures of which we read, while those trifling ones inseparable from our mode of travelling were momentary, and almost as quickly forgotten. The retrospect brings only enjoyment, which in my experience promises, like good wine, to improve year by year, refusing to be forgotten; and so I beg leave to recommend my readers to set out on the like or some similar pilgrimage. I think all would enjoy it—those of mature years doubly so.
In the reading of the Sacred Record one can—without attaching unwarranted or religious importance to what are called “holy places”—habitually recall the scene of its stories, and a vivid and lasting impressionfixes its Truths upon the understanding and the heart.
Wherein the charm of Eastern travel consists,[14]it is more easy to feel than to describe. I think it largely arises from the extraordinary development of one of the senses not much exercised by us at home—I mean that of vision. In this country everything has a sombre, leaden hue, from the grey sky down to the dingy cottage, and the aspect of our streets to a southern eye must appear gloomy and cold-looking in the extreme. No doubt there are exceptions, but these are very occasional and uncertain, depending almost entirely upon sunshine or clear weather.
In the East everything is changed; the sky is for the most part mellow and shining from dawn till eventide, and in the lower latitudes of course the sun mounts higher towards the zenith. The first thing therefore that strikesa stranger is the almost uniform pre-eminent brightness of the atmosphere, and warmth of the colour tints of almost every object around, whether distant or near.
Eastward, beginning at Naples, the houses—by no means so substantial as with us, and consisting for the most part of bricks or small stones covered with concrete or cement—have generally an elegant and airy aspect, and are almost always coloured with light and cheerful tints, such as yellow, pink, and light brown. The dull bluishleadentinge which so prevails in this country is very seldom met with, and for the first time the eye begins to enjoy the scene in a manner which it rarely does here—partly from the want of practice in looking abroad. The very mountains, which with us are usually of a cold cloudy grey or dark violet tinge, are there almost invariably of a mellow yellowish hue, usually mixed with slight tints of vermilion and even white.
The main difference certainly lies in the rare atmosphere, which entices the eye to roam as far as the prospect will permit it to do, and I think, if nothing else is learned by an Eastern tour, the use of the eyes is, and becomes a most pleasurable sensation. The prospects and the landscapes are in general more open than with us, besides being better lighted up, and I think that one drinks in health at the eyes as well as all the other senses in travelling by day in the open air, watching the sunrise as well as the sunsets, and the beautiful ever-varying tints which these give to the mountain tops around.
Here at home let us all feel more interest than we hitherto have done in the views and landscapes around us, and possibly we may discover beauties equally grand, particularly in our gorgeous sunsets—although of course such occasions may be rare—if we watch, perhaps not so very rare as we suppose! And then let us look out upon our lovely turfs, meadows,and lawns, with the grand stately trees and heather-clad hills of our old country, which remain unrivalled in the East. We need not cultivate one blue pansy the less, but yellow ones a thousandfold more. Let us discourage cold gloomy colours—grey and blue—and promote in every way warm tints—pink, gold, and white—in all our landscapes, cottage gardens, and street-fronts. Perhaps the effect would soon tell upon the health and spirits of us all. I think the practice of looking at things—especially distant objects—is one that will repay all with exquisite pleasure. Even the rich variety of curves in the landscape, and the simple outlines of distant mountain tops against the background of sky, become things of beauty, as John Ruskin points out, and may become to us “a joy for ever,” as John Keats sings. To neglect them is surely to despise some bounty of the Great Giver!
The sun, we are told, was set in the heavens to rule the day, and all inanimate natureseems to acknowledge his sway. His shining brightly or behind a cloud makes all the difference between a joyful and a gloomy day. The original idolaters accordingly, in their ignorance of the true God, bowed down to the great luminary, and erected splendid temples to this god of fire; while the sacred penmen, although largely referring to the sun and his effulgence, do so only as types and figures of higher things.
This general dependence of mute nature upon the sun is a specially favourite subject with the poets. Thus (from an “Ode to the Sun):”—