The Lands of the Saracen - Bayard Taylor
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The day has been, and still is, excessively hot. The atmosphere is
sweltering, and all around us, over the thick patches of mallow and wild
mustard, the bees are humming with a continuous sultry sound. The Shekh,
with a number of lazy villagers, is still seated under the terebinth, in a
tent of shade, impervious to the sun. I can hear the rush of the fountains
of Banias--the holy springs of Hermon, whence Jordan is born. But what is
this? The odor of the velvety weed of Shiraz meets my nostrils; a
dark-eyed son of Pan places the narghileh at my feet; and, bubbling more
sweetly than the streams of Jordan, the incense most dear to the god dims
the crystal censer, and floats from my lips in rhythmic ejaculations. I,
too, am in Arcadia!
Chapter VIII.
Crossing the Anti-Lebanon.
The Harmless Guard--Caesarea Philippi--The Valley of the Druses--The
Sides of Mount Hermon--An Alarm--Threading a Defile--Distant view of
Djebel Hauaran--Another Alarm--Camp at Katana--We Ride into Damascus.
Damascus, _May_ 12, 1852.
We rose early, so as to be ready for a long march. The guard came--a
mild-looking Arab--without arms; but on our refusing to take him thus, he
brought a Turkish musket, terrible to behold, but quite guiltless of any
murderous intent. We gave ourselves up to fate, with true
Arab-resignation, and began ascending the Anti-Lebanon. Up and up, by
stony paths, under the oaks, beside the streams, and between the
wheat-fields, we climbed for two hours, and at last reached a comb or
dividing ridge, whence we could look into a valley on the other side, or
rather inclosed between the main chain and the offshoot named Djebel
Heish, which stretches away towards the south-east. About half-way up the
ascent, we passed the ruined acropolis of Caesarea Philippi, crowning the
summit of a lower peak. The walls and bastions cover a great extent of
ground, and were evidently used as a stronghold in the Middle Ages.
The valley into which we descended lay directly under one of the peaks of
Hermon and the rills that watered it were fed from his snow-fields. It was
inhabited by Druses, but no men were to be seen, except a few poor
husbandmen, ploughing on the mountain-sides. The women, wearing those
enormous horns on their heads which distinguish them from the Mohammedan
females, were washing at a pool below. We crossed the valley, and slowly
ascended the height on the opposite side, taking care to keep with the
baggage-mules. Up to this time, we met very few persons; and we forgot the
anticipated perils in contemplating the rugged scenery of the
Anti-Lebanon. The mountain-sides were brilliant with flowers, and many new
and beautiful specimens arrested our attention. The asphodel grew in
bunches beside the streams, and the large scarlet anemone outshone even
the poppy, whose color here is the quintessence of flame. Five hours after
leaving Banias, we reached the highest part of the pass--a dreary volcanic
region, covered with fragments of lava. Just at this place, an old Arab
met us, and, after scanning us closely, stopped and accosted Dervish. The
latter immediately came running ahead, quite excited with the news that
the old man had seen a company of about fifty Druses descend from the
sides of Mount Hermon, towards the road we were to travel. We immediately
ordered the baggage to halt, and Mr. Harrison, Francois, and myself rode
on to reconnoitre. Our guard, the valiant man of Banias, whose teeth
already chattered with fear, prudently kept with the baggage. We crossed
the ridge and watched the stony mountain-sides for some time; but no spear
or glittering gun-barrel could we see. The caravan was then set in motion;
and we had not proceeded far before we met a second company of Arabs, who
informed us that the road was free.
Leaving the heights, we descended cautiously into a ravine with walls of
rough volcanic rock on each side. It was a pass where three men might have
stood their ground against a hundred; and we did not feel thoroughly
convinced of our safety till we had threaded its many windings and emerged
upon a narrow valley. A village called Beit Jenn nestled under the rocks;
and below it, a grove of poplar-trees shaded the banks of a rapid stream.
We had now fairly crossed the Anti-Lebanon. The dazzling snows of Mount
Hermon overhung us on the west; and, from the opening of the valley, we
looked across a wild, waste country, to the distant range of Djebel
Hauaran, the seat of the present rebellion, and one of the most
interesting regions of Syria. I regretted more than ever not being able to
reach it. The ruins of Bozrah, Ezra, and other ancient cities, would well
repay the arduous character of the journey, while the traveller might
succeed in getting some insight into the life and habits of that singular
people, the Druses. But now, and perhaps for some time to come, there is
no chance of entering the Hauaran.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, we reached a large village, which is
usually the end of the first day's journey from Banias. Our men wanted to
stop here, but we considered that to halt then would be to increase the
risk, and decided to push on to Katana, four hours' journey from Damascus.
They yielded with a bad grace; and we jogged on over the stony road,
crossing the long hills which form the eastern base of the Anti-Lebanon.
Before long, another Arab met us with the news that there was an
encampment of Druses on the plain between us and Katana. At this, our
guard, who had recovered sufficient spirit to ride a few paces in advance,
fell back, and the impassive Dervish became greatly agitated. Where there
is an uncertain danger, it is always better to go ahead than to turn back;
and we did so. But the guard reined up on the top of the first ridge,
trembling as he pointed to a distant hill, and cried out: _"Aho, aho
henak!"_ (There they are!) There were, in fact, the shadows of some rocks,
which bore a faint resemblance to tents. Before sunset, we reached the
last declivity of the mountains, and saw far in the dusky plain, the long
green belt of the gardens of Damascus, and here and there the indistinct
glimmer of a minaret. Katana, our resting-place for the night, lay below
us, buried in orchards of olive and orange. We pitched our tents on the
banks of a beautiful stream, enjoyed the pipe of tranquillity, after our
long march, and soon forgot the Druses, in a slumber that lasted unbroken
till dawn.
In the morning we sent back the man of Banias, left the baggage to take
care of itself, and rode on to Damascus, as fast as our tired horses could
carry us. The plain, at first barren and stony, became enlivened with
vineyards and fields of wheat, as we advanced. Arabs were everywhere at
work, ploughing and directing the water-courses. The belt of living green,
the bower in which the great city, the Queen of the Orient, hides her
beauty, drew nearer and nearer, stretching out a crescent of foliage for
miles on either hand, that gradually narrowed and received us into its
cool and fragrant heart. We sank into a sea of olive, pomegranate, orange,
plum, apricot, walnut, and plane trees, and were lost. The sun sparkled in
the rolling surface above; but we swam through the green depths, below
his reach, and thus, drifted on through miles of shade, entered the city.
Since our arrival, I find that two other parties of travellers, one of
which crossed the Anti-Lebanon on the northern side of Mount Hermon, were
obliged to take guards, and saw several Druse spies posted on the heights,
as they passed. A Russian gentleman travelling from here to Tiberias, was
stopped three times on the road, and only escaped being plundered from the
fact of his having a Druse dragoman. The disturbances are more serious
than I had anticipated. Four regiments left here yesterday, sent to the
aid of a company of cavalry, which is surrounded by the rebels in a valley
of Dejebel Hauaran, and unable to get out.
Chapter IX.
Pictures of Damascus.
Damascus from the Anti-Lebanon--Entering the City--A Diorama of
Bazaars--An Oriental Hotel--Our Chamber--The Bazaars--Pipes and
Coffee--The Rivers of Damascus--Palaces of the Jews--Jewish Ladies--A
Christian Gentleman--The Sacred Localities--Damascus Blades--The Sword
of Haroun Al-Raschid--An Arrival from Palmyra.
"Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the
waters of Israel?"--2 Kings, v. 12.
Damascus, _Wednesday, May_ 19, 1852.
Damascus is considered by many travellers as the best remaining type of an
Oriental city. Constantinople is semi-European; Cairo is fast becoming so;
but Damascus, away from the highways of commerce, seated alone between the
Lebanon and the Syrian Desert, still retains, in its outward aspect and in
the character of its inhabitants, all the pride and fancy and fanaticism
of the times of the Caliphs. With this judgment, in general terms, I
agree; but not to its ascendancy, in every respect, over Cairo. True, when
you behold Damascus from the Salahiyeh, the last slope of the
Anti-Lebanon, it is the realization of all that you have dreamed of
Oriental splendor; the world has no picture more dazzling. It is Beauty
carried to the Sublime, as I have felt when overlooking some boundless
forest of palms within the tropics. From the hill, whose ridges heave
behind you until in the south they rise to the snowy head of Mount Hermon,
the great Syrian plain stretches away to the Euphrates, broken at
distances of ten and fifteen miles, by two detached mountain chains. In a
terrible gorge at your side, the river Barrada, the ancient Pharpar,
forces its way to the plain, and its waters, divided into twelve different
channels, make all between you and those blue island-hills of the desert,
one great garden, the boundaries of which your vision can barely
distinguish. Its longest diameter cannot be less than twenty miles. You
look down on a world of foliage, and fruit, and blossoms, whose hue, by
contrast with the barren mountains and the yellow rim of the desert which
incloses it, seems brighter than all other gardens in the world. Through
its centre, following the course of the river, lies Damascus; a line of
white walls, topped with domes and towers and tall minarets, winding away
for miles through the green sea. Nothing less than a city of palaces,
whose walls are marble and whose doors are ivory and pearl, could keep up
the enchantment of that distant view.
We rode for an hour through the gardens before entering the gate. The
fruit-trees, of whatever variety---walnut, olive, apricot, or fig--were
the noblest of their kind. Roses and pomegranates in bloom starred the
dark foliage, and the scented jasmine overhung the walls. But as we
approached the city, the view was obscured by high mud walls on either
side of the road, and we only caught glimpses now and then of the fragrant
wilderness. The first street we entered was low and mean, the houses of
clay. Following this, we came to an uncovered bazaar, with rude shops on
either side, protected by mats stretched in front and supported by poles.
Here all sorts of common stuns and utensils were sold, and the street was
filled with crowds of Fellahs and Desert Arabs. Two large sycamores shaded
it, and the Seraglio of the Pasha of Damascus, a plain two-story building,
faced the entrance of the main bazaar, which branched off into the city.
We turned into this, and after passing through several small bazaars
stocked with dried fruits, pipes and pipe-bowls, groceries, and all the
primitive wares of the East, reached a large passage, covered with a steep
wooden roof, and entirely occupied by venders of silk stuffs. Out of this
we passed through another, devoted to saddles and bridles; then another,
full of spices, and at last reached the grand bazaar, where all the
richest stuffs of Europe and the East were displayed in the shops. We rode
slowly along through the cool twilight, crossed here and there by long
pencils of white light, falling through apertures in the roof, and
illuminating the gay turbans and silk caftans of the lazy merchants. But
out of this bazaar, at intervals, opened the grand gate of a khan, giving
us a view of its marble court, its fountains, and the dark arches of its
storerooms; or the door of a mosque, with its mosaic floor and pillared
corridor. The interminable lines of bazaars, with their atmospheres of
spice and fruit and fragrant tobacco, the hushed tread of the slippered
crowds; the plash of falling fountains and the bubbling of innumerable
narghilehs; the picturesque merchants and their customers, no longer in
the big trowsers of Egypt, but the long caftans and abas of Syria; the
absence of Frank faces and dresses--in all these there was the true spirit
of the Orient, and so far, we were charmed with Damascus.
At the hotel in the Soog el-Harab, or Frank quarter, the illusion was not
dissipated. It had once been the house of some rich merchant. The court
into which we were ushered is paved with marble, with a great stone basin,
surrounded with vases of flowering plants, in the centre. Two large lemon
trees shade the entrance, and a vine, climbing to the top of the house,
makes a leafy arbor over the flat roof. The walls of the house are painted
in horizontal bars of blue, white, orange and white--a gay grotesqueness
of style which does not offend the eye under an eastern sun. On the
southern side of the court is the _liwan_, an arrangement for which the
houses of Damascus are noted. It is a vaulted apartment, twenty feet high,
entirely open towards the court, except a fine pointed arch at the top,
decorated with encaustic ornaments of the most brilliant colors. In front,
a tesselated pavement of marble leads to the doors of the chambers on each
side. Beyond this is a raised floor covered with matting, and along the
farther end a divan, whose piled cushions are the most tempting trap ever
set to catch a lazy man. Although not naturally indolent, I find it
impossible to resist the fascination of this lounge. Leaning back,
cross-legged, against the cushions, with the inseparable pipe in one's
hand, the view of the court, the water-basin, the flowers and lemon trees,
the servants and dragomen going back and forth, or smoking their
narghilehs in the shade--all framed in the beautiful arched entrance, is
so perfectly Oriental, so true a tableau from the times of good old Haroun
Al-Raschid, that one is surprised to find how many hours have slipped away
while he has been silently enjoying it.
Opposite the _liwan_ is a large room paved with marble, with a handsome
fountain in the centre. It is the finest in the hotel, and now occupied
by Lord Dalkeith and his friends. Our own room is on the upper floor, and
is so rich in decorations that I have not yet finished the study of them.
Along the side, looking down on the court, we have a mosaic floor of
white, red, black and yellow marble. Above this is raised a second floor,
carpeted and furnished in European style. The walls, for a height of ten
feet, are covered with wooden panelling, painted with arabesque devices in
the gayest colors, and along the top there is a series of Arabic
inscriptions in gold. There are a number of niches or open closets in the
walls, whose arched tops are adorned with pendent wooden ornaments,
resembling stalactites, and at the corners of the room the heavy gilded
and painted cornice drops into similar grotesque incrustations. A space of
bare white wall intervenes between this cornice and the ceiling, which is
formed of slim poplar logs, laid side by side, and so covered with paint
and with scales and stripes and network devices in gold and silver, that
one would take them to be clothed with the skins of the magic serpents
that guard the Valley of Diamonds. My most satisfactory remembrance of
Damascus will be this room.
My walks through the city have been almost wholly confined to the bazaars,
which are of immense extent. One can walk for many miles, without going
beyond the cover of their peaked wooden roofs, and in all this round will
find no two precisely alike. One is devoted entirely to soap; another to
tobacco, through which you cough and sneeze your way to the bazaar of
spices, and delightedly inhale its perfumed air. Then there is the bazaar
of sweetmeats; of vegetables; of red slippers; of shawls; of caftans; of
bakers and ovens; of wooden ware; of jewelry---a great stone building,
covered with vaulted passages; of Aleppo silks; of Baghdad carpets; of
Indian stuffs; of coffee; and so on, through a seemingly endless variety.
As I have already remarked, along the line of the bazaars are many khans,
the resort of merchants from all parts of Turkey and Persia, and even
India. They are large, stately buildings, and some of them have superb
gateways of sculptured marble. The interior courts are paved with stone,
with fountains in the centre, and many of them are covered with domes
resting on massive pillars. The largest has a roof of nine domes,
supported by four grand pillars, which inclose a fountain. The mosques,
into which no Christian is allowed to enter, are in general inferior to
those of Cairo, but their outer courts are always paved with marble,
adorned with fountains, and surrounded by light and elegant corridors. The
grand mosque is an imposing edifice, and is said to occupy the site of a
former Christian church.
Another pleasant feature of the city is its coffee shops, which abound in
the bazaars and on the outskirts of the gardens, beside the running
streams. Those in the bazaars are spacious rooms with vaulted ceilings,
divans running around the four walls, and fountains in the centre. During
the afternoon they are nearly always filled with Turks, Armenians and
Persians, smoking the narghileh, or water-pipe, which is the universal
custom in Damascus. The Persian tobacco, brought here by the caravans from
Baghdad, is renowned for this kind of smoking. The most popular
coffee-shop is near the citadel, on the banks and over the surface of the
Pharpar. It is a rough wooden building, with a roof of straw mats, but the
sight and sound of the rushing waters, as they shoot away with arrowy
swiftness under your feet, the shade of the trees that line the banks,
and the cool breeze that always visits the spot, beguile you into a second
pipe ere you are aware. _"El ma, wa el khodra, wa el widj el
hassan_--water, verdure and a beautiful face," says an old Arab proverb,
"are three things which delight the heart," and the Syrians avow that all
three are to be found in Damascus. Not only on the three Sundays of each
week, but every day, in the gardens about the city, you may see whole
families (and if Jews or Christians, many groups of families) spending the
day in the shade, beside the beautiful waters. There are several gardens
fitted up purposely for these picnics, with kiosks, fountains and pleasant
seats under the trees. You bring your pipes, your provisions and the like
with you, but servants are in attendance to furnish fire and water and
coffee, for which, on leaving, you give them a small gratuity. Of all the
Damascenes I have yet seen, there is not one but declares his city to be
the Garden of the World, the Pearl of the Orient, and thanks God and the
Prophet for having permitted him to be born and to live in it. But, except
the bazaars, the khans and the baths, of which there are several most
luxurious establishments, the city itself is neither so rich nor so purely
Saracenic in its architecture as Cairo. The streets are narrow and dirty,
and the houses, which are never more than two low stories in height, are
built of sun-dried bricks, coated with plaster. I miss the solid piles of
stone, the elegant doorways, and, above all, the exquisite hanging
balconies of carved wood, which meet one in the old streets of Cairo.
Damascus is the representative of all that is gay, brilliant, and
picturesque, in Oriental life; but for stately magnificence, Cairo, and, I
suspect, Baghdad, is its superior.
We visited the other day the houses of some of the richest Jews and
Christians. Old Abou-Ibrahim, the Jewish servant of the hotel, accompanied
and introduced us. It is customary for travellers to make these visits,
and the families, far from being annoyed, are flattered by it. The
exteriors of the houses are mean; but after threading a narrow passage, we
emerged into a court, rivalling in profusion of ornament and rich contrast
of colors one's early idea of the Palace of Aladdin. The floors and
fountains are all of marble mosaic; the arches of the _liwan_ glitter with
gold, and the walls bewilder the eye with the intricacy of their
adornments. In the first house, we were received by the family in a room
of precious marbles, with niches in the walls, resembling grottoes of
silver stalactites. The cushions of the divan were of the richest silk,
and a chandelier of Bohemian crystal hung from the ceiling. Silver
narghilehs were brought to us, and coffee was served in heavy silver
_zerfs_. The lady of the house was a rather corpulent lady of about
thirty-five, and wore a semi-European robe of embroidered silk and lace,
with full trowsers gathered at the ankles, and yellow slippers. Her black
hair was braided, and fastened at the end with golden ornaments, and the
light scarf twisted around her head blazed with diamonds. The lids of her
large eyes were stained with _kohl_, and her eyebrows were plucked out and
shaved away so as to leave only a thin, arched line, as if drawn with a
pencil, above each eye. Her daughter, a girl of fifteen, who bore the
genuine Hebrew name of Rachel, had even bigger and blacker eyes than her
mother; but her forehead was low, her mouth large, and the expression of
her face exceedingly stupid. The father of the family was a middle-aged
man, with a well-bred air, and talked with an Oriental politeness which
was very refreshing. An English lady, who was of our party, said to him,
through me, that if she possessed such a house she should be willing to
remain in Damascus. "Why does she leave, then?" he immediately answered:
"this is her house, and everything that is in it." Speaking of visiting
Jerusalem, he asked me whether it was not a more beautiful city than
Damascus. "It is not more beautiful," I said, "but it is more holy," an
expression which the whole company received with great satisfaction.
The second house we visited was even larger and richer than the first, but
had an air of neglect and decay. The slabs of rich marble were loose and
broken, about the edges of the fountains; the rich painting of the
wood-work was beginning to fade; and the balustrades leading to the upper
chambers were broken off in places. We were ushered into a room, the walls
and ceilings of which were composed entirely of gilded arabesque
frame-work, set with small mirrors. When new, it must have had a gorgeous
effect; but the gold is now tarnished, and the glasses dim. The mistress
of the house was seated on the cushions, dividing her time between her
pipe and her needle-work. She merely made a slight inclination of her head
as we entered, and went on with her occupation. Presently her two
daughters and an Abyssinian slave appeared, and took their places on the
cushions at her feet, the whole forming a charming group, which I
regretted some of my artist friends at home could not see. The mistress
was so exceedingly dignified, that she bestowed but few words on us. She
seemed to resent our admiration of the slave, who was a most graceful
creature; yet her jealousy, it afterwards appeared, had reference to her
own husband, for we had scarcely left, when a servant followed to inform
the English lady that if she was willing to buy the Abyssinian, the
mistress would sell her at once for two thousand piastres.
The last visit we paid was to the dwelling of a Maronite, the richest
Christian in Damascus. The house resembled those we had already seen,
except that, having been recently built, it was in better condition, and
exhibited better taste in the ornaments. No one but the lady was allowed
to enter the female apartments, the rest of us being entertained by the
proprietor, a man of fifty, and without exception the handsomest and most
dignified person of that age I have ever seen. He was a king without a
throne, and fascinated me completely by the noble elegance of his manner.
In any country but the Orient, I should have pronounced him incapable of
an unworthy thought: here, he may be exactly the reverse.
Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date of
its foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics of
antiquity in or near it. In the bazaar are three large pillars, supporting
half the pediment, which are said to have belonged to the Christian Church
of St. John, but, if so, that church must have been originally a Roman
temple. Part of the Roman walls and one of the city gates remain; and we
saw the spot where, according to tradition, Saul was let down from the
wall in a basket. There are two localities pointed out as the scene of his
conversion, which, from his own account, occurred near the city. I visited
a subterranean chapel claimed by the Latin monks to be the cellar of the
house of Ananias, in which the Apostle was concealed. The cellar is,
undoubtedly, of great antiquity; but as the whole quarter was for many
centuries inhabited wholly by Turks, it would be curious to know how the
monks ascertained which was the house of Ananias. As for the "street
called Straight," it would be difficult at present to find any in Damascus
corresponding to that epithet.