The romance of Isabel Lady Burton
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Title: The romance of Isabel Lady Burton
The story of her life. Volume II
Author: Lady Isabel Burton
W. H. Wilkins
Release date: September 1, 2004 [eBook #6402]
Most recently updated: December 2, 2023
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6402
Credits: Douglas Levy, Emmanuel Ackerman, Karin Spence and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF ISABEL LADY BURTON ***
THE ROMANCE OF ISABEL LADY BURTON
VOL. II
[Illustration:
_From a photograph by Gunn & Stuart_ _F. Jenkins Heliog, Paris_
_Isabel Burton_]
_Third Edition_
THE ROMANCE OF
ISABEL LADY BURTON
THE STORY OF HER LIFE
TOLD IN PART BY HERSELF
AND IN PART BY
W. H. WILKINS
WITH PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME TWO
LONDON
HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
1897
Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II
BOOK II
(_Continued_)
CHAPTER XI
PAGE
IN AND ABOUT DAMASCUS 375
CHAPTER XII
EARLY DAYS AT DAMASCUS 387
CHAPTER XIII
THROUGH THE DESERT TO PALMYRA 403
CHAPTER XIV
BLUDÁN IN THE ANTI-LEBANON 425
CHAPTER XV
GATHERING CLOUDS 448
CHAPTER XVI
JERUSALEM AND THE HOLY LAND 469
CHAPTER XVII
THE RECALL 493
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRUE REASONS OF BURTON’S RECALL 510
CHAPTER XIX
THE PASSING OF THE CLOUD 524
CHAPTER XX
EARLY YEARS AT TRIESTE 535
CHAPTER XXI
THE JOURNEY TO BOMBAY 554
CHAPTER XXII
INDIA 574
CHAPTER XXIII
TRIESTE AGAIN 604
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SHADOWS LENGTHEN 625
CHAPTER XXV
GORDON AND THE BURTONS 645
CHAPTER XXVI
THE SWORD HANGS 677
CHAPTER XXVII
THE SWORD FALLS 698
BOOK III
_WIDOWED_
CHAPTER I
THE TRUTH ABOUT “THE SCENTED GARDEN” 719
CHAPTER II
THE RETURN TO ENGLAND 739
CHAPTER III
THE TINKLING OF THE CAMEL’S BELL 749
INDEX 773
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. II
LADY BURTON _Frontispiece_
_To face page_
THE BURTONS’ HOUSE AT SALAHÍYYEH, DAMASCUS 376
THE COURT OF THE GREAT MOSQUE, DAMASCUS 384
ARAB CAMEL-DRIVERS 422
BA’ALBAK 430
“THE MOON,” LADY BURTON’S SYRIAN MAID 442
MOSQUE OF OMAR, JERUSALEM 472
THE DEAD SEA 484
TRIESTE 540
SIR RICHARD BURTON 550
PORT SAID 562
ARAB CAMEL-DRIVERS 566
THE CAVES OF ELEPHANTA 574
PANORAMA POINT AND THE BHAO MALLIN HILLS, MÁTHERÁN 578
THE BORAH (NATIVE) BAZAR, BOMBAY 590
GOA 598
SUEZ 612
THE BURTONS’ HOUSE AT TRIESTE 638
CAIRO 662
AUTOGRAPH LETTER OF GENERAL GORDON 672
LADY BURTON IN 1887 686
A NATIVE LADY, TUNIS 694
FACSIMILE OF DECLARATION BY SIR RICHARD BURTON 711
THE ROOM IN WHICH LADY BURTON DIED 770
THE ARAB TENT AT MORTLAKE 770
BOOK II.--WEDDED
(CONTINUED)
CHAPTER XI
_IN AND ABOUT DAMASCUS_
(1870)
When I nighted and day’d in Damascus town,
Time aware such another he ne’er should view;
And careless we slept under wing of night,
Till dappled morn ’gan her smiles renew,
And dewdrops on branch in their beauty hung
Like pearls to be dropt when the zephyr blew,
And the lake was the page where birds read and wrote,
And the clouds set points to what breezes roll.
ALF LAYLAH WA LAYLAH (_Burton’s “Arabian Nights”_).
During the first weeks at Damascus my only work was to find a suitable
house and to settle down in it. Our predecessor in the Consulate had
lived in a large house in the city itself, and as soon as he retired
he let it to a wealthy Jew. In any case it would not have suited us,
nor would any house within the city walls; for though some of them
were quite beautiful--indeed, marble palaces gorgeously decorated and
furnished after the manner of oriental houses--yet there is always a
certain sense of imprisonment about Damascus, as the windows of the
houses are all barred and latticed, and the gates of the city are shut
at sunset. This would not have suited our wild-cat proclivities; we
should have felt as though we were confined in a cage. So after a
search of many days we took a house in the environs, about a quarter
of an hour’s ride from Damascus, high up the hill. Just beyond it was
the desert sand, and in the background a saffron-hued mountain known as
the Camomile Mountain; and camomile was the scent which pervaded our
village and all Damascus. Our house was in the suburb of Salahíyyeh,
and we had good air and light, beautiful views, fresh water, quiet,
and above all liberty. In five minutes we could gallop out over the
mountains, and there was no locking us up at sunset. Here then we
pitched our tent.
I should like to describe our house at Salahíyyeh once more, though I
have described it before, and Frederick Leighton once drew a sketch of
it, so that it is pretty well known. Our house faced the road and the
opposite gardens, and it was flanked on one side by the Mosque and on
the other by the Hammám (Turkish Bath), and there were gardens at the
back. On the other side of the road were apricot trees, whose varying
beauty of bud and leaf and flower and fruit can be better imagined
than described. Among these apricot orchards I had a capital stable
for twelve horses, and a good room attached to it for any number of
_saises_, or grooms; and beyond that again was a little garden,
through which the river wended its way. So much for the exterior. Now
to come indoors. As one entered, first of all came the courtyard,
boldly painted in broad stripes of red and white and blue, after
the manner of all the courtyards in Damascus. Here too splashed the
fountain, and all around were orange, lemon, and jessamine trees. Two
steps took one to the _líwán_, a raised room open one side to
the court, and spread with carpets, divans, and Eastern stuffs. It was
here, in the summer, I was wont to receive. On the right side of the
court was a dining-room, and on the left a cool sitting-room, when it
was too hot to live upstairs. All the rest of the space below was left
to the servants and offices. Upstairs the rooms ran around two sides
of the courtyard. A long terrace occupied the other two sides, joining
the rooms at either end. This terrace formed a pleasant housetop in the
cool evenings. We spread it with mats and divans, and used to sit among
the flowers and shrubs, and look over Damascus and sniff the desert air
beyond.
[Illustration:
[_From a sketch by the late Lord Leighton._
THE BURTONS’ HOUSE AT SALAHÍYYEH, DAMASCUS.]
Of course this house was not the Consulate, which was in the city,
close to the Serai, or Government House.
I think the charm of our house lay chiefly in the gardens around it. We
made a beautiful arbour in the garden opposite--a garden of roses and
jessamine; and we made it by lifting up overladen vines and citrons,
and the branches of lemon and orange trees, and supporting them on a
framework, so that no sun could penetrate their luxuriant leafage. We
put a divan in this arbour, which overlooked the rushing river; and
that and the housetop were our favourite places to smoke on cool summer
evenings.
By this time you will probably have discovered my love for animals, and
as soon as I had arranged our house at Damascus the first thing I did
was to indulge in my hobby of collecting a menagerie. First of all we
bought some horses, three-quarter-breds and half-breds. Thorough-bred
Arabs, especially mares, were too dear for our stable, and would have
made us an object of suspicion. In the East, where there are official
hands not clean of bribes, an Arab mare is a favourite bribe, and I
had many such offers before I had been at Damascus long; but I refused
them all. Richard always gave me entire command of the stable, and so
it was my domain. Living in solitude as I did very much, I discovered
how companionable horses could be. There was no speech between us,
but I knew everything they said and thought and felt, and they knew
everything I said to them. I did not confine my purchases entirely to
horses. I bought a camel and a snow-white donkey, which latter is the
most honourable mount for grand visiting. I also picked up a splendid
Persian cat in the bazars, and I had brought over with me a young pet
St. Bernard dog, two brindle bull-terriers and two of the Yarborough
breed, and I added later a Kurdish pup. I bought three milk goats
for the house, and I had presents of a pet lamb and a _nimr_
(leopard), which became the idol of the house. The domestic hen-yard
was duly stocked with all kinds of fowls, turkeys, geese, ducks, and
guinea-fowls, and in the garden and on the terrace and the housetop I
kept my pigeons. This collection was my delight. I cannot say that they
were a happy family. After a time I trained them into living together
in something like harmony, but it took a very long time. I added to my
family also from time to time half-famished dogs which I had rescued
from the streets, or ill-treated and broken-down donkeys, which I
purchased from some cruel master. In the course of time it became a
truly wonderful gathering.
The animals in the East seem to me to be almost more intelligent than
those at home. They certainly have a way of showing their likes and
dislikes very strongly. When I first came to Damascus, fond though I
was of animals, I found that most of them shied at me. I do not think
that they had been accustomed to an Englishwoman at close quarters.
For instance, I went for a walk one day, and met a small boy leading a
donkey laden with radishes, as high as a small tree. I suppose that I
was strange-looking, for at the sight of me the donkey kicked up his
heels and threw all the radishes about for a hundred yards around. The
poor little boy set up a howl. I ran to help him, but the more I tried
the more the donkey ran away, and at last I understood by signs that
the donkey was shying at me, so I threw the boy a coin and retreated,
and sent another boy to help him. We called to an old man riding a
shabby-looking horse, but the moment the horse saw me it did exactly
the same thing, and nearly flung the old man off. My sides ached with
laughing. Fancy being so queer that the animals take fright at one!
I think before I go further I ought to give some general idea of the
city of Damascus as it appeared to me. I have already said that my
first sight of the city was one of disappointment; but when I got to
know it better its charm grew upon me, and I shall never till I die
like any place so well. Damascus, as I suppose every one knows, is the
largest town in Syria. In shape it is rather like a boy’s kite, with a
very long tail. The tail of the kite is the Maydán, the poorest part
of Damascus, but rich in ruined mosques and hammáms, and houses which
at first sight look as though they are in decay. But when we got to
know these houses better, we found that marble courts, inlaid chambers,
arabesque ceilings, often lay behind the muddy exteriors. The city
itself is divided into three districts: the Jewish in the southern
part, the Moslem in the northern and western, and the Christian in the
eastern. The Moslem quarter is clean, the Christian quarter dirty, and
the Jewish simply filthy. I often had to gallop through the last-named
holding my handkerchief to my mouth, and the kawwasses running as
though they had been pursued by devils. Everywhere in Damascus, but
especially in this quarter, the labyrinthine streets are piled with
heaps of offal, wild dogs are gorged with carrion, and dead dogs are
lying about. One must never judge Damascus, however, by externals:
every house has a mean aspect in the way of entrance and approach.
This is done purposely to deceive the Government, and not to betray
what may be within in times of looting. You often approach through a
mean doorway into a dirty passage; you then enter a second court, and
you behold a marvellous transformation. You find the house thoroughly
cleaned and perfumed, paved courts with marble fountains and goldfish,
orange and jessamine trees, furniture inlaid with gold and ebony and
mother-o’-pearl, and stained-glass windows. In the interior of one
of the most beautiful houses I visited in Damascus the show-room was
very magnificent, upholstered in velvet and gold, and with divans
inlaid with marble, mother-o’-pearl, ebony, and walnut, and there were
tesselated marble floors and pavements and fountains; but, _en
revanche_, God knows where they sleep at all. One of the ladies
I went to call on first was a very young and pretty bride, only a
fortnight married. She was gaudily dressed, with about £2,000 worth of
diamonds on her head and neck, but the stones were so badly set they
looked like rubbish. She rolled from side to side in her walk, which is
a habit very _chic_.
Notwithstanding her internal grandeur, Damascus is but a wreck of
her former splendour, albeit a beautiful wreck. Ichabod! her glory
has departed; not even the innumerable domes and minarets of her
multitudinous mosques can reinstate her.
I think I ought to touch on the bazars, as they form such an integral
part of the life of Damascus. Many of them were very beautiful, all
huddled together in a labyrinth of streets, and containing almost
everything which one could want. I used to love to go with my Arab
maid and wander through them. There was the saddlery bazar, where one
could buy magnificent trappings for one’s Arab steeds, saddle-cloths
embossed with gold, bridles of scarlet silk, a single rein which
makes you look as if you were managing a horse by a single thread,
and bridles of silver and ivory. There was a shoemakers’ bazar. How
different from a shoe shop in England! The stalls were gorgeous with
lemon-coloured slippers, stiff red shoes, scarlet boots with tops and
tassels and hangings, which form part of the Bedawin dress. There
was a _marqueterie_ bazar, where one found many lovely things
inlaid with choice woods, mother-o’-pearl, and steel. And there was
the gold and silver bazar, where the smiths sat round in little pens,
hammering at their anvils. Here one could pick up some most beautiful
barbarous and antique ornaments, filigree coffee-cup holders, raki
cups of silver inlaid with gold, and many other beautiful things too
numerous to mention. There was another bazar where they sold attar
and sandle-wood oil; and yet another where one could buy rich Eastern
stuffs and silks, the most beautiful things, which would make a fine
smoking suit for one’s husband, or a _sortie de bal_ for oneself.
Here also you can buy izárs to walk about the bazars _incognita_.
They are mostly brilliantly hued and beautifully worked in gold. There
was also the divan, where one bought beautiful stuffs, gaudy Persian
rugs, and prayer-carpets for furnishing the house. There was the bazar
where one bought henna, wherewith to stain the hands, the feet, and
the finger-nails. And last, but by no means least, there was the pipe
or narghíleh bazar, which contained the most beautiful pipe-sticks I
ever saw, and the most lovely narghílehs, which were made in exquisite
shapes and of great length in the tube. The longer the _narbish_,
or tube, the higher your rank, and the greater compliment you pay to
your guest. I used to order mine to be all of dark chocolate and gold,
and to measure from four to six yards in length, and I never had less
than twelve narghílehs in the house at once, one of which I kept for
my own particular smoking, and a silver mouthpiece which I kept in my
pocket for use when visiting. I cannot hope in a short space to exhaust
the treasures of these gorgeous bazars. I can only say in conclusion
that there were also the bazars for sweetmeats, most delectable; for
coffee, of which one never tastes the like out of Damascus; and every
kind of _bric-à-brac_.
No account of Damascus, not even a bird’s-eye view, would be complete
without some mention of the great Mosque, whither I was wont now and
again to repair. When I went, I of course took off my boots at the
entrance, and put on my lemon-coloured slippers, and I was always
careful to be as respectful and as reverent as if I were in my own
church, and to never forget to leave a trifle for the poor, and to
give a substantial tip when I went out. The Mosque was a magnificent
building, with a ceiling of beautiful arabesques; the floor of
limestone like marble, covered with mats and prayer-carpets. One of
the most beautiful domes had windows of delicately carved wood, whose
interstices were filled with crystal. There was a large paved court
with a marble dome and fountain; and there were three minarets, which
it was possible to ascend and from them to look down upon Damascus. It
was up one of these minarets that the Duchesse de Persigny ascended,
and when prayer was called she refused to come down. The Shaykh sent
all kinds of emissaries and entreaties, to whom she replied: “Dites au
Shaykh que je suis la Duchesse de Persigny, que je me trouve fort bien
ici, et que je ne descendrai que quand cela me plaira.” She did not
please for three-quarters of an hour. She also visited _cafés_
which Moslem women do not visit, and shocked the kawwasses so much that
they begged the French Consul not to send them to guard her, as they
were losing their reputation! But to return to our muttons. This superb
Mosque has alternately served as a place of worship for many creeds:
for the Pagans as a temple, for the Christians as a cathedral, and for
the Moslems as a mosque. Like Damascus, it has had its vicissitudes,
and it has been taken captive by Babylonians, Greeks, Persians,
Assyrians, and Turks.
[Illustration: THE COURT OF THE GREAT MOSQUE, DAMASCUS.]
The Hammám, or Turkish Bath, is another feature of Damascus, and
was one of my favourite haunts. I first went to the Hammám out of
curiosity, and was warmly welcomed by the native women; but I was
rather shocked. They squat naked on the floor, and, despoiled of
their dress and hair and make-up, are, most of them, truly hideous.
Their skins are like parchment, and baggy; their heads as bald as
billiard-balls. What little hair they have is dyed an orange red with
henna. They look like the witches in _Macbeth_, or at least as
if they had been called up from out of the lower regions. They sit
chatting with little bundles of sweets and narghílehs before them. An
average Englishwoman would look like an _houri_ amongst them; and
their customs were beastly, to use the mildest term. The Hammám was
entered by a large hall, lit by a skylight, with a huge marble tank
in the centre and four little fountains, and all around raised divans
covered with cushions. Here one wraps oneself in silk and woollen
sheets, and after that proceeds to pass through the six marble rooms.
The first is the cold room, the next warmer, the third warmer still,
until you come to the _sudarium_, the hottest room of all. First
they lather you, then they wash you with a _lif_ and soap, then
they douche you with tubs of hot water, then they shampoo you with
fresh layers of soap, and then douche again. They give you iced
sherbet, and tie towels dipped in cold water round your head, which
prevent you fainting and make you perspire. They scrub your feet with
pumice-stone, and move you back through all the rooms gradually,
douche you with water, and shampoo you with towels. You now return to
the large hall where you first undressed, wrap in woollen shawls, and
recline on a divan. The place is all strewn with flowers, incense is
burned around, and a cup of hot coffee is handed and a narghíleh placed
in your mouth. A woman advances and kneads you as though you were
bread, until you fall asleep under the process, as though mesmerized.
When you wake up, you find music and dancing, the girls chasing one
another, eating sweetmeats, and enjoying all sorts of fun. Moslem women
go through a good deal more of the performance than I have described.
For instance, they have their hair hennaed and their eyebrows plucked.
You can also have your hands and feet hennaed, and, if you like it, be
tattooed. The whole operation takes about four hours. It is often said
by the ignorant that people can get as good a hammám in London or Paris
as in the East. I have tried all, and they bear about as much relation
to one another as a puddle of dirty water does to a pellucid lake. And
the pellucid lake is in the East.
Then the haríms. I often spent an evening in them, and I found them
very pleasant; only at first the women used to ask me such a lot of
inconvenient questions that I became quite confused. They were always
puzzled because I had no children. One cannot generalize on the subject
of haríms; they differ in degree just as much as families in London.
A first-class harím at Constantinople is one thing, at Damascus one of
the same rank is another, while those of the middle and lower classes
are different still. As a rule I met with nothing but courtesy in the
haríms, and much hospitality, cordiality, and refinement. I only twice
met with bad manners, and that was in a middle-class harím. Twice only
the conversation displeased me, and that was amongst the lower class.
One of the first haríms I visited in Damascus was that of the famous
Abd el Kadir (of whom more anon), which of course was one of the best
class. He had five wives: one of them was very pretty. I asked them how
they could bear to live together and pet each other’s children. I told
them that in England, if a woman thought her husband had another wife
or mistress, she would be ready to kill her and strangle the children
if they were not her own. They all laughed heartily at me, and seemed
to think it a great joke. I am afraid that Abd el Kadir was a bit of a
Tartar in his harím, for they were very prim and pious.
So much for the city of Damascus.
In the environs there were many beautiful little roads, leading through
gardens and orchards, by bubbling water, and under the shady fig and
vine, pomegranate and walnut. You emerged from these shady avenues on
to the soft yellow sand of the desert, where you could gallop as hard
as you pleased. There were no boundary-lines, no sign-posts, nothing
to check one’s spirits or one’s energy. The breath of the desert is
liberty.
CHAPTER XII
_EARLY DAYS AT DAMASCUS_
(1870)
Though old as history itself, thou art fresh as breath or
spring, blooming as thine own rosebud, as fragrant as thine own
orange flower, O Damascus, Pearl of the East!
As soon as we had settled in our house I had to accustom myself to
the honours of my position, which at first were rather irksome to me;
but as they were part of the business I had to put up with them. I
found my position as the wife of the British Consul in Damascus very
different from what it had been in Brazil. A consul in the East as
_envoyé_ of a Great Power is a big man, and he ranks almost as
high as a Minister would in Europe. Nearer home a consul is often
hardly considered to be a gentleman, while in many countries he is not
allowed to go to Court. In the East, however, the Consular service was,
at the time I write, an honoured profession, and the _envoyés_ of
the Great Powers were expected to keep up a little state, especially
the English and the French. They had a certain number of Consular
dragomans, or gentleman secretaries, in distinction to the travelling
dragoman, who bears the same relation as a courier in Europe. They
also had a certain number of kawwasses, who look like cavalry soldiers.
The Consulate at Damascus was then quite like a diplomatic post, and I
felt like a Minister’s wife, and was treated accordingly. For instance,
every time I went outside my door I was attended by four kawwasses,
with swords and uniforms much ornamented, also a dragoman interpreter.
The duty of these four attendants was to clear the way before and
behind me, and I assure you it was far more pain than pleasure to me
to see mules, horses, donkeys, camels, little children, and poor old
men thrust out of the way, as if I were sacred and they were all dirt.
How they must have cursed me! I told my kawwasses that I did not wish
them to show themselves officious by doing more than was absolutely
necessary for the dignity of the British Consulate and the custom
of the country. But their escort certainly was necessary to a great
extent. When the common people saw a kawwass, they knew one was of
importance, and made way for one; otherwise a woman could not walk the
streets of Damascus without being molested: even the famished herds of
dogs seemed to know the difference between kawwass and no kawwass. The
danger from dogs was that they collected and ran in packs, and you were
almost caught in the eddy of wild and half-starved dogs if you were not
guarded.
I hate pomp and ceremony of all kinds, except where it is absolutely
necessary; but in this case I could not dispense with it. The French
Minister’s wife was hissed in the streets of Constantinople because
she chose to dispense with her escort. A Protestant clergyman’s
wife was nearly struck by a Turkish soldier for brushing against him
with her petticoats, thus rendering him, according to his religion,
unclean. Besides, women in the East want a guard. A missionary young
lady who came up in the _coupé_ of the diligence from Beyrout to
Damascus had an unpleasant experience. A Persian, who called himself a
gentleman, was inside, and kissed her all the way up. She, poor little
idiot! saw no way out of the transaction, but came and threw herself on
Richard’s protection several days after, and there was an ugly row. She
had the Persian arrested, and tried him. If anybody had tried that sort
of game on with me, I should have made an example of him myself, and
taken the law in my own hands, whoever he was. An escort was therefore
necessary. I can understand how some consuls’ wives, sometimes vulgar,
ill-conditioned women, might get elated at this newly acquired
importance, and presume upon it until they became unbearable. I found
the lack of privacy very trying at first, but I was anxious to bear it
because I saw that English influence at Damascus required lifting a
great many pegs higher than our predecessor left it. The only member of
our English _noblesse_ the people had hitherto known in Damascus
was Lady Ellenborough, of whom more anon.
As soon as we were settled down I had to begin my receptions. I fixed
my reception day on Wednesday; and it was no trifle, for the visitors
came all day long. One native lady told me indignantly that she had
been to see me three times on my reception day, and had been refused.
I said, “When did you come? and how could it happen that I had never
heard of it?” She answered almost angrily, “I came at daylight, and
again at sunrise, and again at eight o’clock.” I said it was rather
early; and though I was an early riser, it was just possible that
I had not made a suitable toilet to receive her. On my reception
day the dragomans interpreted for me. The kawwasses, in full dress
of scarlet and gold, kept guard by turns, and the servants were
engaged incessantly in bringing up relays of narghílehs, chibouques,
cigarettes, sweetmeats, sherbet, Turkish coffee and tea. My visitors
sat on the divans, cross-legged or not, according to their nation, and
smoked and chatted. If there were Moslem women, I had two separate
reception-rooms, and went from one to the other, as the women will not
unveil before strange men. It was a most tiring day; for not only did
people come all through the day, but I was obliged to concentrate all
my thoughts not to make a mistake in etiquette. There were many grades
and ranks to be considered, and the etiquette in receiving each guest
was different according to the rank. The dragoman in attendance upon
me would whisper until I knew it, “One step,” or “Two steps,” or “Half
across the room,” or “The door.” I thus knew exactly the visitor’s
rank, and by what term to address him, from the lowest to the highest.
Of course, in receiving natives, the method of receiving men and women
was different. I advanced to meet the women; we mutually raised our
finger-tips to our hearts, lips, and foreheads. They then seized my
hand, which I snatched away to prevent their kissing it (it sounds
rude, but it isn’t; it is the essence of politeness), and I kissed them
on both cheeks. I personally removed their veils and their izárs. When
they took their leave, I reveiled them, and accompanied them to the
door. With the men I did not shake hands: we saluted at a distance. If
my visitor was a well-bred man, he would not expect me to rise, but
would come and kiss my hand, and had to be pressed two or three times
before he would consent to sit down. The only man I was in the habit
of rising for was the Wali, or Governor-General of Syria, because he
represented the Sultan, and he in his turn paid me a similar respect.
When he left, I accompanied him to the door of the room, but never
to the street door. Moreover, it was _de rigueur_ every time
a visitor came that coffee, tea, or sherbet should be offered him,
and that I should take it with him and drink first. It was a custom
with the natives, and I could not omit it; but when I first held my
receptions I found it a great tax upon me, and mixing so many drinks
gave me indigestion. Afterwards I grew more wary, and merely moistened
my lips. Another thing I used to do at my earlier receptions was to
make tea and coffee and carry them round myself, while the dragomans
would lazily sit and look on. I didn’t understand this at all, so I
told them to get up and help me, and they willingly handed tea and
coffee to any European, man or woman, but not to their native ladies,
who blushed, begged the dragomans’ pardon, and stood up, looking
appealingly at me, and praying not to be served. So I found it the
easiest thing to wait on the native women myself, though I felt very
indignant that any man should feel himself degraded by having to wait
on a woman.
I must now mention three of my principal visitors, each of whom
afterwards played a large part, though a very different part, in our
life at Damascus.
First of all was the Wali, or Governor-General of Syria. I received him
in state one day. He came in full uniform with a great many attendants.
I seated him in proper form on a divan with pipes and coffee. He was
very amiable and polite. He reminded me of an old tom-cat: he was
dressed in furs; he was indolent and fat, and walked on his toes and
purred. At first sight I thought him a kind-hearted old creature, not
very intelligent and easily led. The last quality was true enough; for
what disgusted me was that Syria was really governed by dragomans, and
the Wali or any other great man was a puppet. For instance, if the
Consul wanted to see the Wali, he had to send one of his dragomans to
the Wali’s dragomans, and they arranged between them just what they
liked. The two chief men met each other, attended by two dragomans,
who reported every word of the conversation round Damascus. These
men easily made people enemies; and the lies, mischief, and scandal
they originated were beyond imagination. I have said that my first
impression of the Wali was as of a well-fed cat; but I soon discovered
that the cat had claws, for he quickly became jealous of Richard’s
influence, and during our two years’ sojourn at Damascus he was one of
our worst enemies.
Another, and the most interesting of all the personages who attended my
receptions, was Lady Ellenborough, known at Damascus as the Honourable
Jane Digby El Mezráb.[1] She was the most romantic and picturesque
personality: one might say she was Lady Hester Stanhope’s successor.
She was of the family of Lord Digby, and had married Lord Ellenborough,
Governor-General of India, a man much older than herself, when she was
quite a girl. The marriage was against her wish. She was very unhappy
with him, and she ran away with Prince Schwartzenburg when she was only
nineteen, and Lord Ellenborough divorced her. She lived with Prince
Schwartzenburg for some years, and had two or three children by him,
and then he basely deserted her. I am afraid after that she led a life
for a year or two over which it is kinder to draw a veil. She then
tired of Europe, and conceived the idea of visiting the East, and of
imitating Lady Hester Stanhope and other European ladies, who became
more Eastern than the Easterns. She arrived at Beyrout, and went to
Damascus, where she arranged to go to Baghdad, across the desert. For
this journey a Bedawin escort was necessary; and as the Mezráb tribe
occupied the ground, the duty of commanding the escort devolved upon
Shaykh Mijwal, a younger brother of the chief of this tribe. On the
journey the young Shaykh fell in love with this beautiful woman, and
she fell in love with him. The romantic picture of becoming a queen of
the desert suited her wild and roving fancy. She married him, in spite
of all opposition, according to the Mohammedan law. At the time I came
to Damascus she was living half the year in a house just within the
city gates; the other half of the year she passed in the desert in the
tents of the Bedawin tribe, living absolutely as a Bedawin woman. When
I first saw her she was a most beautiful woman, though sixty-one years
of age. She wore one blue garment, and her beautiful hair was in two
long plaits down to the ground. When she was in the desert, she used to
milk the camels, serve her husband, prepare his food, wash his hands,
face, and feet, and stood and waited on him while he ate, like any Arab
woman, and gloried in so doing. But at Damascus she led a semi-European
life. She blackened her eyes with kohl, and lived in a curiously
untidy manner. But otherwise she was not in the least extraordinary
at Damascus. But what was incomprehensible to me was how she could
have given up all she had in England to live with that dirty little
black--or nearly so--husband. I went to see her one day, and when he
opened the door to me I thought at first he was a native servant. I
could understand her leaving a coarse, cruel husband, much older than
herself, whom she never loved (every woman has not the strength of
mind and the pride to stand by what she has done); I could understand
her running away with Schwartzenburg; but the contact with that black
skin I could not understand. Her Shaykh was very dark--darker than a
Persian, and much darker than an Arab generally is. All the same, he
was a very intelligent and charming man in any light but as a husband.
That made me shudder. It was curious how she had retained the charming
manner, the soft voice, and all the graces of her youth. You would
have known her at once to be an English lady, well born and bred, and
she was delighted to greet in me one of her own order. We became great
friends, and she dictated to me the whole of her biography, and most
romantic and interesting it is. I took a great interest in the poor
thing. She was devoted to her Shaykh, whereat I marvelled greatly.
Gossip said that he had other wives, but she assured me that he had
not, and that both her brother Lord Digby and the British Consul
required a legal and official statement to that effect before they
were married. She appeared to be quite foolishly in love with him (and
I fully comprehend any amount of sacrifice for the man one loves--the
greater the better), though the object of her devotion astonished me.
Her eyes often used to fill with tears when talking of England, her
people, and old times; and when we became more intimate, she spoke to
me of every detail of her erring but romantic career. It was easy to
see that Schwartzenburg had been the love of her life, for her eyes
would light up with a glory when she mentioned him, and she whispered
his name with bated breath. It was his desertion which wrecked her
life. Poor thing! she was far more sinned against than sinning.
[1] Our other friend at Damascus was the famous Abd el Kadir. Every one
knows his history: every one has heard of his hopeless struggles for
the independence of Algeria; his capture and imprisonment in France
from 1847 to 1852, when he was set free by Louis Napoleon on the
intercession of Lord Londonderry. More than that, Louis Napoleon was
magnanimous enough to pension him, and sent him to Damascus, where he
was living when we came, surrounded by five hundred faithful Algerians.
He loved the English, but he was very loyal to Louis Napoleon. He
was dark, and a splendid-looking man with a stately bearing, and
perfectly self-possessed. He always dressed in snow white, turban
and _burnous_, with not a single ornament except his jewelled
arms, which were superb. He was every inch a soldier and a sultan,
and his mind was as beautiful as his face. Both he and Richard were
Master-Sufi, and they greatly enjoyed a talk together, both speaking
purest Arabic.
When I look back on those dear days and friends in Damascus, my eyes
fill and my heart throbs at the memories which crowd upon me. When I
think of all those memories, none is dearer to me than the recollection
of the evenings which we four--Lady Ellenborough, Abd el Kadir,
Richard, and myself--used to spend together on the top of our house.
Often after my reception was over and the sun was setting, we used to
ask these two to stay behind the others and have a little supper with
us, and we would go up to the roof, where it was prepared, and where
mattresses and the cushions of the divans were spread about, and have
our evening meal; and after that we would smoke our narghílehs, and
talk and talk and talk far into the night, about things above, things
on the earth, and things under the earth. I shall never forget the
scene on the housetop, backed as it was by the sublime mountain, a
strip of sand between it and us, and on the other three sides was the
view over Damascus and beyond the desert. It was all wild, romantic,
and solemn; and sometimes we would pause in our conversation to listen
to the sounds around us: the last call to prayer on the minaret-top,
the soughing of the wind through the mountain-gorges, and the noise of
the water-wheel in the neighbouring orchard.
I have said _we_ smoked, and that included Lady Ellenborough
and myself. I must confess to the soft impeachment, despite insular
prejudices; and I would advise any woman who sojourns in the East
to learn to smoke, if she can. I am no admirer of a big cigar in a
woman’s mouth, or a short clay; but I know of nothing more graceful or
enjoyable than a cigarette, and even more so is the narghíleh, or even
the chibouque, which, however, is quite a man’s pipe.
I must add that when we were in the East Richard and I made a point of
leading two lives. We were always thoroughly English in our Consulate,
and endeavoured to set an example of the way in which England should
be represented abroad, and in our official life we strictly conformed
to English customs and conventions; but when we were off duty, so
to speak, we used to live a great deal as natives, and so obtained
experience of the inner Eastern life. Richard’s friendship with
the Mohammedans, and his perfect mastery of the Arabic and Persian
languages and literature, naturally put him into intimate relations
with the oriental authorities and the Arab tribes, and he was always
very popular among them, with one exception, and that was the Turkish
Wali, or Governor, aforesaid. Richard was my guide in all things; and
since he adapted himself to the native life, I endeavoured to adapt
myself to it also, not only because it was my duty, but because I loved
it. For instance, though we always wore European dress in Damascus and
Beyrout, we wore native dress in the desert. I always wore the men’s
dress on our expeditions in the desert and up the country. By that I
mean the dress of the Arab men. This is not so dreadful as Mrs. Grundy
may suppose, as it was all drapery, and does not show the figure. There
was nothing but the face to show the curious whether you were a man
or a woman, and I used to tuck my _kuffiyyah_ up to only show my
eyes. When we wore Eastern clothes, we always ate as the Easterns ate.
If I went to a bazar, I frequently used to dress like a Moslem woman
with my face covered, and sit in the shops and let my Arab maid do
the talking. They never suspected me, and so I heard all their gossip
and entered into something of their lives. The women frequently took
me into the mosque in this garb, but to the harím I always went in my
European clothes. Richard and I lived the Eastern life thoroughly, and
we loved it.
We went to every kind of ceremony, whether it was a circumcision, or
a wedding, or a funeral, or a dervish dance, or anything that was
going on; and we mixed with all classes, and religions, and races, and
tongues. I remember my first invitation was to a grand _fête_
to celebrate the circumcision of a youth about ten years of age. He
was very pretty, and was dressed in gorgeous garments covered with
jewellery. Singing, dancing, and feasting went on for about three days.
The ceremony took place quite publicly. There was a loud clang of music
and firing of guns to drown the boy’s cries, and with one stroke of a
circular knife the operation was finished in a second. The part cut off
was then handed round on a silver salver, as if to force all present to
attest that the rite had been performed. I felt quite sick, and English
modesty overpowered curiosity, and I could not look. Later on, when I
grew more used to Eastern ways, I was forced to accept the compliment
paid to the highest rank, and a great compliment to me as a Christian,
to hold the boy in my arms whilst the ceremony was being performed. It
was rather curious at first to be asked to a circumcision, as one might
be asked to a christening in England or a “small and early.”
For the first three months of my life at Damascus I only indulged in
short excursions, but Richard went away on longer expeditions, often
for days, sometimes on business and sometimes to visit the Druze
chiefs. I have said that our house was about a quarter of an hour from
Damascus, and whilst Richard was away on one of these expeditions I
broke through a stupid rule. It was agreed that I could never dine
out or go to a _soirée_ in Damascus, because after sunset the
roads between Damascus and our house on the hillside were infested
with Kurds. I was tired of being “gated” in this way, so I sent to the
Chief of the Police, and told him I intended to dine out when I chose
and where I chose, and to return at all hours--any hours I pleased. He
looked astonished, so I gave him a present. He looked cheerful, and I
then told him to make it his business that I was never to be attacked
or molested. I showed him my revolver, and said, “I will shoot the
first man who comes within five yards of me or my horse.” I went down
twice to Damascus while Richard was away the first time, and I found
all the gates of the city open and men posted with lanterns everywhere.
I took an escort of four of my servants, and I told them plainly that
the first man who ran away I would shoot from behind. I came back one
night at eleven o’clock, and another at two o’clock in the morning, and
nothing happened.
When I knew that Richard was coming back from the desert, I rode out
to meet him about eight miles. I did not meet him until sunset. He
said he knew a short cut to Damascus across the mountains, but we lost
our way. Night came on, and we were wandering about amongst the rocks
and precipices on the mountains. We could not see our hands before our
faces. Our horses would not move, and we had to dismount, and grope our
way, and lead them. Richard’s horse was dead-beat, and mine was too
fiery; and we had to wait till the moon rose, reaching home at last
half dead with fatigue and hunger.
Our daily life at Damascus, when we were not engaged in any expedition
or excursion, was much as follows: We rose at daybreak. Richard went
down every day to his Consulate in the city at twelve o’clock, and
remained there till four or five. We had two meals a day--breakfast at
11 a.m., and supper at dusk. At the breakfast any of our friends and
acquaintances who liked used to drop in and join us; and immediately
after our evening meal we received friends, if any came. If not,
Richard used to read himself to sleep, and I did the same. Of Richard’s
great and many activities at Damascus, of his difficult and dangerous
work, of his knowledge of Eastern character and Eastern languages, of
his political and diplomatic talents, all of which made him just the
man for the place, I have written elsewhere. Here I have to perform
the infinitely harder task of speaking of myself. But in writing of my
daily life at Damascus I must not forget that my first and best work
was to interest myself in all my husband’s pursuits, and to be, as far
as he would allow me to be, his companion, his private secretary, and
his _aide-de-camp_. Thus I saw and learnt much, not only of native
life, but also of high political matters. I would only say that my days
were all too short: I wish they had been six hours longer. When not
helping Richard, my work consisted of looking after my house, servants,
stables and horses, of doing a little gardening, of reading, writing,
and studying, of trying to pick up Arabic, of receiving visits and
returning them, of seeing and learning Damascus thoroughly, and looking
after the poor and sick who came in my way. I often also had a gallop
over the mountains and plains; or I went shooting, either on foot or
on horseback. The game was very wild round Damascus, but I got a shot
at red-legged partridges, wild duck, quail, snipe, and woodcock, and I
seldom came home with an empty bag. The only time I ever felt lonely
was during the long winter nights when Richard was away. In the summer
I did not feel lonely, because I could always go and smoke a narghíleh
with the women at the water-side in a neighbour’s garden. But in the
winter it was not possible to do this. So I used to occupy myself with
music or literature, or with writing these rough notes, which I or some
one else will put together some day. But more often than not I sat and
listened to the stillness, broken ever and anon by weird sounds
outside.
So passed our life at Damascus.
CHAPTER XIII
_THROUGH THE DESERT TO PALMYRA_
(1870)
Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her
beloved?
_The Song of Solomon._
The oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.
MILTON.
Richard had wished ever since he came to Damascus to visit Palmyra,
or Tadmor, in the wilderness. It is about one hundred and fifty miles
distant in the open desert. His main reason for going there was his
private wish to explore, but it was also his official duty to open
up the country, now infested with hordes of wild Bedawin tribes, who
attacked, robbed, and killed right and left. Several Englishmen had
been to Palmyra, but always with a large escort of the tribe of El
Mezráb, and Richard wanted to break through the system which this
tribe had of practically levying blackmail upon travellers, which
often meant as much as six thousand francs, as each man in the escort
costs about £2 a head. We decided therefore to go without any Bedawin
escort, to show that it could be done, and thus to throw open this
most interesting part of Syria to travellers. At first a lot of people
wanted to join us in the expedition; but when it came to the point they
gradually sneaked away, and many of them wept and wished us good-bye,
and thought it madness. Indeed, so much was said that I set out with
more than a suspicion that we were marching to our deaths. But Richard
wished it, and that was enough for me. He never permitted any obstacle
to hinder his progress. He made up his mind to travel without the tribe
of El Mezráb, and he gave me the option of going with him, and I said,
as I always said, “I will follow you to the death.” It was rather funny
to find the excuses which people made for not going with us. One had
business in Beyrout, another was ill, the third had married, and so on.
So when the day of departure dawned (April 1; I had been in Damascus
three months) our faithful friends dwindled down to two--the Russian
Consul, and a French traveller, the Vicomte de Perrochel.
On the morning of our departure we had a very lively breakfast. As
I have said, it was our custom to let our friends drop in for this
meal, and on this occasion we found ourselves surrounded by every kind
of Eastern figure. They evidently thought us mad--especially me. My
dress was very picturesque, and I was vain enough to turn myself round
and round, at their request, that they might view it, which they did
with cries of admiration. It consisted of large yellow button boots
and gaiters, an English riding-habit with the long ends of the skirt
tucked in to look like their Eastern baggy trousers, an Eastern belt
with revolver, dagger, and cartridges. My hair was all tucked up under
the _tarbash_, and I wore one of the Bedawin veils to the waist,
only showing a bit of face. The veil was of all colours, chiefly gold
braid, bound by a chocolate and gold circlet near the forehead. Richard
slung over my back and round my neck a whistle and compass, in case of
my being lost. I had brought out two first-rate horses, both stallions,
one half-bred, the other three-quarters; they were called Salim and
Harpash. An Arab was to ride one, and lead the second when I was riding
something else. The first stallion would be good for travelling and
fighting, and the second for bolting, if needful. I knew I had to ride
erect half a day at a stretch, which meant about fifteen or twenty
miles.
We set forth with great pomp and ceremony; for the Mushir, or
Commander-in-chief, and a large cavalcade saw us out of the city, and
exchanged affectionate farewells outside the gates, evidently not
expecting to see us again. This being the first day, we made only a
three hours’ march; it cleared us of Damascus and its environs, and
we camped early on the edge of the desert. I cannot convey to you the
charm of a Syrian camp. I shall never forget my first night in the
desert. The horses were all picketed about; the men were lying here and
there in the silvery moonlight, which lit up our tripod and kettle;
and the jackals howled and capered as they sniffed the savoury bones.
People talk of danger when surrounded by jackals, but I have always
found them most cowardly; they would run away if a pocket-handkerchief
were shaken at them. It was the prettiest thing to see them gambolling
about in the moonlight; but after we had turned in a strange effect
was produced when a jackal, smelling the cookery, ran up round the
tent, for the shadow on the white canvas looked as large as a figure
exaggerated in a magic lantern. During my first night under canvas
I was awakened by hearing a pack coming--a wild, unearthly sound. I
thought it was a raid of the Bedawin rushing down upon us, and that
this was the war-cry; but the weird yell swept down upon us, passed,
and died away in the distance. I grew to love the sound.
The next morning the camp began stirring at dawn. It was bitterly
cold. We boiled water and made some tea. We hurried our dressing, saw
the animals fed and watered, tents struck, things packed up, and the
baggage animals loaded and sent on ahead with orders to await us at
Jayrúd. We always found it better to see our camp off ahead of us,
otherwise the men loitered and did not reach the night-halt in time.
We started a little later. The way to Jayrúd was across a sandy plain,
with patches of houses here and there, and a village at long intervals.
A village on the outskirts of the desert means twenty or thirty huts
of stones and mud, each shaped like a box, and exactly the same colour
as the ground. We breakfasted in a ruined mosque. After that we
started again, and came to a vast plain of white sand and rock, which
lasted until we reached Jayrúd. It was about fifteen hours’ ride from
Damascus. A little way outside Jayrúd we were caught in a sand-storm,
which I shall never forget. Richard and I were both well mounted.
When it came on, he made a sign in which direction I was to go. There
was no time to speak, and we both galloped into the storm as hard as
we could pelt. The sand and wind blinded me, and I had no idea where I
was going. Once I did not see that I was riding straight at a deep pit;
and though Arab horses seldom or never leap, mine cleared it with one
bound. After that I was wiser, and I threw the reins on Salim’s neck,
for his eyes were better than mine. This continued for three hours, and
at last we reached Jayrúd, where we had arranged to halt for the night.
Jayrúd is a large clean village in the middle of the salt and sandy
plain. We stopped for the night with Da’as Agha, who was a border
chieftain, and a somewhat wild and dangerous character, though Richard
knew how to tame him. His house was large and roomy, with spacious
walls and high-raftered ceilings. While we were at supper crowds of
villagers collected to see us, and the courtyard and the house were
filled with and surrounded by all sorts of guests from different
Bedawin tribes. Camels were lying about, baggage was piled here and
there, and horses were picketed in all directions; it was a thoroughly
oriental picture.
An unpleasant incident happened. I had engaged a confidential man as
a head servant and interpreter. He was an Arab, but he spoke French.
He was an exceedingly clever, skilful man, and Richard told him off
to wait on me during the journey, and to ride after me when needful.
When we got to Jayrúd, as soon as I dismounted, I took Richard’s horse
and my own and walked them up and down to cool. As soon as my man and
another came up I gave them the reins, saying, “After our hard ride
in the sand-storm take as much care of the horses as though they were
children.” He answered, “Be rested, Sitti”; but an unpleasant smile
came across his face, which might have warned me. I ought to have
mentioned that three times since we had set out from Damascus he had
ridden short across me when we were at full gallop. The first time I
begged him not to do so, as it was very dangerous, and the second time
I threatened him, and the third time I broke my hunting-whip across
his face. He merely said, “All is finished,” and hung back. However,
I did not think anything more of it, and I went in and had my supper.
While we were eating, and my back was turned, he threw the reins of my
horse to a bystander, and, drawing a sword, he cut the throat of the
good, useful, little horse which I had hired for him, and which he had
been riding all day. I saw people running, and heard a certain amount
of confusion while I was eating; but being very tired and hungry, I
did not look round. Presently somebody let it out. I rose in a rage,
determined to dismiss the man at once; but Richard checked me with
a word, and pointed out the unwisdom of making him an open enemy,
and desired me to put a good face on the matter till the end of the
journey. The explanation of the little beast’s conduct was this. He
had really wanted to ride a thorough-bred horse, but it was ridden
instead by my dragoman’s brother, and his rage had been uncontrollable
when he saw the coveted animal caracolling before him. Moreover, he
had a spite against me, and he thought that if he killed his own horse
I should give him a better one, by some process of oriental reasoning
which I do not pretend to understand. However, he was mistaken, for I
mounted him after that on the vilest old screw in the camp.
Next morning we woke early. Mules, donkeys, camels, horses, and mares
were screaming and kicking, and the men running about cursing and
swearing. In such a Babel it was impossible to feel drowsy. I felt very
faint as we set out from Jayrúd. The salt marshes in the distance were
white and glistening, and the heat spread over them in a white mist
which looked like a mirage bearing fantastic ships. We breakfasted at
the next village, Atneh, in a harím, the women having all gone out. It
was the house of a bride, and she had hung all her new garments round
the walls, as we display our wedding presents _pour encourager les
autres_. When the women came back, the men retired from the harím.
Atneh was the last settlement, the last water, the last human abode
between Jayrúd and Karyatayn--a long distance. After this we had a
lengthy desert ride in wind and rain, sleet and hail, and the ground
was full of holes; but it was a splendid ride all the same. The Arabs,
in their gaudy jackets, white trousers, and gold turbans, galloped
about furiously, brandishing and throwing their lances, and playing the
usual tricks of horsemanship--_jeríd_. We met a terrible storm of
thunder and lightning, and between-whiles the fiery sun sent down his
beams upon a parched plain. The desert ground was alternately flint,
limestone, and smooth gravel; not a tree or shrub, not a human being or
animal, was to be seen. The colours were yellow sand and blue sky, blue
sky and yellow sand, yellow and blue for ever.
We arrived at dusk at the spot where we had told our advance guard
to pitch the tents. We found everything ready, and after our horses
were cared for we dined. That night for the first time we slept in our
clothes, with revolvers and guns by our sides. The men took turns to
keep watch, so that we might not be surprised by a Ghazu, a tribe of
six or seven hundred Bedawin, who go out for marauding purposes. The
Ghazis charge furiously, with their lances couched. If you have the
pluck to stand still until they are within an inch of your nose, and
ask what they want, they drop their lances; for they respect courage,
but there is no mercy if you show the white feather. We meant to say to
them, “We are the English and Russian Consuls travelling on business.
If you touch us, there will be consequences; if you want a present, you
shall have it; but you are not to shame us by taking our horses and
arms, and if you insist we will fight.” There was a driving wind that
night, and I feared the exposure and hardship if the tents were blown
down and the fire blown out, as it threatened. We could scarcely keep a
lamp or candle alight. No Ghazis came.
We rose next morning in the cold, dark, misty, and freezing dawn. We
had some difficulty in starting our camp; the horses were shivering,
and the muleteers and camel-men objected. We had a long and lonely
ride through the same desolate valley plain as yesterday, banked on
either side in the distance by naked, barren mountains, and we were
very thankful when the sun came out. We breakfasted at a ruined khan,
and changed our horses. Then we rode on and on, seemingly for an age,
with no change; not a bird nor a tree nor a sound save the clattering
of our horses’ hoofs. At length, when within an hour of Karyatayn, we
got a little excitement. On slightly rising ground about five miles off
we espied, by the aid of field-glasses, something which we discovered
to be a large party of mounted Bedawin. We sounded our whistles,
and our stragglers came in till we all were collected. I ought to
mention here that from the time of our leaving Damascus stragglers
had joined us continually from every village. Naturally the number of
our camp-followers became great, until we assumed a most formidable
appearance, numbering nearly eighty in all. As soon as our stragglers
reached us we formed a line, and the opposite party did the same. They
then galloped to meet us, and we did likewise. When within a quarter
of a mile of each other we pulled up, and they pulled up. We fully
expected a charge and a skirmish, so we halted in a line and consulted;
they did the same. Three of us then rode out to meet them; three
horsemen of their line then did likewise. They hailed us, and asked
us who we were and what we wanted. We told them we were the English
and Russian Consuls passing to Palmyra, and asked in our turn who they
were. They replied that they were the representatives of the Shaykh
of Karyatayn, and his fighting men, and that they bore invitations to
us. They then jumped down from their horses and kissed my hand. We
were greeted on all sides, and escorted in triumph to the village; the
men riding _jeríd_--that is, firing from horseback at full speed,
hanging over by one stirrup with the bridle in their mouths, quivering
their long lances in the air, throwing and catching them again at
full gallop, yelling and shouting their war-cries. It was a wild and
picturesque scene. So we entered Karyatayn, went to the house of the
Shaykh, and dispatched a note to him.
His dwelling was a big mud house, with a large reception-room, where
we found a big fire. There was a separate house for the harím, which
appeared numerous, and I was to sleep there in a room to myself. Before
dinner, while we were enjoying the fire and sitting round the rug, a
fat young Turkish officer entered with an insolent look. Thinking he
had come with a message from Omar Beg, a Hungarian brigadier-general
in the Turkish service who was stationed here, we saluted in the usual
manner. Without returning it, he walked up, stepped across us, flung
himself on our rug, leaned on his elbow, and with an impertinent
leer stared in our faces all round until he met Richard’s eye, which
partook of something of the tiger kind, when he started and turned
pale. Richard called out, “Kawwasses!” The kawwasses and two wardis ran
into the room. “Remove that son of a dog.” They seized him, fat and
big as he was, as if he had been a rabbit; and although he kicked and
screamed lustily, carried him out of the house. I saw them give him
some vicious bumps against the walls as they went out of the door into
the village, where they dropped him into the first pool of mud, which
represented the village horse-pond. By-and-by Omar Beg came down to
dine with us. We all sat round on the ground and ate of several dishes,
chiefly a kid stuffed with rice and _pistachios_. After dinner we
reported to Omar Beg the conduct of his _sous-officier_, and he
said that we had done very well, and he was glad of the opportunity of
making an example of him, for he was a bad lot; and a Turkish soldier
when he is bad is bad indeed. He had committed a gross insult against
us, and it is always best in the East to resent an insult at once.
Our next day was a pleasant, lazy day, during which we inspected
Karyatayn at our leisure. We rested, read, and wrote, and made a few
extra preparations for the march. I went to call on the wife of Omar
Beg, who was the daughter of the well-known German _savant_ Herr
Mordtmann. She was living with her husband quite contentedly in this
desolate place, in a mud hut, and her only companions were a hyena and
a lynx, which slept on her bed. The hyena greeted me at the gate; and
though I was not prepared for it, I innocently did the right thing. It
came and sniffed at my hands, and then jumped up and put its paws on
my shoulder and smelt my face. “Oh,” I thought, “if it takes a bit out
of my cheek, what shall I do?” But I stood as still as a statue, and
tried not to breathe, looking steadily in its eyes all the while. At
last it made up its mind to be friendly, jumped down, and ran before
me into the house. Here I found the lynx on the divan, which sprang
at me, mewed, and lashed its tail till Madame Omar came. She was a
charming German lady; but her husband kept her secluded in the harím
like a Moslem woman. She told me I had done quite the right thing with
the hyena. If people began to scream, it took a pleasure in frightening
them. I found this out a little later, for it got into Richard’s room,
and I found him, the Russian Consul, and the Vicomte de Perrochel all
sitting on the divan with their legs well tucked under them, clutching
their sticks, and looking absurdly uncomfortable at the _affreuse
bête_, as the Vicomte called it.
I had had a tiring day, and was glad to go to the harím that night and
turn into my little room. But, alas! no sooner had I got in there than
about fifty women came to pay me a visit. By way of being gracious, I
had given a pair of earrings to the head wife of the Shaykh, and that
caused the most awful jealousy and quarrelling among them. I was dying
to go to bed, but they went on nagging at one another, until at last
a man, a husband or a brother, came of his own accord to tell them to
take leave, and upon their refusing he drove them all out of the room
like a flock of sheep. Fortunately I had a bolt to my door, so that I
was able to shut them out. My sleep, however, was very much disturbed,
for they kept on trying the doors and the shutters nearly all night.
They have an intense curiosity concerning European women, and during my
toilet next morning I could see fifty pairs of eyes at fifty chinks in
the windows and doors. It was really very embarrassing, because I could
not tell the sex of the eyes, though I imagined that they belonged to
my visitors of the night before. Dressing as I did _en Amazone_
seemed to afford them infinite glee; and when I arrived at the cloth
nether garments of my riding-habit, they went into shrieks of laughter.
However, I put a bold face on it, and sallied forth to the square of
the village, where I found the rest of our party. Our horses were being
led up and down by the soldiers; our camels with water in goats’ skins,
and our baggage beasts, our camp-followers, and our free-lances, were
drawn up on one side. Omar Beg accompanied us out of the village with a
troop of cavalry, and started us with forty dromedaries, each carrying
two soldiers. The cavalcade looked very fine, and when Omar Beg took
his leave of us we were about one hundred and sixty strong.
We had a long day’s march through the desert. It was very hot. We went
through a wild defile, rested, and climbed up a mountain. We then
returned to the plains, and in the afternoon we saw a mirage--castles
and green fields. We were late in finding our tents, and very tired.
Again we did not undress, but slept with our weapons by our sides.
The next morning we set out again at 6.30. We rode towards a mountain
in the distance, and defiled by a picturesque and dangerous ledge
amongst craggy peaks. We had heard that the Bedawin knew of a well
hereabouts, and we determined to find it. We discovered it, and so
abolished the worst difficulty which travellers had to undergo in
visiting Palmyra. We rested by the well, which was full of the purest
water. When sitting by it, we heard guns echoing like thunder in the
mountains. We thought it might mean a Bedawin attack; but probably it
was a signal, and they found us too strong. They were on our track the
whole time. After an hour we descended once more into the arid plain,
and rode on and on. At last we descried dimly the khan which was to
be our night halt. It seemed quite close, but the nearer we rode the
farther it seemed. We reached it at last, a fine old pile, deserted and
solitary, which looked splendid in the sunset. Our camp by moonlight
will ever live in my memory: the black tents, the animals picketed, the
camels resting, the Turkish soldiery seated around, and the wild men
and muleteers singing and dancing.
On this night, as on all nights, I had always plenty to do. It was
Richard’s business to take the notes and sketches, observations and
maps, and to gather all the information. I acted as his secretary
and _aide-de-camp_. My other business was to take care of the
stable, see that the horses were properly groomed, and look after any
sick or wounded men. My duties varied according to the place in which
we halted for the night. If it were near an inhabited place, Richard
sat in state on his divan, and received the chiefs with narghílehs
and sherbet. I saluted, and walked off with the horses, and saw that
they were properly groomed and fed. Sometimes I groomed my own horse
and Richard’s too, if I did not feel sure that they would be properly
attended to. I would then go back to my husband, sit on the divan at
a respectful distance and in a respectful attitude, speak if spoken
to, and accept, if invited, a little sherbet or a narghíleh. I then
saluted, went again to see that the horses were properly picketed for
the night, prepared my husband’s supper, and returned to his tent for
supper and bed; and the next day the same over again. So far as I could
I made myself useful, and adapted myself to my surroundings as an
Eastern woman would have done.
The next day, our eighth from leaving Damascus, we went out of camp at
6.30, and rode over the hot stony desert for five hours. Suddenly we
descried a small lake, but about one hundred and fifty Bedawin were
there before us. At first we thought it was a Ghazu; but we found
afterwards that it was only a party of one hundred and fifty watering
their animals; they could not attack us until they had time to collect
their men, and mustered some six hundred strong. However, they looked
“nasty”; and as our stragglers were all over the place, to attract
their attention, and bring us together, I asked Richard’s leave to make
a display of _tir_. We put an orange on a lance-point seventy
yards off. I had the first shot. By good luck I hit it, and by better
luck still they did not ask for a second, which I might have missed, so
that I came off with a great reputation. Everybody fired in turns, and
all our people came up by degrees, until we mustered enough to fight
any Ghazu, if necessary. We then formed into a single line, and rode
until the remainder of the day. We approached Palmyra thus, cheering
and singing war-songs; and I am sure that we must have looked very
imposing.
The first sight of Palmyra is like a regiment of cavalry drawn up in
single line; but as we got nearer gradually the ruins began to stand
out one by one in the sunlight, and a grander sight I have never looked
upon, so gigantic, so extensive, so desolate was this splendid city of
the dead rising out of, and half buried in, a sea of sand. One felt as
if one were wandering in some forgotten world.
The Shaykh of Palmyra and his people came out to greet us, and he
conducted us to his house. We approached it over the massive blocks
of stone that formed the pavement and by a flight of broad steps.
The interior of Palmyra resembles a group of wasps’ nests on a large
scale, clinging to the gigantic walls of a ruined temple. The people
were hideous, poor, ragged, dirty, and diseased, nearly every one of
them afflicted with ophthalmia. What have the descendants of the great
Zenobia done to come to this? We dined at the Shaykh’s house, and had
our coffee and pipes. Later we returned to our camp, which consisted of
our five tents and ten for the eighty soldiers. It was picturesquely
placed, close to the east of the grand colonnade of Palmyra, for the
sake of being near the wells, and the animals were picketed as much as
possible in the shelter, for during our sojourn there we suffered from
ice and snow, sirocco, burning heat, and furious sou’westers. We had
two sulphurous wells, one to bathe in, and the other to drink out of.
Everybody felt a little tired, and we went to bed early. It was the
first night for eight days that we had really undressed and bathed and
slept, and it was such a refreshment that I did not wake for twelve
hours. My journal of the following morning contains a very short
notice. We were considerably refreshed, and attended to our horses
and several camp wants. We lounged about till breakfast and wrote our
diaries. It was scorchingly hot weather. We were here for five days, so
we did not begin serious work until noon.
So many travellers have described Palmyra that it is not necessary for
me to describe it again, and I suppose that everybody knows that at one
time it was ruled over in the days of its splendour by Zenobia, a great
queen of the East. She was an extraordinary woman, full of wisdom and
heroic courage. She was conquered by the Romans after a splendid reign,
and the Emperor Aurelian caused her to be led through Rome bound in
fetters of gold. The city must once have been magnificent, but it was
now a ruin. The chief temple was that of the Sun. The whole city was
full of columns and ruined colonnades. One of the great colonnades is a
mile long.
I saw something of the inner life of Palmyra, the more so because I
wore a dress very much like that of a man. So attired I could go almost
where I liked, and enter all the places which women are not deemed
worthy to see. My chief difficulty was that my toilet always had to be
performed in the dead of night. The others never appeared to make any,
except in the stream, which was too public for me, and I did not wish
to appear singular.
In another way my masculine garment had its drawbacks, for I always
used to forget that they regarded me as a boy, and I never could
remember not to go into the haríms. Once or twice I went into them,
and the women ran away to hide themselves screaming and laughing at
my appearance; and I remember once or twice, on being remonstrated
with, pointing to my chin to plead my youth, and also my ignorance of
their customs. I passed at Palmyra as Richard’s son; and though it was
a little awkward at first, I soon fell into my part, and remembered
always to be very respectful to my father, and very silent before him
and the elders. Often in my character of boy I used to run and hold
Richard’s stirrup as he alighted from his horse, and sat on the edge of
the divan while he talked to the Shaykhs of Palmyra. I always tried to
adapt myself as far as possible to the customs of the country where I
found myself, and I think I may say without flattery that I had a good
many capabilities for being a traveller’s wife. I could ride, walk,
swim, shoot, and defend myself if attacked, so that I was not dependent
on my husband; and I could also make myself generally useful--that
is to say, I could make the bed, arrange the tent, cook the dinner,
if necessary wash the clothes by the river-side, and mend them and
spread them to dry, nurse the sick, bind and dress wounds, pick up a
smattering of the language, make the camp of natives respect and obey
me, groom my own horse, saddle him, learn to wade him through the
rivers, sleep on the ground with the saddle for a pillow, and generally
to rough it and do without comforts.
We spent five days at Palmyra. The first was devoted to a general
inspection of the place. The second, we visited the Temple of the Sun
and the Towers of the Tombs. These latter are tall square towers,
four storeys in height; and each tower contains apertures for bodies
like a honeycomb. I noticed that all the carving was of the rudest and
coarsest kind. There was no trace of civilization anywhere, no theatre,
no forum, nothing but a barbarous idea of splendour, worked out on a
colossal scale in columns and temples. The most interesting thing was
the Tombs. These were characteristic of Palmyra, and lined the wild
mountain-defile entrance to the city, and were dotted about on the
mountain-sides. It was a City of Tombs, a City of the Dead. I was much
struck too with the dirtiness of the people of Palmyra, which dirtiness
results in pestilence, ophthalmia, and plagues of flies.
The third day two officers, the Shaykh of Palmyra and another, dined
with us in our tents, and after dinner we strolled about the ruins
by moonlight, and when we were tired we sat down in a large ring on
the sand, and the soldiers and muleteers danced a sword-dance with
wild cries to musical accompaniments and weird songs. I shall never
forget the exceeding beauty of the ruins of Palmyra by moonlight.
The following day we explored the caves, and found human bones and
things, which I helped Richard to sort, much to the disgust of the
Vicomte de Perrochel, who was shocked at my want of sensibility, and
said that a Frenchwoman would certainly have had hysteria. We also
explored the ruins, and wrote descriptions of our journey to Palmyra.
We had all retired to rest, when I was aroused by hearing a roaring
like that of a camel. I ran out of my tent to see what was the matter;
and being guided by a noise to the servants’ quarters, I found the
kitchen assistant in convulsions, and the rest holding him down. It
was a Syrian disease, a sort of epilepsy. They all wanted to tread on
his back, but I would not let them do it. I got some hot brandy and
restoratives, and gave him a good dosing between his clenched teeth.
The result was he came to in an hour and a half, sensible, but very
tipsy; but he managed to kiss my hand and thank me. The last day was
Easter Sunday. We performed our Sunday service in one of the ruined
temples, we wrote our journals, and prepared for departure on the
morrow. The next day we left Palmyra. We should have done better to
have remained there fifteen days instead of five. I wish we had taken
ropes and ladders, planks to bridge over broken staircases, and a
crowbar. We might then have thoroughly examined three places which we
could not otherwise do: the Palace of the Pretty, the Palace of the
Maiden, and the Palace of the Bride, the three best Tower Tombs.
[Illustration: ARAB CAMEL-DRIVERS.]
We left camp at dawn, and a terribly hot day it was. We encamped at
8 p.m. in a mountain defile. We were all dead-beat, and so were the
horses. At night I had fever, and a hurricane of wind and rain nearly
carried our tents away. On the second day we rode from dawn to sunset,
with the driving wind and the sand in our faces, filling eyes, ears,
nose, and mouth. I felt so cold, tired, and disheartened, that as I sat
in my saddle and rode along I cried for about two hours, and Richard
and the others laughed at me. Whilst I was crying we saw a body of
mounted Bedawin dodging about in the mountains. So I dried my eyes,
and rode on as hard as I could pelt until we reached Karyatayn at
sunset; but I had to be lifted off my horse, and could not stand for
some minutes.
All clamoured to rest one day at Karyatayn. We had already been riding
for two days hard, and were simply done up. The muleteers mutinied, and
said that their backs were broken and their beasts dead-beat. There was
only one person in the camp not tired, and that was Richard, who seemed
made of cast iron. He said, “You may all remain here, but I shall ride
on to Damascus alone, for on Friday the English and Baghdad mails
come in, and I must be at my post.” All the responsibility then fell
upon me, for they all said if I would remain they would be glad. But
the idea of Richard riding on alone through the desert infested with
Bedawin was not to be entertained by me for one moment, so I said, “On
we go.”
The next morning we left early. I tried at first to ride in the
panniers of one of the camels; but it bumped me so unmercifully that
after half an hour I begged to be let down. Camel-riding is pleasant
if it is at a long trot; but a slow walk is very tedious, and I should
think that a gallop would be annihilation. When I got down from my
camel, I mounted my horse, and galloped after the rest, and in time
got to my place behind Richard. I always rode a yard or two behind
him. In the East it would not have been considered respectful for
either wife or son to ride beside a husband. We got to Jayrúd at dark,
and we saw hovering near us a party of Bedawin, armed and mounted;
they eventually retired into the mountains. But when we got back to
Damascus, we heard that all through our journey the bandits had been
watching us, and would have attacked us, only they were afraid that our
rifles would carry too far.
The next day was the last. We started at sunrise, and rode all day,
reaching home at 8 p.m. I had not realized the beauty of Damascus until
then. After all those days in the desert it seemed a veritable garden
of Paradise. First of all we saw a belt of something dark lining the
horizon; then we entered by degrees under the trees, the orchards,
and the gardens. We smelt the water from afar like a thirsty horse;
we heard its gurgling long before we came to it; we scented and saw
the limes, citrons, and watermelons. We felt a mad desire to jump into
the water, to eat our fill of fruit, to lie down and sleep under the
delicious shade. At last we reached our door. The house seemed to me
like a palace of comfort. A warm welcome greeted us on all sides; and
as every one (except Richard) and all the horses were dead-beat, they
all stayed with us for the night.
CHAPTER XIV
_BLUDÁN IN THE ANTI-LEBANON_
(1870)
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge
in the villages.
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine
flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates
bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.
The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of
pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O
my beloved.
_The Song of Solomon._
During the next few weeks at Damascus there was an outbreak of cholera,
which gave me a great deal of trouble at the time. Several people died
in great agony, and I did what I could to check the outbreak. I made
the peasants wash and fumigate their houses and burn the bedding, and
send to me for medicine the moment a person was taken ill. Fortunately
these precautions checked the spread of the disease; but along the
cottages at the river-side there was also an epidemic of scarlet fever
more difficult to keep within bounds. I secured the services of a
kind-hearted French surgeon, who attended the patients, and I myself
nursed them. I wore an outside woollen dress when attending cases, and
this I hung on a tree in the garden, and never let it enter my house.
I also took a bag of camphor with me to prevent infection. However,
after a time I was struck down by one of those virulent, nameless
illnesses peculiar to Damascus, which, if neglected, end in death,
and I could not move without fainting. An instinct warned me to have
a change of air, and I determined to go to Beyrout. Two hours out
of Damascus I was able to rise, and at the half-way house at Buká’a
I could eat, and when I arrived at Beyrout after fourteen hours’
journey I felt almost well. I had three weeks’ delicious sea-bathing
at Beyrout; and while there we kept Her Majesty’s birthday at the
Consulate-General with great pomp and ceremony. We also made several
little expeditions. Richard went farther afield than I did, to Tyre,
Sidon, Carmel, and Juneh. I was too weak to go with him, which I
regretted very much, as I would have given a great deal to have visited
the grave of Lady Hester Stanhope.
On June 14 we turned our faces homewards to Damascus, and as we
journeyed over the Lebanons and descended into the plain I could not
help feeling the oriental charm of the scene grow upon me. Beyrout
is demi-fashionable, semi-European; but Damascus is the heart of the
East, and there is no taint of Europeanism about it. As I was nearing
Damascus in the evening I fell in love with it. The first few weeks I
had disliked it, but gradually it had grown upon me, and now it took
a place in my heart from which it could never be thrust forth. I saw
how lovely it was, bathed in the evening sun, and it seemed to me
like home--the home that I had dreamed of in my childhood long ago. I
cannot tell what worked this charm in me; but henceforth my affections
and interests, my life and work, knitted and grew to that Damascus home
of ours, where I would willingly have remained all my days. I knew
that mine was to be the wanderer’s life, and that it is fatal for the
wanderer to make ties and get attached to places or things or people;
but in spite of this presentiment, I greedily drank in whilst I could
all the truths which the desert breathes, and learnt all I could of
oriental mysteries, and set my hands to do all the good work they could
find, until they were full to overflowing.
Ten days after our return to Salahíyyeh we had a severe shock of
earthquake. Richard and I were sitting in an inner room, when suddenly
the divan began to see-saw under us, and the wardrobe opposite to bow
down to us. Fortunately no harm was done; but it was an unpleasant
sensation, like being at sea in a gale of wind.
As Damascus began to be very hot about this time, we moved to our
summer quarters at Bludán, about twenty-seven miles across country
from Damascus in the Anti-Lebanon. It was a most beautiful spot, right
up in the mountains, and comparatively cool. We threaded the alleys
of Bludán, ascended steep places, and soon found ourselves beyond the
village, opposite a door which opened into a garden cultivated in
ridges up the mountain. In the middle stood a large barn-like limestone
hall, with a covered Dutch verandah, from which there was a splendid
view. This was our summer-house; it had been built by a former consul.
Everybody who came to see us said, “Well, it is glorious; but the thing
is to get here.” It was a veritable eagle’s nest.
We soon settled down and made ourselves comfortable. The large room was
in the middle of the house, looking on to the verandah, which overhung
the glorious view. We surrounded it with low divans, and the walls
became an armoury of weapons. The rooms on either side of this large
room were turned into a study for Richard, a sleeping-room, and a study
and dressing-room for me. We had stabling for eight horses. There were
no windows in the house, only wooden shutters to close at night. The
utter solitude and the wildness of the life made it very soothing and
restful.
One of my earliest experiences there was a deputation from the shaykhs
and chiefs of the villages round, who brought me a present of a sheep,
a most acceptable present. Often when alone at Bludán provisions ran
short. I remember once sending my servants to forage for food, and they
returned with an oath, saying there was nothing but “Arab’s head and
onions.” I don’t know about the Arab’s head, but there was no doubt
about the onions. I often used to dine off a big raw onion and an
oatmeal cake, nothing better being forthcoming.
In many ways our days at Bludán were the perfection of living. We used
to wake at dawn, make a cup of tea, and then sally forth accompanied
by the dogs, and take long walks over the mountains with our guns in
search of sport. The larger game were bears, gazelles, wolves, wild
boars, and a small leopard. The small game nearer home were partridges,
quail, and woodcock, with which we replenished our larder. I am fond of
sport; and, though I say it, I was not a bad shot in those days. The
hotter part of the day we spent indoors reading, writing, and studying
Arabic. At twelve we had our first meal, which served as breakfast and
luncheon, on the terrace. Sometimes in the afternoon native shaykhs or
people from Beyrout and Damascus would come and visit us. When the sun
became cooler, all the sick and poor within fifteen or sixteen miles
round would come to be doctored and tended. The hungry, the thirsty,
the ragged, the sick, and the sore filled our garden, and I used to
make it my duty and pleasure to be of some little use to them. I seldom
had fewer than fifteen patients a day, half of them with eye diseases,
and I acquired a considerable reputation as a doctor. We used to dine
at seven o’clock on the terrace. After dinner divans were spread on the
housetop, and we would watch the moon lighting up Hermon whilst the
after-dinner pipe was being smoked. A pianette from Damascus enabled
us to have a little music. Then I would assemble the servants, read
the night prayers to them, with a little bit of Scripture or of Thomas
à Kempis. The last thing was to go round the premises and see that
everything was right, and turn out the dogs on guard. And so to bed.
Richard used to ride down into Damascus every few days to see that all
was going well; so I was often left alone.
I must not linger too long over our life at Bludán. Mr. E. H.
Palmer, afterwards Professor of Arabic at Cambridge, and Mr. Charles
Tyrwhitt-Drake, who had done much good work in connexion with the
Palestine Exploration, came to us about this time on a visit, and we
made many excursions from Bludán with them, some short and some long.
We used to saunter or gypsy about the country round, pitching our tents
at night. I kept little reckoning of time during these excursions.
We generally counted by the sun. I only know that we used to start
at dawn, and with the exception of a short halt we would ride until
sunset, and often until dusk, and sleep in the desert.
One of our most interesting excursions was to Ba’albak, which is far
more beautiful, though smaller, than Palmyra; and it can be seen
without danger--Palmyra cannot. The ruins are very beautiful. The
village hangs on to the tail of the ruins--not a bad village either,
but by comparison it looks like a tatter clinging to an empress’s
diamond-bespangled train. The scenery around is wild, rocky, and barren.
[Illustration: BA’ALBAK.]
When we arrived at Ba’albak, the Governor and the chief people rode out
to receive us. Our horses’ hoofs soon rang under a ruined battlement,
and we entered in state through the dark tunnels. Horses were neighing,
sabres were clanking; it was a noisy, confusing, picturesque scene.
We tented for the night in the midst of the grand court of the ruins.
In the morning the ladies of the Governor’s harím paid me a visit
in my tent. With their blue satin and diamonds, they were the most
elaborately dressed women I had seen for a long time. We stayed at
Ba’albak several days, and explored the ruins thoroughly. It is the
ancient Heliopolis. One of the most striking things amid its rocky
tombs and sepulchral caves and its Doric columns and temples was the
grand old eagle, the emblem of Baal. On Sunday I heard Mass at the
Maronite chapel, and returned the call of the ladies aforesaid. In the
evening we dined with the Governor, who illuminated his house for us.
We passed a most enjoyable evening. I spent most of the time in the
harím with the ladies. They wished me to tell them a story; but as I
could not recite one fluently in Arabic, the Governor allowed me as a
special favour to blindfold our dragoman, and take him into the harím
as an interpreter, the Governor himself being present the whole time
to see that the bandage did not come off. One night Mr. Drake and I
lit up the ruins with magnesium. The effect was very beautiful. It was
like a gigantic transformation scene in a desert plain. Every night the
jackals played round our tents in the moonlight, and made the ruins
weird with strange sights and sounds.
We left Ba’albak at dawn one morning, and rode to the source of the
Lebweh. The water bursts out from the ground, and divides into a dozen
sparkling streams. Of all the fountains I have ever seen, there is not
one so like liquid diamonds as this. We picketed our horses under a
big tree, and slept for a while through the heat of the day. At 4.30
p.m., when it was cooler, we rode on again to Er Ras. When we arrived
we met with a furious, rising wind. We stopped there for the night,
and the next morning galloped across the plain to Buká’a. We had a
long, tiring ride, finally reaching a clump of trees on a height, where
we pitched our camp. The Maronite chiefs were _jeríding_ in the
hollow. They came to dinner with us, and I gave them a present of some
cartridges, which appeared to make them very happy.
The next day we continued to ride up a steep ascent. At last we stood
upon a mountain-range of crescent form, ourselves in the centre, and
the two cusps to the sea. Turning to the side which we had ascended and
looking below, the horizon was bounded by the Anti-Lebanon, with the
plain of Buká’a and the ruins of Ba’albak beneath and far away. From
this point we could see the principal heights of the Lebanon, for which
we were bound, to make excursions from the Cedars. We had a painful
descent for an hour and a half, when we reached the famous Cedars
of Lebanon, and camped beneath them. We pitched our tents among the
Cedars, under the largest trees. They are scattered over seven mounds
in the form of a cross. There are five hundred and fifty-five trees,
and they exude the sweetest odours. We spent a very pleasant time
camping under their grateful shade.
At last the day came for our party to break up, Mr. Palmer and Mr.
Tyrwhitt-Drake _en route_ for England, and Richard and I to return
to Bludán. So we parted.
It took Richard and myself many days to get back to our home. After
parting with our friends, we resolved to visit the Patriarch, Primate
of Antioch and of all the East; and escorted by a priest and the
shaykh we travelled by way of a short cut and terrible descent of
three hours. It was no better than a goat-path. We at last arrived
at Dimán, the summer residence of the Patriarch, a conventual yet
fortress-like building on an eminence, commanding a view of the
whole of his jurisdiction. We were charmed with the reception which
his Beatitude gave us. We were received by two bishops and endless
retainers. The Patriarch, dressed in purple, sat in a long, narrow room
like a covered terrace. We of the Faith knelt and kissed his hands, and
the others bowed low. His Beatitude seemed delighted with Richard, and
at dinner he sat at the head of the table, with me on his right and
Richard on his left. We then went to see the chapel and the monks, and
the view from the terrace, where we had coffee. His Beatitude gave me a
number of pious things, amongst others a bit of the true Cross, which I
still wear.
After we left the Patriarch’s we found a dreadful road. Our horses
had literally to jump from one bit of rock to another. It consisted
of nothing but _débris_ of rocks. The horses were dead-beat long
before we had done our day’s work, and we had to struggle forward
on foot. Night found us still scrambling in the dark, worn out with
fatigue and heat. I felt unable to go another step. At last, about
nine o’clock, we saw a light, and we hoped it was our camp. We had yet
some distance to go, and when we reached the light we found a wretched
village of a few huts. It was so dark that we could not find our way
into the shedlike dwellings. We had lost our camp altogether. At last,
by dint of shouting, some men came out with a torch, and welcomed
us. Tired as I was, I saw all the horses groomed, fed, watered, and
tethered in a sheltered spot for the night. We were then able to eat a
watermelon, and were soon sound asleep on our saddle-cloths in the open.
The next day’s ride was as bad. The scenery, however, was very wild and
beautiful. We breakfasted at the place we ought to have arrived at the
previous night, and then we resumed our second bad day in the Kasrawán,
the worst desert of Syria. The horses were tired of jumping from ledge
to ledge. We passed some Arab tents, and camped for the night.
The following morning we rode to the top of Jebel Sunnin, one of the
three highest points in Syria, and we had another six hours of the
Kasrawán, which is called by the Syrians “The road of Gehenna.” We were
terribly thirsty, and at last we found a little khan, which gave us
the best _leben_ I ever tasted. I was so thirsty that I seemed as
if I could never drink enough. I could not help laughing when, after
drinking off my third big bowl, the poor woman of the khan, in spite of
Arab courtesies, was obliged to utter a loud “Máshálláh!” We were still
surrounded by amphitheatre-shaped mountains, with the points to the Sea
of Sidon. The sunset was splendid, and the air was cool and pleasant.
We debated whether to camp or to go on; but the place was so tempting
that we ended by remaining, and were repaid by a charming evening.
The next day we rode quietly down the mountains. We enjoyed a grand
view and a pleasant ride but it was as steep as a railway-bank; and
we came at last to another little khan, where we breakfasted. The
Anti-Lebanon rose on the opposite side. Miss Ellen Wilson, who had a
Protestant mission at Zahleh in this district, asked us to her house,
and we accepted her hospitality for the night, instead of remaining in
our tents. We stayed at Miss Wilson’s for a few days; and we visited
and were visited by the Governor of Zahleh, the Bishop, and other
dignitaries. Richard was taken with fever. I nursed him all night, and
caught the complaint. We both suffered horribly, in spite of every
attention on the part of our friends. Richard soon shook off his
illness, but I did not; I fancied I could not get well unless I went
home to Bludán.
So at sunset on August 11, after we had been at Miss Wilson’s rather
more than a week, our horses were made ready. I was lifted out of
bed and put into a litter. We wound out of Zahleh, descended into
the plain, and began to cross it. I was so sorry for the men who had
to carry my litter that I begged to be allowed to ride. I told my
Arab stallion Salim to be very quiet. We went at foot’s pace till 1
o’clock a.m. in bright moonlight across the plain. Then we passed
regular defiles, where once or twice the horses missed their footing,
and struck fire out of the rocks in their struggles to hold up. At
two o’clock in the morning I felt that I was going to drop out of my
saddle, and cried for quarter. The tents were hastily half pitched, and
we lay down on the rugs till daylight. By that time I had to repair to
my litter again, but I felt so happy at coming near home that I thought
I was cured. As we neared Bludán I was carried along in the litter,
and I lay so still that everybody thought that my corpse was coming
home to be buried. The news spread far and wide, so I had the pleasure
of hearing my own praises and the people’s lamentations.
We had not long returned to Bludán before a great excitement arose.
When we had been home about a fortnight, on August 26, Richard received
at night by a mounted messenger two letters, one from Mr. Wright, chief
Protestant missionary at Damascus, and one from the chief dragoman at
the British Consulate, saying that the Christians at Damascus were
in great alarm; most of them had fled from the city, or were flying,
and everything pointed to a wholesale massacre. Only ten years before
(in 1860) there had been the most awful slaughter of Christians at
Damascus; and though it had been put down at last, the embers of hatred
were still smouldering, and might at any time burst into a flame. Now
it seemed there had been one of those eruptions of ill-feeling which
were periodical in Damascus, resulting from so many religions, tongues,
and races being mixed up together. The chief hatred was between the
Moslems and the Christians, and the Jews were fond of stirring up
strife between them, because they reaped the benefit of the riot and
anarchy. It appeared that the slaughter day was expected on August
27--on the morrow. It had been so timed. All the chief authorities
were absent from Damascus, as well as the Consuls, and therefore there
would be nobody to interfere and nobody to be made responsible. We
only got notice on the night before, the 26th. Richard and I made our
plans and arrangements in ten minutes, and then saddled the horses and
cleaned the weapons. Richard would not take me to Damascus, however,
because, as he said, he intended to protect Damascus, and he wanted me
to protect Bludán and Zebedani. The feeling that I had something to do
took away all that remained of my fever. In the night I accompanied
Richard down the mountain. He took half the men, and left me half. When
we got into the plain, we shook hands like two brothers, and parted,
though it might have been that we should never see one another again.
There were no tears, nor any display of affection, for emotion might
have cost us dear.
Richard rode into Damascus, put up his horse, and got to business.
When he stated what he had heard, the local authorities affected to be
surprised; but he said to them, “I must telegraph to Constantinople
unless measures are taken at once.” This had the desired effect, and
they said, “What will you have us do?” He said, “I would have you post
a guard of soldiers in every street, and order a patrol at night.
Issue an order that no Jew or Christian shall leave their houses until
all is quiet.” These measures were taken at once, and continued for
three days; not a drop of blood was shed, and the flock of frightened
Christians who had fled to the mountains began to come back. In this
way the massacre at Damascus was averted. But I may mention that some
of the Christians who had run away in panic to Beyrout, as soon as they
were safe, declared that there had been no danger whatever, and they
had not been at all frightened. I grieve to say it, but the Eastern
Christian is often a poor thing. But all this is to anticipate.
When I had parted from Richard in the plain, I climbed up to my eagle’s
nest at Bludán, the view from which commanded the country, and I felt
that as long as our ammunition lasted we could defend ourselves, unless
overpowered by numbers. Night was coming on, and of course I had not
the slightest idea of what would happen, but feared the worst. I knew
what had happened at the previous massacre of Christians at Damascus;
and flying, excited stragglers dropped in, and from what they said one
would have supposed that Damascus was already being deluged in blood,
and that eventually crowds of Moslems would surge up to Bludán and
exterminate us also. I fully expected an attack, so I collected every
available weapon and all the ammunition. I had five men in the house;
to each one I gave a gun, a revolver, and a bowie-knife. I put one on
the roof with a pair of elephant guns carrying four-ounce balls, and a
man to each of the four sides of the house, and I commanded the terrace
myself. I planted the Union Jack on the flagstaff at the top of the
house, and I turned my bull terriers into the garden to give notice of
any approach. I locked up a little Syrian girl whom I had taken into my
service, and who was terribly frightened, in the safest room; but my
English maid, who was as brave as any man, I told off to supply us with
provisions and make herself generally useful. I then rode down the hill
to the American Mission and begged them to come up and take shelter
with me, and then into the village of Bludán to tell the Christians to
come up to me on the slightest sign of danger. I gave the same message
to the handful of Christians at Zebedani. I rode on to the Shaykhs, and
asked them how it would be if the news proved true. They told me that
there would be a fight, but they also said, “They shall pass over our
dead bodies before they reach you.” It was a brave speech and kindly
meant; but if anything had happened I should have been to the fore.
I did not wish the Shaykhs to think I was afraid, or wanted their
protection against their co-religionists.
When all preparations were completed, I returned to the house, and we
waited and watched, and we watched and waited for three days. Nobody
came, except more flying stragglers with exaggerated news. After having
made all my preparations, I can hardly explain my sensations, whether
they were of joy or of disappointment. The suspense and inaction
were very trying. I was never destined to do anything worthy of my
ancestress, Blanche Lady Arundell, who defended Wardour Castle against
the Parliamentary forces.
During the three days we were in suspense a monster vulture kept
hovering over our house. The people said it was a bad omen, and so I
fetched my little gun, though I rather begrudged the cartridge just
then; and when it was out of what they call reach, I had the good luck
to bring it down. This gave them great comfort, and we hung the vulture
on the top of the tallest tree.
At last at midnight on the third day a mounted messenger rode up with a
letter from Richard, saying that all was well at Damascus, but that he
would not be back for a week.
After this excitement life fell back into its normal course at Bludán,
and the only variations were small excursions and my doctoring. _À
propos_ of the latter, I can tell some amusing anecdotes. Once
a girl sent to me saying she had broken her leg. I had a litter
constructed, hired men, and went down to see her. When I came near the
place where she was, I met her walking. “How can you be walking with a
broken leg?” I said. She lifted up her voice and wept; she also lifted
up her petticoat and showed me a scratch on her knee that an English
baby would not have cried for. Sometimes women would come and ask me
for medicine to make them young again, others wished me to improve
their complexions, and many wanted me to make them like Sarai of old.
I gently reminded them of their ages, and said that I thought that at
such a time of life no medicines or doctors could avail. “My age!”
screamed one: “why, what age do you take me for?” “Well,” I answered
politely, “perhaps you might be sixty” (she looked seventy-five). “I am
only twenty-five,” she said in a very hurt tone of voice. “Well then,”
I said, “I must congratulate you on your early marriage, for your
youngest daughter is seventeen, and she is working in my house. Anyway
it is really too late to work a miracle.”
On another occasion I received a very equivocal compliment. A woman
came to me and begged for medicines, and described her symptoms. The
doctor was with me, but she did not know him. He said in French, “Do
not give her anything but a little effervescing magnesia. I won’t have
anything to do with her; it is too late, and risks reputation.” I did
as he bade me, simply not to seem unkind. The next day she was dead.
Soon afterwards a young man of about twenty came to me and said, “Ya
Sitti, will you give me some of that nice white bubbling powder for my
grandmother that you gave to Umm Saba the day before yesterday? She is
so old, and has been in her bed these three months, and will neither
recover nor die.” “Oh thou wicked youth!” I answered; “begone from my
house! I did but give Umm Saba a powder to calm her sickness, for it
was too late to save her, and it was the will of Allah that she should
die.”
I will here mention again my little Syrian maid, to whom I had taken a
fancy at Miss Wilson’s Mission, where I first met her, and I took her
into my service. She was a thorough child of Nature, quite a little
wild thing, and it took me a long time to break her into domestic
habits. She was about seventeen years of age, just the time of life
when a girl requires careful guiding. When she first came to us, she
used to say and do the queerest things. Some of them I really do not
think are suited to ears polite; but here are a few.
One day, when we were sitting at work, she startled me by asking:
“Lady, why don’t you put your lip out so?” pouting a very long
under-lip.
“Why, O Moon?”
“Look, my lip so large. Why, all the men love her so because she pout.”
“But, O Moon, my lip is not made like yours; and, besides, I never
think of men.”
“But do think, Lady. Look, your pretty lip all sucked under.”
I know now how to place my lip, and I always remember her when I sit at
work.
On another occasion, seeing my boxes full of dresses and pretty
trinkets, and noticing that I wore no jewellery, and always dressed in
riding-habits and waterproofs for rough excursions, and looked after
the stables instead of lying on a divan and sucking a narghíleh, after
the manner of Eastern women, she exclaimed:
“O Lady, Ya Sitti, my happiness, why do you not wear this lovely
dress?”--a _décolletée_ blue ball-dress, trimmed with tulle and
roses. “I hate the black. When the Beg will come and see his wife so
darling, he will be so jealous and ashamed of himself. I beg of you
keep this black till you are an old woman, and instead be joyful in
your happy time.”
After she had been in the house a fortnight, her ideas grew a little
faster; and speaking of an old sedate lady, and hoping she would do
something she wished, she startled me by saying, “If she do, she do;
and if she don’t, go to hell!”
[Illustration: “THE MOON,” LADY BURTON’S SYRIAN MAID.]
The girl was remarkably pretty, with black plaits of hair confined by
a coloured handkerchief, a round baby face, large eyes, long lashes,
small nose, and pouting lips, with white teeth, of which she was very
proud: a temperament which was all sunshine or thunder and lightning
in ten minutes. She had a nice, plump little figure, encased in a
simple, tight-fitting cotton gown, which, however, showed a stomach of
size totally disproportionate to her figure. Seeing this, I said gently:
“O Moon, do wear stays! When you get older, you will lose your pretty
figure. You are only seventeen, and I am past thirty, and yet I have no
stomach. Do let me give you some stays.”
She burst into a storm of tears and indignation at being supposed to
have a fault of person, which brought on a rumbling of the stomach. She
pointed to it, and said:
“Hush! do you hear, Lady? She cry because she is so great.”
Our kawwass having picked up a little bad language on board ship from
the sailors, was in the habit of saying wicked words when angry, and
the Moon imitated him. The Moon, on being told to do something one
day by my English maid, rapped out a volley of fearful oaths, and my
maid fled to me in horror. I was obliged to speak very seriously to
the Moon, and told her that these were bad words used by the little
gutter-boys in England when they had bad parents and did not know God.
Our dragoman, I regret to say, once took liberties with her. She
complained to me.
“O Lady, all the men want my lip and my breast. Hanna he pulled me, and
I told him, ‘What you want? I am a girl of seventeen. I have to learn
how I shall walk. You know the Arab girl. Not even my brother kiss me
without leave. Wait till I run and tell Ya Sitti.’”
This frightened Hanna, a man like a little old walnut, with a wife and
children, and he begged her not to do so. But she came and told me, and
I replied:
“O Moon, the next time he does it, slap his face and scream, and I will
come down and ask him what he takes my house to be. He shall get more
than he reckons on.”
There was a great deal of ill-feeling simmering between the Moslems
and Christians all this summer, and there were many squabbles between
them. Sometimes the Christians were to blame, and needlessly offended
the susceptibilities of the Moslems. I was always very careful about
this, and would not eat pig for fear of offending the Moslems and Jews,
though we were often short of meat, and I hungered for a good rasher of
bacon. I used to ride down to Zebedani, the next village to Bludán, to
hear Mass, attended by only one servant, a boy of twenty. The people
loved me, and my chief difficulty was to pass through the crowd that
came to kiss my hand or my habit, so I might really have gone alone. I
would not mention this but that our enemies misreported the facts home,
and it went forth to the world that I behaved like a female tyrant, and
flogged and shot the people. How this rumour arose I know not, for I
never shot anybody, and the only time I flogged a man was as follows. I
do not repent of it, and under similar circumstances should do the same
over again.
One day I was riding alone through the village of Zebedani; as usual
every one rose up and saluted me, and I was joined by several native
Christians. Suddenly Hasan, a youth of about twenty-two, thrust himself
before my horse, and said, “What fellows you fellahin are to salute
this Christian woman! I will show you the way to treat her.” This was
an insult. I reined in my horse; the natives dropped on their knees,
praying me not to be angry, and kissed my hands, which meant, “For
Allah’s sake bear it patiently! We are not strong enough to fight for
you.” By this time quite a crowd had collected, and I was the centre
of all eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” I asked Hasan. “It means,”
he answered, “that I want to raise the devil to-day, and I will pull
you off your horse and duck you in the water. I am a Beg, and you are a
Beg. Salute me!” Salute him indeed! I did salute him, but hardly in the
way he bargained for. I had only an instant to think over what I could
do. I knew that to give him the slightest advantage over me would be
to bring on a Consular and European row, and a Christian row too, and
that if I evinced the smallest cowardice I should never be able to show
my face in the village again. I had a strong English hunting-whip, and
was wearing a short riding-habit. So I sprang nimbly from my saddle,
and seized him by the throat, twisting his necktie tightly, and at
the same time showering blows upon his head, face, and shoulders with
the butt-end of my whip till he howled for mercy. My servant, who was
a little way behind, heard the noise at this moment, and, seeing how
I was engaged, thought that I was attacked, and flew to the rescue.
Six men flung themselves upon him, and during the struggle his pistol
or blunderbuss went off, and the ball whizzed past our heads to lodge
in the plaster wall. It might have shot me as well as Hasan, though
afterwards this fact was used against me. The native Christians all
threw themselves on the ground, as they often do when there is any
shooting. The brother of Hasan then dragged him howling away from me.
I mounted my horse again, and rode on amid the curses of his brothers.
“We will follow you,” they shouted, “with sticks and stones and guns,
and at night we will come in a party and burn your house, and whenever
we meet an English son of a pig we will kill him.” “Thank you for your
warning,” I said; “you may be quite sure I shall be ready for you.”
I went home and waited to see if any apology would be offered, but none
came. The Shaykhs came up, and the Christians told me if I allowed this
insult to pass in silence they would be unable to stay in the village,
they were too few. I waited, however, some time, and then wrote an
account of the affair and sent it to Damascus to the Wali. The Wali,
who at that time was not ill-disposed towards Richard, behaved like a
gentleman. He expressed regret at the incident, and sent soldiers up to
burn and sack the home of Hasan and his family, but I interceded and
got them off with only a few weeks’ imprisonment. The father of the
youth Hasan, accompanied by about fifty of the principal people, came
up to beg my pardon the morning after the insult. I, however, received
them coldly, and merely said the affair had passed out of my hands. But
I begged them off all the same.
There was a sequel to this story, which I may as well mention here.
The following summer, when we were at Bludán, Hasan and I became great
friends. One day, after doctoring him for weak eyes, I said, “What
made you want to hurt me, O Hasan, last summer?” He replied, “I don’t
know; the devil entered my heart. I was jealous to see you always with
the Shaykhs and never noticing us. But since I have got to know you I
could kill myself for it.” He had an excellent heart, but was apt to
be carried off his head by the troubles of the times. I may mention
that I reported the matter to the Consul-General, who had also received
the story in another form; to wit, that I had seen a poor Arab beggar
sitting at my gate, and because he did not rise and salute me I had
drawn a revolver and shot him dead. This is a specimen of Turkish
falsehood.
CHAPTER XV
_GATHERING CLOUDS_
(1870–1871)
One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward;
Never doubted clouds would break;
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph
Held, we fall to rise again; are baffled, to fight better;
Sleep, to wake!
BROWNING.
In October Richard and I left Bludán to return to our winter quarters
at Salahíyyeh, Damascus. But as we were in a mood for excursions, we
went by a longer and roundabout route. We had a delightful ride across
the Anti-Lebanon, and then we went by way of Shtora across a mountain
called Jebel Báruk, and then a long scramble of six hours led us to the
village of Báruk, a Druze stronghold in a wild glen on the borders of
the Druze territory. We did not find our tents; but it did not signify,
as we were among friends and allies, who welcomed us. We went at once
to the Shaykh’s house. Richard was always friendly with the Druzes;
and as they played an important part in our life at Damascus, I think
that I had better give some description of them. They are a fine, brave
people, very athletic. The men are tall, broad, and stalwart, with
splendid black eyes, and limbs of iron. They have proud and dignified
manners, and their language is full of poetry. The women are faithful
wives and good mothers. They wear a long blue garment and a white veil.
The whole face is hidden except one eye. I remember once asking them
if it took a long time to decide which was the prettier eye, at which
small joke they were much amused.
We remained for the night with the Shaykh, and had breakfast with him
in the morning, and then went on to Mukhtára, which is the centre of
the Lebanon Druzes. It was a most interesting ride; and whilst we were
still in the barren plain a band of horsemen came out to meet us in
rich Druze dress, and escorted us through a deep defile, and then up a
rocky ascent to a Syrian palace, the house of the Sitt Jumblatt, which
is situated in olive groves on the heights. Arrived at the house, we
were cordially received by the Sitt Jumblatt--a woman who was the head
of the princely family of the Lebanon Druzes--with all the gracious
hospitality of the East, and with all the well-bred ease of a European
_grande dame_. She took us into the reception-room, when water and
scented soap were brought in carved brass ewers and basins, incense
was waved before us, and we were sprinkled with rose-water, whilst an
embroidered gold canopy was held over our heads to concentrate the
perfume. Coffee, sweets, and sherbet were served, and then I was shown
to a very luxurious room.
The following morning we spent in visiting the village schools and
stables, and in listening to the Sitt’s grievances, on which she waxed
eloquent. At night we had a great dinner, and after dinner there were
dancing and war-songs between the Druzes of the Lebanon and the Druzes
of the Haurán. They also performed pantomimes and sang and recited
tales of love and war until far into the night.
The next day we started early. I was sorry to leave, for the Sitt
Jumblatt and I had formed a great friendship. We rode to B’teddin, the
palace of the Governor of the Lebanon, where we were received with
open arms. Five hundred soldiers were drawn up in a line to salute
us, and the Governor, Franco Pasha, welcomed us with all his family
and suite. After our reception we were invited to the divan, where we
drank coffee. Whilst so engaged invisible bands struck up “God save
the Queen”; it was like an electric shock to hear our national hymn
in that remote place--we who had been so long in the silence of the
Anti-Lebanon. We sprang to our feet, and I was so overcome that I burst
into tears.
In the morning we rode back to Mukhtára, where we went to the house of
the principal Druze Shaykh, and were most graciously received. I love
the Druzes and their charming, courteous ways. Whilst staying here we
made several excursions, and among others we ascended Mount Hermon. The
Druze chiefs came from all parts to visit us.
After some days we left. Richard was to go home by a way of his own,
and I was to return escorted by a Druze Shaykh. Poor Jiryus, my
_sais_, walked by my side for a mile when I started, and after
kissing my hand with many blessings, he threw his arms round Salim’s
neck and kissed his muzzle. Then he sat down on a rock and burst into
tears. Richard had dismissed him for disobeying orders. My heart ached
for him, and I cried too.
Shaykh Ahmad and I descended the steep mountain-side, and then galloped
over the plain till we came to water and some Bedawin feeding their
flocks. The Shaykh gave one fine fellow a push, and roughly ordered him
to hold my horse and milk his goats for me. The man refused. “What,” I
said very gently, “do you, a Bedawin, refuse a little hospitality to
a tired and thirsty woman?” “O Lady,” he replied quickly, “I will do
anything for you--you speak so softly; but I won’t be ordered about by
this Druze fellow.” I was pleased with his manliness, and he attended
to my wants and waited on me hand and foot.
We camped out that night, and the night after. I was always fond
of sleeping in the tent, and would never go into the house unless
compelled to do so. This time, however, our tents were pitched on low
ground close to the river, with burning heat by day and cold dews by
night. So I got the fever, and I lay in a kind of stupor all day. The
next morning I heard a great row going on outside my tent. It turned
out to be the Druze Shaykh and our dragoman quarrelling. Shortly after
Shaykh Ahmad came into my tent, and in a very dignified way informed me
that he wished to be relieved of his duty and return home. I laughed,
and refused to allow him to depart. “What, O Shaykh,” said I, “will you
leave a poor, lone woman to return with no escort but a dragoman”; and
he immediately recanted.
Richard joined me here for a night, and then in the morning went off
by another route to explore some district round about. I also did some
exploring in another direction.
So we went on from day to day, camping about, or rather gypsying, in
the desert among the Bedawin. I got to love it very much. I often
think with regret of the strange scenes which became a second nature
to me: of those dark, fierce men, in their gaudy, flowing costumes,
lying about in various attitudes; of our encampments at night, the
fire or the moonlight lighting them up, the divans and the pipes,
the narghílehs and coffee; of their wild, mournful songs; of their
war-dances; of their story-telling of love and war, which are the only
themes. I got to know the Bedawin very well during that time, both men
and women; and the more I knew them the better I liked them.
I remember one night, when Richard and I were in our tent, we lay down
on our respective rugs, and I put out the light. Suddenly Richard
called to me, “Come quick! I am stung by a scorpion.” I struck a match
and ran over to his rug, and looked at the place he pointed to; but
there was a mere speck of blue, and I was convinced it was only a big
black ant. He did not mind that, so I lay down again. Hardly had I done
so when he called out, “Quick, quick, again! I know it is a scorpion.”
I again struck a light, ran over, plunged my hand inside his shirt near
the throat, and drew it out again quickly with a scorpion hanging by
its crablike claws to my finger. I shook it off and killed it; but it
did not sting me, being, I suppose, unable to manage a third time. I
rubbed some strong smelling salts into Richard’s wounds, and I found
some _raki_, which I made him drink, to keep the poison away from
his heart. He then slept, and in the morning was well.
While we were gypsying about in this way we received an invitation to a
Druze wedding at Arneh, near Mount Hermon. Richard went to it one way
and I another. Whenever we separated, the object was to get information
of both routes to our meeting-place, and thus save time and learn more.
On meeting, we used to join our notes together.
The wedding was a very pretty one. The bridegroom was a boy of fifteen;
and the bride, a Shaykh’s daughter, was about the same age. There was a
great deal of singing and dancing, and they were all dressed in their
best costumes and jewellery. I was invited to the harím of the bride’s
house, where we had a merry time of it. Whilst we were enjoying our fun
the girls blew out all our lights, and we were left in the darkness.
The bride ran and threw her arms round me, for protection perhaps, and
then commenced such a romping and screaming and pinching and pulling
that I hardly knew where I was. It was evidently considered a great
frolic. After a few minutes they lit the candles again. At last the
bride, robed in an izár and veiled, mounted a horse astraddle, and
went round to pay her last visit to her neighbours as a maiden. Coming
back, the bride and the bridegroom met in the street, and then we all
adjourned to her father’s house, where there were more ceremonies and
festivities. At midnight we formed a procession to take the bride to
her bridegroom’s house, with singing, dancing, snapping of fingers, and
loud cries of “Yallah! Yallah!” which lasted till 2 a.m. Then the harím
proceeded to undress the bride. We were up all night, watching and
joining in different branches of festivities.
The wedding over, we returned home to Salahíyyeh by slow stages. It
was a terribly hot road through the desert. I suffered with burning
eyeballs and mouth parched with a feverish thirst. I know nothing to
equal the delight with which one returns from the burning desert into
cool shades with bubbling water. Our house seemed like a palace; and
our welcome was warm. So we settled down again at Damascus.
We had a troublesome and unpleasant time during the next few months,
owing to a continuation of official rows. There were people at Damascus
always trying to damage us with the Government at home, and sending
lying reports to the Foreign Office. They were most unscrupulous. One
man, for instance, complained to the Foreign Office that I had been
heard to say that I had “finished my dispatches,” meaning that I had
finished the work of copying Richard’s. Imagine a man noting down this
against a woman, and twisting it the wrong way.
I think that the first shadow on our happy life came in July of
this year, 1870, when I was at Bludán. An amateur missionary came
to Damascus and attempted to proselytize. Damascus was in a very
bad temper just then, and it was necessary to put a stop to these
proceedings, because they endangered the safety of the Christian
population. Richard was obliged to give him a caution, with the result
that he made the missionary an enemy, and gave him a grievance, which
was reported home in due course.
Another way in which we made enemies was because Richard found it
necessary to inform the Jews that he would not aid and abet them in
their endeavours to extort unfair usury from the Syrians. Some of
the village Shaykhs and peasantry, ignorant people as they were,
were in the habit of making ruinous terms with the Jews, and the
extortion was something dreadful. Moreover, certain Jewish usurers
were suspected of exciting massacres between the Christians and the
Moslems, because, their lives being perfectly safe, they would profit
by the horrors to buy property at a nominal price. It was brought to
the notice of Richard about this time that two Jewish boys, servants
to Jewish masters who were British-protected subjects, had given the
well-understood signal by drawing crosses on the walls. It was the
signal of the massacre in 1860. He promptly investigated the matter,
and took away the British protection of the masters temporarily.
Certain Israelite money-lenders, who hated him because he would not
wink at their sweating and extortions, saw in this an opportunity to
overthrow him; so they reported to some leading Jews in England that
he had tortured the boys, whom he had not, in point of fact, punished
in any way beyond reproving them. The rich Jews at home, therefore,
were anxious to procure our recall, and spread it about that we were
influenced by hatred of the Jews. One of them had even the unfairness
to write to the Foreign Office as follows:
“I hear that the lady to whom Captain Burton is married is believed to
be a bigoted Roman Catholic, and to be likely to influence him against
the Jews.”
In spite of woman’s rights I was not allowed to answer him publicly.
When I heard of it, I could not forbear sending a true statement of the
facts of the case to Lord Granville, together with the following letter:
“H.B.M. CONSULATE, DAMASCUS,
“_November 29, 1870_.
“MY LORD,
“I have always understood that it is a rule amongst gentlemen
never to drag a lady’s name into public affairs, but I accept
with pleasure the compliment which Sir ---- ---- pays me in
treating me like a man, and the more so as it enables me to
assume the privilege of writing to you an official letter, a
copy of which perhaps you will cause to be transmitted to him.
“Sir ---- ---- has accepted the tissue of untruths forwarded by
three persons, the chief money-lenders of Damascus, because they
are his co-religionists. He asserts that I am a bigoted Roman
Catholic, and must have influenced my husband against them. I
am not so bigoted as Sir ---- ----; for if three Catholics were
to do one-half of what these three Jews have done, I would
never rest until I had brought them to justice. I have not a
prejudice in the world except against hypocrisy. Perhaps, as
Damascus is divided into thirty-two religions, my husband and I
are well suited to the place. We never ask anybody’s religion,
nor make religion our business. My husband would be quite
unfitted for public life if he were to allow me to influence
him in the manner described, and I should be unworthy to be any
good man’s wife if I were to attempt it. My religion is God’s
poor. There is no religious war between us and the Jews, but
there is a refusal to use the name of England to aid three rich
and influential Jews in acts of injustice to, and persecution
of, the poor; to imprison and let them die in gaol in order to
extort what they have not power to give; and to prevent foreign
and fraudulent money transactions being carried on in the name
of Her Majesty’s Government. Also it has been necessary once or
twice to prevent the Jews exciting the Moslems to slaughter,
by which they have never suffered, but by which they gratify
their hatred of the Christians, who are the victims. I think
nobody has more respect for the Jewish religion than my husband
and myself, or of the Jews, as the most ancient and once chosen
people of God; but in all races some must be faulty, and these
must be punished. There are three mouths from which issue all
these complaints and untruths; and what one Jew will say or sign
the whole body will follow without asking a question why or
wherefore, nor in Damascus would their consent be asked. It is
a common saying here that ‘everybody says yes to them because
they have money.’ These three men count on the influence of men
like Sir ---- ----, and one or two others, and impose upon their
credulity and religious zeal to get their misdeeds backed up and
hidden. But will such men as these protect a fraudulent usurer
because he is a Jew?
“I enclose a true statement of the case, and also some private
letters, one from our chief and best missionary, which will show
you something of the feeling here in our favour.
“I have the honour to be, my Lord,
“Your most obedient and humble servant,
“ISABEL BURTON.
“To the EARL GRANVILLE, etc., etc.,
“Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”
To this I can only add: if the Shylocks of Damascus hated me, so much
the more to my credit.
There were many temptations to turn us from the path of right, if we
had a mind to go. Politics at Damascus were most corrupt, and bribes
were freely offered to us both from all sides. They did not seem to
understand our refusal of anything of the kind. It had evidently been
the custom. Richard had as much as £20,000 offered him at once, and
personally I had no end of temptations to accept money when I first
came to Damascus. If we had taken gold and ignored wrongs, we might
have feathered our nests for ever, and doubtless have retired with much
honour and glory. But we would not. In this way I refused several
Arab horses which I would have given worlds to accept, for I was
passionately fond of Arab horses, and could not afford to buy them;
but as we should have been expected to do unjust things in return, or
rather to allow unjust things to be done, I refused them. I had more
jewels offered me than I should have known what to do with, but refused
them all; and I take some credit to myself in this matter, because I
might have accepted them as gifts without any conditions, and I like
diamonds as much as most women, or rather I like their value.
In November we had quite an event in Damascus--the wedding of the
Wali’s daughter. It was the most splendid wedding I ever beheld. It
lasted five days and nights. The men celebrated it in one house, and
the women in another. We mustered several hundred in all. I was among
the _intimes_, and was treated _en famille_. By my side throughout was
Lady Ellenborough, looking like an oriental queen, and the charming
young wife of our Italian Consul, whose dress was fresh from Italy. The
dresses were wonderful in richness, diamonds blazing everywhere. But
one custom took my fancy: the best women wore simply a plain cashmere
robe, and no ornaments, but loaded all their jewels on one or two of
their slaves, who followed them, as much as to say, “If you want to see
all my fine things, look behind me; it is too great a bore to carry
them myself.”
On the eve of the wedding there was a long procession of female
relatives, and we all sat round in the large hall. Every woman in the
procession bore branches of lights; and the bride was in the middle,
a beautiful girl of fifteen or sixteen. Her magnificent chestnut hair
swept in great tresses below her waist, and was knotted and seeded
with pearls. She was dressed in red velvet, and blazed all over with
precious stones. Diamond stars were also glued to her cheeks, her chin,
and her forehead; and they were rather in the way of our kissing her,
for they scratched our faces. She was a determined-looking girl, but
she had been crying bitterly, because she did not want to be married.
She sat on the divan, and received our congratulations sullenly,
looking as though she would rather scream and scratch.
On the marriage morn we were up betimes. The harím had begged of me to
wear an English ball-dress, that they might see what it was like. I
said, “I will do what you ask, but I know that you will be shocked.”
“Oh no,” they replied; “we are quite sure we shall be delighted.” So
I wore a white glacé silk skirt, a turquoise blue tunic and corsage,
the whole affair looped up and trimmed with blush roses, and the same
flowers in my hair. Thus arrayed I appeared before the harím. They
turned me round and round, and often asked me if I were not very cold
about the shoulders; if it were really true that strange men danced
with us and put their arms round our waists, and if we didn’t feel
dreadfully ashamed, and if we really sat and ate and drank with them.
I could not answer all these questions over and over again, so I said
I would describe a European ball by interpreter. They hailed the idea
with delight. I stood up and delivered as graphic an account as I could
of my first ball at Almack’s, and they greeted me at intervals with
much applause.
The marriage was a simple but most touching ceremony. We were all
assembled in the great hall. The Wali entered, accompanied by the
women of the family; the bride advanced, weeping bitterly, and knelt
and kissed her father’s feet. The poor man, with emotion, raised her
and clasped a girdle of diamonds round her waist, which was before
ungirdled; it was part of her dower. No one could unclasp it but her
husband, and this concluded the ceremony. Shortly afterwards the bride
was borne in procession to the bridegroom’s house, where she received
the kisses and congratulations of all the women present. After about
half an hour she was conducted to a private room by a female relative,
and the bridegroom to the same room by a male relative. The door was
shut, and the band played a joyous strain. I asked what was going to
happen, and they told me that the bridegroom was allowed to raise her
veil, to unclasp her belt, and to speak a few words to her in the
presence of their relatives. This was the first time they had really
seen one another. What an anxious moment for a Moslem woman!
Shortly after this we went on an expedition to visit the Wuld Ali, a
chief who was much dreaded by those of other tribes. Richard and I rode
into the encampment alone. When first the tribe saw our two dusky
figures galloping across the sand in the evening, they rode out to meet
us with their lances couched; but as soon as they were close enough to
recognize Richard they lowered their weapons, jumped off their horses
and kissed our hands, galloped in with us, and held our stirrups to
alight. I need not say that we received all the hospitality of Bedawin
life. Richard wanted to patch up a peace between the Wuld Ali and the
Mezráb tribe, but in this he did not succeed.
We had a delightful ride when leaving one encampment for another, and
several of the Bedawin accompanied us. As we mounted Richard whispered
to me, “Let’s show those fellows that the English can ride. They think
that nobody can ride but themselves, and that nothing can beat their
mares.” I looked round, and saw their thorough-bred mares with their
lean flanks. I did not know how it would be with our half-breds; but
they were in first-rate condition, full of corn and mad with spirits.
So I gave Richard my usual answer to everything he said: “All right;
where you lead I will follow.” As soon as the “Yallah!” was uttered for
starting, we simply laid our reins on our horses’ necks, and neither
used spur nor whip nor spoke to them. They went as though we had long
odds on our ride. We reached the camp for which we were bound an hour
and a half before the Bedawin who were to have come with us. Neither we
nor our horses had turned a hair. Their mares were broken down, and the
men were not only blown and perspiring, but they complained bitterly
that their legs were skinned. “Ya Sitti,” said one, “El Shaitan
himself could not follow you.” “I am sorry,” I replied, “but our
_kaddishes_ would go; _we_ wanted to ride with _you_.”
When we returned from this expedition we went to Beyrout, where
we spent our Christmas. We ate our Christmas dinner with the
Consul-General, and his dragoman told me an astounding story about
myself which was news to me, as such stories generally are. He said
that, a certain Jewish usurer at Damascus had told him that, when I met
his wife at the wedding of the Wali’s daughter, I tore her diamonds
off her head, flung them on the ground, and stamped on them, saying
that they were made out of the blood of the poor. I was amused at
this monstrous fabrication, but I was also annoyed. In England there
may be much smoke but little fire, but in the East the smoke always
tells that the fire is fierce, and one must check a lie before it has
time to travel far. Knowing what certain Jews in England had reported
about me before, I lost no time in putting matters to rights with the
authorities, and dispatched the following letter to the Foreign Office:
“_January 27, 1871._
“MY LORD,
“I trust you will exempt me from any wish to thrust myself into
public affairs, but it is difficult for Captain Burton to notice
anything in an official letter concerning his wife, neither can
we expect the Damascus Jews to know the habits of gentlemen.
They respect their own haríms, yet this is the second time I
am mentioned discreditably in their public correspondence. In
one sense it may be beneficial, as I can give you a better idea
of the people Captain Burton has to deal with than official
language allows of, and from which my sex absolves me.
“My offences against the Jews are as follows:
“I once said ‘Not at home’ to ---- ---- because I heard that
he had written unjust complaints to the Government about my
husband. Later on the Wali gave a _fête_ to celebrate the
marriage of his daughter. I was invited to the harím during
the whole feast, which lasted five days and nights. The Wali’s
harím and the others invited made, I dare say, a party of three
hundred and fifty ladies. I need not say that men were not
admitted; their festivities were carried on in another house.
The ---- harím was amongst the invited. As I supposed that
they knew nothing of what was going on, I was not desirous of
mortifying them by any coldness in public, and accordingly I
was as cordial to them as I had always been. On the last day
the wife of ---- separated herself from her party, and intruded
herself into the Consulesses’ divan. We were all together;
but there was often a gathering of the Consulesses for the
sake of talking more freely in European languages, Turkish
being the language spoken generally, and Arabic being almost
excluded. I received her very warmly, begging her to be seated,
and conversed with her; but she would talk of nothing but her
husband’s business. I said to her, ‘Pray do not let us discuss
this now; it is not the time and place in public, where all can
hear us.’ She replied, ‘I want to talk of this and nothing
else. I came for that only.’ I said, ‘You are a good woman, and
I like you, and do not want to quarrel with you. Why speak of
it? We are two women. What do we know of business? Leave it for
our husbands.’ She replied, ‘I know business very well, and so
do you. I will speak of it.’ I then said, ‘If you do, I fear I
shall say something unpleasant.’ She replied, ‘I do not mind
that, and I will come and see you.’ I said, ‘Pray do; I shall be
delighted.’ And so we shook hands and parted.
“Six weeks after I came to Beyrout, and found that it was
popularly reported by the Jews that I had torn Madame ----’s
diamonds from her hair on this occasion, thrown them on the
ground, and stamped upon them. ---- ---- arrived soon after
me; and hearing from some mutual friends that this report had
reached me, he came to see me, and told me that it had been
invented by his enemies. I replied that I thought it very
likely, and that he need not mind. He then told me that his
family, and his wife in particular, were very fond of me, and
that she had recounted our interview at the wedding to him just
as above, and as a proof of their friendly feelings they were
coming to see me to invite me to a _soirée_.
“With many regrets for trespassing so long on your valuable time,
“I am, my Lord,
“Your faithful and obedient servant,
“ISABEL BURTON.
“The EARL GRANVILLE,
“Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”
A gentleman, Mr. Kennedy, from the Foreign Office at home, was staying
at the Consul-General’s at Beyrout, so we thought it right to invite
him to Damascus, and he accepted our invitation a few weeks later.
As this was an official visit we made every preparation. I met him at
Shtora, the half-way house between Beyrout and Damascus, and travelled
with him in the diligence. At the last station we found the Wali’s
carriage and a troop of soldiers as a guard of honour, and we then
journeyed in it to our house. The next morning Mr. Kennedy visited
the Consulate, and apparently found everything straightforward and
satisfactory, and he paid official calls with Richard. During the next
few days I showed him most of the sights of Damascus, and one evening I
gave a large _soirée_ in his honour. Mr. Kennedy was fain to own
that in its way it was unique. He had never seen a party like the one
I was able to assemble. We had thirty-six different races and creeds
and tongues: grey-bearded Moslems, fierce-looking Druzes, a rough
Kurdish chief, a Bedawin shaykh, a few sleek Jewish usurers, every one
of the fourteen castes of Christians, the Protestant missionaries, and
all the Consuls and their staffs; in fact, everything appertaining to
public life and local authority, culminating in the various Church
dignitaries, bishops, and patriarchs. The triple-roomed hall, with
fountains in the middle, lighted with coloured lamps; the bubbling of
the water in the garden; the sad, weird music in the distance; the
striking costumes; the hum of the narghílehs; the guttural sound of the
conversation; the kawwasses in green, red, blue, and gold, gliding
about with trays of sherbet, sweets, and coffee,--all combined to make
the quaintest scene.
I should like to mention an anecdote here. In the garden next to ours
there was a large wooden door, which swung always on its hinges. It
made such a noise that it kept Mr. Kennedy awake at night. The garden
belonged to an old woman, and I asked her to have her gate fastened.
She sent back an answer that she could not, as it had been broken for
years, and she had not the money to spare to mend it. So I took the law
into my own hands. The next night Mr. Kennedy slept well. At breakfast
he remarked the circumstance, and asked how I had managed about the
door. “If you look out of the window,” I answered, “you will see it
in the courtyard. I sent two kawwasses yesterday to pull it down at
sunset.” He put on that long official face, with which all who are in
the service of Her Majesty’s Government are familiar, and said, “Oh,
but you must really not treat people like that. Supposing they knew
of these things at home?” “Suppose they did!” I said, laughing. I had
ordered that, after Mr. Kennedy’s departure that day, the gate was to
be replaced and mended at my expense. The next time the old woman saw
me she ran out exclaiming, “O thou light of my eyes, thou sunbeam,
come and sit a little by the brook in my garden, and honour me by
drinking coffee; and Allah grant that thou mayest break something else
of mine, and live for ever; and may Allah send back the great English
Pasha to thy house to bring me more good luck!” However, the “great
English Pasha” did not return, for that evening a mounted escort with
torches and the Wali’s carriage came to convey him and myself to the
_gare_ of the diligence, and we reached Beyrout that evening.
Nothing of importance happened at Damascus during the next few months.
It was a terribly cold winter. We were pleasantly surprised by the
arrival of Lord Stafford and Mr. Mitford, to whom we showed the sights.
We had a few other visitors; but on the whole it was a sad winter, for
there was famine in the land. The Jewish usurers had bought up wheat
and corn cheap, and they sold grain very dear; it was practically
locked up in the face of the starving, dying multitude. It was terrible
to see the crowds hanging round the bakers’ shops and yearning for
bread. I used to save all the money I could--alas that I could not save
more!--and telling a kawwass and man to accompany me with trays, I used
to order a couple of sovereigns’ worth of bread, and distribute it in
the most destitute part of our suburb. I never saw anything like the
ravenous, hungry people. They would tear the trays down, and drag the
bread from one another’s mouths. I have sat by crying because I felt
it mockery to bring so little; yet had I sold everything we possessed,
I could not have appeased the hunger of our village for a single day.
I wondered how those men who literally murdered the poor, who kept the
granaries full, and saw unmoved the vitals of the multitude quivering
for want, could have borne the sight! Surely it will be more tolerable
for the cities of the Plain in the day of judgment than for them.
CHAPTER XVI
_JERUSALEM AND THE HOLY LAND_
(1871)
Thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust
thereof.
PSALM cii. 14.
It had long been our desire to visit Palestine and the Holy Land
thoroughly, and so in March, 1871, we determined to set out. Richard
wished me to go by sea and meet him at Jerusalem, as he was going by
land with Mr. Drake, who had now returned from England; so I travelled
across to Beyrout, with the intention of going from there by sea to
Jaffa at once. But when I reached the harbour of Beyrout there was such
a rough sea that I judged it better to wait for another steamer. So I
put up at the hotel at Beyrout, where I made my first acquaintance with
Cook’s tourists. They swarmed like locusts over the town, in number
about one hundred and eighty; and the natives said of them, “These are
not travellers; these are Cookii.” Certainly they were a menagerie of
curious human bipeds. I lunched and dined with them every day at the
_table d’hôte_, and mingled with them as freely as possible, for
they interested me greatly, and I used to try and classify them much as
an entomologist would classify his beetles and insects. One lady of
forbidding appearance was known as “the Sphinx.” When on an expedition,
it was the custom to call the “Cookii” at 5 a.m., and strike the
tents at six. It appears that her bower falling at the stroke of six
disclosed the poor thing in a light toilet, whence issued a serious
quarrel. She wore an enormous, brown, mushroom hat, like a little
table, decorated all over with bunches of brown ribbon. Then there was
a rich vulgarian, who had inveigled a poor gentleman into being his
travelling companion, in return for his expenses. And didn’t he let us
know it! This was his line of conversation at the dinner table: “You
want wine, indeed! I dare say. Who brought you out, I should like to
know? No end of expense. Who pays for the dinner? Who paid for the
ticket? What do I get in return? No end of expense.” And so on, and so
on. I longed to drop a little caustic into Dives, but I was afraid that
poor Lazarus would have had to pay for it afterwards.
I embarked on the next steamer bound for Jaffa. She was the smallest,
dirtiest, and most evil smelling I have ever boarded, and that is
saying a good deal. We had a horrid night, very rough, and the
first-class cabin became so abominable that I joined the deck
passengers, and I longed to be a drover and lie with the cattle. My
little Syrian maid was with me, and she was very ill. Jaffa was a rough
place for landing, but we accomplished it after some little difficulty.
It is a pretty, fez-shaped town on the hillside.
We remained twenty-four hours in Jaffa, and then rode on to Ramleh.
The gardens around this town were exceedingly beautiful, groves of
orange trees, citrons, and pomegranates. We soon entered the Plain
of Sharon. The whole road was green and pretty. The country was a
beautiful carpet of wild flowers. We reached Ramleh early, and I went
at once to the Franciscan Monastery. The monk who acted as porter
received me very stiffly at first, until he knew all about me, and then
he became very expansive. They put my Syrian girl and me into a clean
bedroom with embroidered muslin curtains and chintz tops. At night the
monastery was full, and we were served by the monks. When I saw the
company assembled in the refectory at supper, I did not wonder at the
porter receiving me with such caution. They snorted and grunted and
spat and used their forks for strange purposes. If I had not been so
hungry, I could not have eaten a bit, though I am pretty well seasoned
through living with all kinds of people.
We started early next morning in delightful weather, and I was highly
excited by our near approach to Jerusalem. There were several other
travellers along the road, all bound for the Holy City. We occupied
seven and a half hours on the journey. We passed two _cafés_ on
the road, impromptu donkey sheds, where we found good Turkish coffee
and narghílehs; and there were shady orange groves, and fields of
marigolds, poppies, and such-like. At last I reached the crest of
the hill, and beheld Jerusalem beneath me. I reined in my horse, and
with my face towards the Sepulchre gazed down upon the city of my
longing eyes with silent emotion and prayer. Every Christian bared
his head; every Moslem and Jew saluted. We rode towards the Jaffa
Gate, outside of which were stalls of horses and donkeys, and a motley
crowd, including lines of hideous-looking lepers. I went to the
Damascus Hotel, a comfortable and very quiet hostel, with no tourists
or trippers, of which I was glad, for I had come on a devotional
pilgrimage. In the evening I was able to sit on the terrace and realize
the dream of my life. The sun was setting on the Mount of Olives, where
our Saviour’s feet last touched the earth; the Mosque of Omar glittered
its rosy farewell; the Arch of Ecce Homo lay beneath; the Cross of the
Sepulchre caught the ruddy glow; out beyond were the Mountains of Moab,
purple and red in the dying day; and between me and them, deep down I
knew, lay the Dead Sea.
My reverie was awakened by the arrival of Richard with the horses and
the _sais_ and Habíb. Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake was with him.
[Illustration: MOSQUE OF OMAR, JERUSALEM.]
The next morning we were out early. First we rode to see the Stone
of Colloquy on the road to Bethany, so called because it is believed
that, when Martha came to tell Jesus that her brother Lazarus was dead,
the Saviour sat upon this stone whilst He conversed with her. It is
a little table of rock about a yard long. We then went over a jagged
country to Bethany, a short hour’s journey from Jerusalem. Bethany is
now nothing but a few huts and broken walls in a sheltered spot. We
went to see the tomb of Lazarus, which is a small empty rock chamber.
About forty yards to the south we were shown the supposed house of
Martha and Mary. We passed a little field where Christ withered the
tree, marked by an excavation in the rock, where there is always a fig.
The way we returned to Jerusalem was that by which Jesus rode upon the
ass in triumph upon Palm Sunday, down the Mount of Olives, and in at
the Golden Gate of the Temple.
On the south of the American cemetery there is a little spot of
desolate land, which is the site of a house where, when all was over,
our Blessed Lady lived with St. John. Here she passed her last fifteen
years; here she died at the age of sixty-three, and was buried near
the Garden of Gethsemane. All that remains of the site of this small
dwelling are some large stones, said to be the foundations. We then
visited the Cœnaculum, or the room of the Last Supper. An ancient
church, which is now converted into a mosque, is built on the site
of the Last Supper room. It is a long hall with a groined roof, and
some say that it is the actual site, built with other materials. We
then visited the house of Caiaphas, and in the afternoon we sat in the
English burial-ground on Mount Zion, talking and picking a flower here
and there.
Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake was our dear friend and travelling companion. He
was a young man full of promise for a brilliant Eastern and scientific
career. He was tall, powerful, fair, manly, distinguished for athletic
and field sports; his intellectual qualities, and his mastery of
languages, Arabic and others, were so great that he made me wonder how
at twenty-four years of age a young man could know so much. He was a
thorough Englishman, the very soul of honour.
I should weary and not edify if I were to describe all we saw at
Jerusalem. I have written of it more fully elsewhere,[2] and I can
never hope to convey the remarkably vivid way in which it brought home
to me the truth of the Gospel narrative. But I think there are two
spots which I ought to describe: one is the Calvary Church, and the
other is the Holy Sepulchre.
There are six holy spots on Mount Calvary. In the church itself, about
four or five yards on the right hand, at the head of the staircase
before you advance up the church, the black-and-white rose in the
marble shows where our Saviour was stripped. Three yards farther,
before an altar, a slab covers the spot where they nailed Him to the
Cross; and a little farther on, at the High Altar, the Sacrifice was
consummated. The High Altar is resplendent; but one wishes it were
not there, for all one’s interest is concentrated upon a large silver
star underneath it. On hands and knees I bowed down to kiss it, for
it covered the hole in the rock where the Cross, with our dying Lord
upon it, was planted. I put my arm into the hole, and touched it for a
blessing. On the right hand is the hole of the good thief’s cross, and
on the left the bad thief’s, each marked by a black marble cross. The
cleft in the solid rock which opened when “Jesus, crying with a loud
voice, gave up the ghost,” and “the earth quaked and the rocks were
rent,” is still visible. You can see it again below, in the deepest
part of the church, where lies Adam’s tomb. The surface looks as if it
were oxidized with blood, and tradition says that this colour has ever
remained upon it.
We will now proceed from Calvary to the Holy Sepulchre. Entering the
Basilica, the vast church where the Holy Sepulchre is, we find a little
chapel enclosing the grave. It stands under the centre of the great
dome, which covers the whole Basilica. The Holy Sepulchre itself, all
of it cut in one solid rock, consists of a little ante-chamber and
an inner chamber containing a place for interment. It is carved out
of the stone in the form of a trough, which had a stone slab for a
covering, and it is roofed by a small arch, also cut in the rock. When
St. Helena prepared for building the Basilica with the Holy Sepulchre
and Calvary, she separated the room containing the sacred tomb from the
mass of rock, and caused an entrance vestibule to be carved out of the
remainder. Would that St. Helena had contented herself with building
indestructible walls round the sacred spots and left them to Nature,
marking them only with a cross and an inscription! They would thus have
better satisfied the love and devotion of Christendom, than the little,
ornamented chapels which one shuts one’s eyes not to see, trying to
realize what had once been. In the ante-chamber are two columns, and
in the middle is the stone upon which the angel sat when it was rolled
back from the Sepulchre. Christians of every race, tongue, and creed
burn gold and silver lamps day and night before the grave, so that
the chapel inside is covered with them, and priests of each form of
Christian faith officiate here in turn. The exterior of the Sepulchre
is also covered with gold and silver lamps, burnt by different
Christians. Fifteen lamps of gold hang in a row about the grave itself.
The Turks hold the keys. In going in or coming out all kneel three
times and kiss the ground. After you cross the vestibule, which is
dark, you crouch to pass through the low, rock-cut archway by which you
enter the tomb. You kneel by the Sepulchre, which appears like a raised
bench of stone; you can put your hands upon it, lean your face upon it,
if you will, and think and pray.
I was in Jerusalem all through Holy Week, from Palm Sunday until
Easter Day, and I attended all the services that I could attend, and
so kept the week of our Lord’s Passion in the Holy City. On Good
Friday I went to the “Wailing-place of the Jews” by the west wall of
the enclosure around the Mosque of Omar, an old remain of the Temple
of Solomon, and listened to their lamentations, tears, prayers, and
chants. They bewailed their city, their Temple, their departed glory,
on the anniversary of the day when their crime was accomplished and
Christ was crucified. The scene and the hour made me think deeply. I
shall never forget either the scene in the Basilica on Holy Saturday,
when the Patriarch undressed to show that he had nothing with him to
produce the Greek fire, and bared his head and feet, and then, in a
plain surplice, entered the Sepulchre alone. Five minutes later the
“Sacred Fire” issued, and a really wonderful scene followed. All the
congregation struggled to catch the first fire. They jumped on each
other’s heads, shoulders, and backs; they hunted each other round the
church with screams of joy. They pass it to one another; they rub it
over their faces, they press it to their bosoms, they put it in their
hair, they pass it through their clothes, and not one of this mad crowd
feels himself burnt. The fire looked to me like spirits on tow; but it
never went out, and every part of the Basilica is in one minute alight
with the blaze. I once believed in this fire, but it is said now to be
produced in this manner: In one of the inner walls of the Sepulchre
there is a sliding panel, with a place to contain a lamp, which is
blessed, and for centuries the Greeks have never allowed this lamp to
go out, and from it they take their “Sacred Fire.” Richard was assured
by educated Greeks that a lucifer box did the whole business, and that
is probable; but be that so or not, there was a man-of-war waiting at
Jaffa to convey the “Sacred Fire” to St. Petersburg.
It was later on in the day, after we had made an excursion to see the
Convent of the Cross, that Richard, Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, and I went
off to explore the Magharat el Kotn, also called the Royal Caverns.
They are enormous quarries, the entrance to which looks like a hole
in the wall outside Jerusalem, not far from the Gate of Damascus. We
crept in, and found ourselves lost in endless artificial caves and
galleries. Richard and Mr. Drake were delighted with them; but I soon
left the enthusiasts, for the caves did not interest me. I had kept
Lent fasting; I had attended all the long ceremonies of Holy Week; and
I was therefore very tired on this day, Holy Saturday, the more so
because I had not only attended my own Church’s ceremonies, but all
those of every sect in Jerusalem. So I gave up exploring the caves,
and sauntered away to the northernmost point of Mount Bezetha, and
saw the Cave of the Prophet Jeremias. It was here that he wrote his
Lamentations.
I then climbed up to a large cave somewhat to the left, above that of
Jeremias, where I could look down upon Jerusalem. Here, worn out with
fatigue, fasting, and over-excitement, I lay down with my head upon the
stone, and slept a long sleep of two hours, during which time I dreamed
a long, vivid dream. Its details in full would occupy a volume. Byron
says: “Dreams in their development have breath and tears and torture
and the touch of joy. They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts and
look like heralds of eternity. They pass like the spirits of the past;
they speak like sibyls of the future.” The spirit of Jeremias might
have touched the stone upon which I slept, or Baruch might have dwelt
there. I dreamed for hours, and then I awoke. A goat-herd had entered
the cave, and I half fancy he had shaken me, for he looked scared and
said, “Pardon, Ya Sitti; I thought you were dead.”
The bells of the Sepulchre were giving out their deep-tongued notes
and re-echoing over the hills. I looked at my watch; it was the Ave
Maria--sunset. I came back with a rush to reality; all my dream views
vanished, and the castles in the air tumbled down like a pack of cards.
Nothing remained of my wondrous dream, with its marvellous visions,
its stately procession of emperors, kings, queens, pontiffs, and
ministers--nothing remained of them all, but only my poor, humble self,
private and obscure, still to toil on and pray and suffer. I had to
rouse myself at once, and almost to run, so as to pass the gates before
I was locked out of the city for the night. No one would have thought
of looking for me in that cave. I should certainly have been reported
as murdered. When I arrived home it was long past sunset, but Richard
and Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake had not returned from their visit to the Caves
of Magharat el Kotn. The gates of Jerusalem were shut, and I felt
seriously alarmed, lest they should have met with some accident; so
before settling myself to write my dream, I ordered my horse and rode
back to the Damascus Gate to propitiate the guard and to post a kawwass
at the gate, that I might get into the city again. It was pitch dark;
so I went down myself to the caves, which were miles long and deep,
with lights and ropes. After a quarter of an hour’s exploration I met
them coming back, safe. As soon as we got home I locked myself in my
room and wrote down the incidents of my dream.
The next morning, Easter Sunday, I was up before dawn, and had the
happiness of hearing two Masses and receiving Holy Communion in the
Sepulchre. I was the only person present besides the celebrant and the
acolyte. During the day we walked round about Jerusalem, and visited
many sacred spots.
On Easter Monday in the afternoon we rode over bad country to the Cave
of St. John the Baptist, where he led the life of a hermit and prepared
for his preaching. It was a small cave, and there is a bench in it
cut in the stone, which served the Baptist as a bed. The priests now
celebrate Mass on it.
On Easter Tuesday one of Her Majesty’s men-of-war arrived at Jaffa,
and a number of sailors rode up to Jerusalem in the evening, and kept
high festival. It sounded strange in the solemn silence of the Holy
City to hear the refrains of “We won’t go home till morning” until past
midnight. But a truce to sentiment; it did me good to hear their jolly
English voices, so I ordered some drink for them, and sent a message to
them to sing “Rule Britannia” and “God save the Queen” for me, which
they did with a hearty goodwill. They made the old walls ring again.
On Wednesday we went to Bethlehem. There is a monastery over the holy
places where the Nativity took place. You descend a staircase into the
crypt, which must have formed part of the old khan, or inn, where Mary
brought forth our Lord. The centre of attraction is a large grotto,
with an altar and a silver star under it, and around the star is
written, “Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est.” The manger
where the animals fed is an excavation in the rock.
The next day, having exhausted the objects of interest in and about
Bethlehem, we continued our travels. We rode on to Hebron, an ancient
town lying in a valley surrounded by hills. The houses are old and
ruinous. One cannot go out upon one’s roof without all the other roofs
being crowded, and cries of “Bakshísh” arise like the cackle of fowls.
There is a mosque of some interest, which we explored; but it was
very disappointing that Richard, who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca,
and who was considered as having a right to enter where Moslems enter,
could not be admitted by the Hebronites to the cave below the mosque,
the only part which was not visited by travellers. The answer was,
“If we went, you should go too; but even we dare not go now. The two
doors have been closed, one for seventy years, and the other for one
hundred and fifty years.” Speaking generally, we found Hebron a dirty,
depressing place, full of lazy, idle people, and a shaykh told us that
there was not a Christian in the place, as though that were something
to be proud of.
On Low Sunday we left Hebron and rode back to Jerusalem, where I
enjoyed several days quietly among the holy sites. While we were there
we were invited by the Anglican Bishop Gobat to a _soirée_, which
we enjoyed very much indeed, and we met several very interesting
people, including Mr. Holman Hunt.
On April 24 we left Jerusalem. Quite a company went with us as far
as Bir Ayyúb--Joab’s Well. Then our friends rode back to Jerusalem;
Richard and Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake went in another direction; and I
remained alone with servants, horses, and baggage. I sent them on in
advance, and turned my horse’s head round to take a long, last look
at the sacred walls of Jerusalem. I recited the psalm “Super flumina
Babylonis illic sedimus,” and then after a silent meditation I galloped
after my belongings.
After half an hour’s riding through orchards and grass I came to a
wide defile two or three miles long, winding like a serpent, and the
sides full of caves. I climbed up to some to describe them to Richard.
The country was truly an abomination of desolation, nothing but naked
rockery for miles and miles, with the everlasting fire of the sun
raining upon it.
There was a monastery in the defile at the end, a Greek Orthodox
monastery. They say that whatever woman enters the monastery dies. I
had a great mind to enter it as a boy, for I was very curious to see
it. However, I thought better of it, and pulled the ends of my habit
out of my big boots and presented myself at the door of the monastery
in my own character. The monk who played janitor eyed me sternly,
and said, “We do not like women here, my daughter; we are afraid of
them.” “You do not look afraid, Father,” I said. “Well,” he answered,
laughing, “it is our rule, and any woman who passes this door dies.”
“Will you let me risk it, Father?” I asked. “No, my daughter, no.
Go in peace.” And he slammed the door in a hurry, for fear that I
should try. So I strolled off and perched myself on an airy crag,
from which I could look down upon the monastery, and I thought that
at any rate the monks liked to look at that forbidden article, woman,
for about sixty of them came out to stare at me. When Richard and
Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake arrived, they were admitted to the monastery,
and shown over everything, which I thought very hard, and I was not
greatly reconciled by being told that there was really nothing to
see. We camped here for the night. The sun was still tinting the
stone-coloured hills, the dark blue range of Moab, when a gong sounded
through the rocks, and I saw flocks of jackals clamber up to the
monastery to be fed, followed by flights of birds. The monks tame all
the wild animals.
Next day we went off to the Dead Sea. We had read in guide-books that
the way to it was very difficult, but we did not believe it. I wish we
had, for our ride to it across the desert was terrible. The earth was
reeking with heat, and was salt, sulphurous, and stony. We were nearly
all day crossing the Desert of Judah, and at last our descent became so
rugged and bad that our baggage mules stuck fast in the rocks and sand.
We had to cut away traps and cords, and sacrifice boxes to release
them. We could see the bright blue Dead Sea long before we reached it,
but we had to crawl and scramble down on foot as best we could under
the broiling sun. It reminded me more of a bleak and desolate Lake of
Geneva than anything else. While we were waiting for the mules and
baggage we tried to hide from the sun, and tied the horses to bits
of rocks. Then we plunged into the sea, and had a glorious swim. You
cannot sink. You make very little way in the water, and tire yourself
if you try to swim fast. If a drop of the water happens to get into
your eye, nose, or mouth, it is agonizing; it is so salt, hard, and
bitter. Next day I felt very ill from the effects of my bath. In the
first place, I was too hot to have plunged into the cold water at once;
and, in the second place, I stopped in too long, because, being the
only woman, and the place of disrobing being somewhat public, the
others kept out of sight until I was well in the water, and when the
bath was ended I had to stay in the water until Richard and Charles
Tyrwhitt-Drake had gone out and dressed, all the time keeping my head
of course discreetly turned in the other direction, so that by the time
they had finished I had been nearly an hour in the Dead Sea, and the
result was I suffered from it. After bathing we dined on the borders of
the sea. The colours of the water were beautiful, like the opal; and
the Mountains of Moab were gorgeous in the dying light.
The next day we rode over very desolate country to Neby Musa, the
so-called tomb of Moses, and we camped for the night on the banks
of the Jordan. I was very feverish, weak, and ill. All the others
bathed in the sacred river, but I only dipped my head in and filled
three bottles to bring home for baptisms. I was most anxious to bathe
in Jordan, and I cried with vexation at not being able to do so in
consequence of my fever. In the cool of the following afternoon we rode
to Jericho, which consists of a few huts and tents; a small part of it
is surrounded by pleasant orchards. It was hard to imagine this poor
patch of huts was ever a royal city of palaces, where cruel Herod ruled
and luxurious Cleopatra revelled.
[Illustration: THE DEAD SEA.]
Next morning we rode out of the valley of the Jordan, which, fringed
with verdure, winds like a green serpent through the burning plain of
the desert. We encamped for the night at Bethel, where Jacob dreamed
of his ladder. I felt so ill--all that Dead Sea again--that it was
proposed that we should ride on to Náblus next day, about ten hours
distant, and that we should encamp there for four or five days to let
me recover.
We rode over endless stony hills, relieved by fruitful valleys. I felt
very ill, and could scarcely go on; but at last we arrived at our
camping ground. It was by a stream amidst olive groves and gardens
outside Náblus. As this was the boundary between the Damascus and the
Jerusalem consular jurisdiction, we now considered ourselves once more
upon our own ground. We stayed at Náblus four days, and visited all the
places of interest in it and around it, which I have not time to dwell
upon now.
We left Náblus in the early morning, and after a delightful ride
through groves and streams we entered Samaria, where, however, we
did no more than halt for a space, but rode on to Jennin, where we
camped for the night. There were several other camps at Jennin besides
our own--two of Englishmen, and likewise an American and a German
camp--five camps in all. We had quite a foregathering in the evening;
and a glorious evening it was, with a May moon. The little white
village with its mosque peeped out of the foliage of palm trees and
mulberry groves.
We left early next morning, and rode to Scythopolis, where we camped.
The next morning Richard and Mr. Drake went on ahead to take some
observations; I jogged on more leisurely behind, and our camp was
sent on to Nazareth. Everywhere the earth was beautifully green, and
carpeted with wild flowers. The air was fresh and balmy, and laden
with the scents of spring. I passed the black tents of some Arabs,
who gave me milk to drink. We also passed one well, where we watered
the horses. It was a perfect day, but I was alone. We rode on until
we came to Nain, and thence to Endor. Here we reposed under some fig
trees for an hour, and were twice insulted for so doing. The district
around Nazareth was very turbulent. First came some “big-wig” with a
long name, who, thinking I was only an Englishwoman, told me to “get
up,” and said he “didn’t care for consuls, nor English, nor kawwasses.”
A poor woman standing by begged me to go out again into the sun, and
not shade myself under the figs, and thus displease this great man.
You see, when I was sitting down, he thought that by my voice and face
I was a woman, and as long as my servants only addressed me in coarse
Arabic he bounced accordingly. But when I arose in my outraged dignity,
and he saw my riding-habit tucked into my boots, he thought that I was
a boy, or rather a youth; and I flourished my whip and cried, “You
may not, O Shaykh, care for consuls, nor English, nor kawwasses, but
I am going to make you care for something.” Thereupon he jumped up as
nimble as a monkey, and ran for his life. Then the villagers, thinking
me the better man of the two, brought me milk for driving him away.
He was soon succeeded by a fellah with half a shirt, who came out of
his way to insult a stranger, and asked me by what right we sat under
the shady figs; but the _sais_ gave him a knock with his knobbed
stick, and after that we were left in peace. Endor consists of about
twenty wretched huts on the side of a hill, and the women look like
descendants of the original witch. I went to a big fountain where
crones were drawing water, dreadful old women, who accused me of having
the Evil Eye, which made my servant very nervous. Blue eyes are always
considered to be dangerous in the East. I said, “You are quite right,
O ye women of Endor; I was born with the Evil Eye”; whereupon they
became very civil, that I might not hurt them. We then descended into
the plain between Endor and Nazareth, and it was so hot and close that
I fell asleep on my horse for fully an hour. At last we reached the
Vale of Nazareth. I was glad to ride into the camp, where I found all
our former travellers. They were very hospitable, and gave me shelter
until our tents were pitched. The camps were all pitched in a small
plain without the town. Our camp was near the Greek Orthodox Church,
and hidden from the others by a slight eminence.
At sunrise next morning a Copt wanted to enter my tent, either for
stealing or some other purpose. I was still in bed, half awake, and I
heard the servants tell him to go. He refused, and was very insolent.
He took up stones, and threw them, and struck the men. The noise awoke
me thoroughly. I got up, and watched the proceedings through the top of
my tent wall. I called out to my servants to leave him alone; but by
this time they were angry, and began to beat the Copt. A little affair
of this sort among the people would hardly be noticed in the usual way;
but as ill-luck would have it, the Greeks, whom it didn’t concern,
were coming out of church, and seeing a quarrel they joined in it and
sided with the Copt. Our servants were only six, and the Greeks were
one hundred and fifty. Richard and Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake, hearing the
noise, ran out of their tents half-dressed to see what was the matter,
and said and did everything to calm the people. They were received with
a hailstorm of stones, each the size of a melon, which seemed to darken
the air for several minutes. A rich and respectable Greek called out,
“Kill them all; I’ll pay the blood money.” Our Druze muleteer called
out, “Shame! This is the English Consul of Damascus on his own ground.”
Another Greek shouted, “So much the worse for him.” I put on some
clothes while the fighting was going on, and watched Richard. As an old
soldier accustomed to fire, he stood perfectly calm, though the stones
hit him right and left. Most men under such pain and provocation would
have fired, but he contented himself with marking out the ringleaders,
to take them afterwards. I ran out to give him two six-shot revolvers,
but before I got within stone’s reach he waved me back; so I kept near
enough to carry him off if he were badly wounded, and put the revolvers
in my belt, meaning to have twelve lives for his if he were killed.
Seeing that he could not appease the Greeks, and three of the servants
were badly hurt, and one lay for dead on the ground, Richard pulled a
pistol out of Habíb’s belt and fired a shot into the air. I understood
the signal, and flew round to the other camps and called all the
English and Americans with their guns. When they saw a reinforcement
of ten armed English and Americans running down to them, the cowardly
crew of one hundred and fifty Greeks turned and fled. But for this
timely assistance, we none of us should have been left alive. The whole
affair did not last ten minutes.
We found out afterwards that the cause of the Greek ill-feeling
originated with the Greek Orthodox Bishop of Nazareth, who had snatched
away a synagogue and cemetery from British-protected Jews, against
which arbitrary proceeding Richard had strongly protested. Richard
went later in the day to report what had happened to the Turkish
official, the Káim-makám, and to ask for redress, but he was unable to
do anything. He had only twelve zaptíyeh (policemen), armed with canes!
So we had to wait at Nazareth five days, until Richard sent to St.
Jean d’Acre for soldiers. The Greeks were at first very insolent; but
when they found that Richard was in earnest about having the offenders
punished, they came in a body to beg pardon. The Bishop also sent to
say that he deeply regretted the part he had taken. But whilst the
Greeks were so occupied in our presence, they were manufacturing the
most untruthful and scandalous report of the affair, which they sent to
Damascus and Beyrout, to St. Jean d’Acre and to Constantinople, which
was signed and sealed by the Bishop and endorsed by the Wali of Syria,
who never waited or asked for one word of explanation from Richard.
The Greeks said, in their report, that we began the quarrel, and many
other things absolutely false. For instance, they stated that Richard
fired upon them several times when they were playing at games; that
he entered the church armed to profane it, tore down the pictures,
broke the lamps, and shot a priest; and that I also went forth in my
nightgown, and, sword in hand, tore everything down, and jumped and
shrieked upon the _débris_, and did many other unwomanly things.
This report was actually signed and sealed by the Bishop and by the
Wali, and forwarded, unknown to us, to Constantinople and London.
Naturally Richard’s few enemies at home tried to make capital out of
the accident.
The whole day after the brutal attack upon us we had to do all the work
of our tents and the cooking and attend to our horses ourselves. Even
if we had wished to move away from Nazareth we could not have done
so with four of our servants disabled and helpless. Dr. Varden and
myself were entirely occupied with the suffering men. Richard and Mr.
Tyrwhitt-Drake took charge of the tents and horses, and the doctor sent
me a woman to help to cook, as it was necessary to prepare soup and
invalid food for the wounded, who, in consequence of their injuries,
suffered from fever. Richard’s sword arm was injured by stones, and the
sprained muscles were not thoroughly cured for two years afterwards.
Besides this, we had to be prepared for a night attack of revenge. And
what with the whispering of the Turkish soldiers, who had come from St.
Jean d’Acre, the evident excitement prevailing in the town, and the
barking of dogs, the nights were not peaceful enough to admit of sleep.
On May 10 we left Nazareth, and every one came out to see our
departure. Our exit was over a steep country composed of slabs of
slippery rock, but we soon got into a better district, over flowery
plains, now and then varied by difficult passes and tracks. We camped
for the night by the Lake of Tiberias, the Sea of Galilee. Next day we
hired a boat and went round the lake. Towards night there was a glare
behind the mountains, as if some town in the neighbourhood was on fire.
We could not sleep in consequence of the stifling heat, and flies and
mosquitoes were numerous. The day after I went off to the hot baths of
Hamath, or Emmaus. They were salt and sulphuric. In the middle of the
bath-house was a large marble basin, through which the water passed,
with little rooms around. Here people bathed for bone-aches. The women
advised me to enter cautiously. I laughed; and by way of showing them
that Englishwomen were accustomed to water and were not afraid, I
plunged in for a swim. But I soon repented. I felt as if I had jumped
into boiling water. My skin was all burnt red, and I began to be faint.
However, on leaving the bath I felt much invigorated, and lost all the
fever and illness resulting from my swim in the Dead Sea.
The next morning we galloped round the northern end of the Sea of
Galilee. In the afternoon we rode to Safed, where we camped for
the night. Safed is a town of considerable size, and surrounded by
beautiful gardens. There is a large Jewish quarter, and from the hour
of our coming the Jews were all hospitality and flocked to our tents
to greet us. It was very hot at Safed in the daytime; and when we
left the next day we had a most trying ride across a country burnt
black with the recent prairie fire. We encamped for the night in a
lonely spot, which turned out to be a perfect paradise for mosquitoes,
spiders, scorpions, and other pests, but a perfect hell for us. We
could do nothing but wrap ourselves up completely in sheets, and walk
up and down all night long by the camp-fires, while the jackals howled
outside. When the morning light came, we were able to laugh at one
another’s faces, all swollen with bites and stings. Mine was like the
face one sees in a spoon.
I need not dwell upon the next three days, because they were all
exactly alike. We rode all day and camped at night until the morning
of May 19 dawned. In the cool light we entered the Plain of Damascus.
We halted for breakfast under a favourite fig tree, where were shade,
water, and grass. We then ambled for three and a half hours over the
barren plain, until at last we arrived on the borders of the green
groves around Damascus. We entered our own oasis. Oh how grateful were
the shade, the cool water, and the aromatic smells! One hour more
and we entered our own little paradise again, and met with a cordial
greeting from all. It was a happy day. I did not know it then, but our
happy days at Damascus were numbered.
CHAPTER XVII
_THE RECALL_
(1871)
I call to mind the parting day
That rent our lives in twain.
ALF LAYLAH WA LAYLAH
(_Burton’s “Arabian Nights”_).
On returning to Damascus, Richard made the necessary explanations
concerning the riot at Nazareth to the authorities, and he concluded
that the “village row” was ended. I also wrote a full and accurate
account of the affair to Sir Henry Elliot, our Ambassador at
Constantinople (who had kindly expressed his willingness to hear from
me when I had anything special to communicate), to supplement Richard’s
report. Sir Henry had telegraphed to know what it all meant.
As Richard had still a fortnight’s leave on hand, he thought he would
use it by going to return the visit of the Druzes, who had paid us many
friendly visits during our two years’ sojourn at Damascus, and had
asked Richard to come and see them in the Haurán. He called upon the
Wali before his departure, and told him of his projected visit. The
Wali expressed his gladness, and said, “Go soon, or there will be no
water.” He also wrote to the Consul-General at Beyrout to acquaint him
of his intention, and started with Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake.
I was left behind. A few days after Richard had gone, the Wali, with
whom I had always been on friendly terms, wrote me an extraordinary
letter. He accused Richard of having made a political meeting with
the Druze chiefs in the Haurán, and of having done great harm to the
Turkish Government. I knew that he had done nothing of the kind, and
so I wrote to the Wali and told him that he had been deceived, and
asked him to wait until Richard came home. I pointed out to him how
fond people were of inventing and circulating falsehoods to make
mischief between him and the Consuls. He pretended to be satisfied.
But a Turkish plot had been laid on foot of which I knew nothing. A
disturbance had been purposely created between the Bedawin and the
Druzes, which enabled the Turkish Government to attack the Druzes in
the Haurán. The Wali let Richard go in order to accuse him of meddling.
The fact was, the Wali had intended a little campaign against the
Druzes, and was endeavouring, by means known only to the unspeakable
Turk, to stir up sedition among them, in order to have an excuse for
slaughtering them; but Richard had, unknowingly, spoiled the whole plan
by counselling the Druzes to submit. It was that which made the Wali so
angry, for it spoilt his plot; and he reported that Richard meddled
with Turkish affairs, and agitated for his recall. I wrote again to Sir
Henry Elliot, stating the true facts of the case. For, as I told our
Ambassador, I heard that the “Home Government is actually contemplating
pleasing a handful of bad people, headed by this Wali, by probably
removing my husband from the very place for which his natural gifts and
knowledge fit him,” and I asked him, who knew the East, to acquaint
Lord Granville how matters stood.
One day while Richard was still away, a European, who was a favourite
of the Wali, asked me what day Richard would return to Damascus, and by
what road. I asked why he wanted to know. “Because,” he said, “my child
is to be baptized, and I want him to be present.” I found out the next
day that the christening was fixed for the day before Richard’s return,
and I was asked; so that the man had not given me the true reason for
wanting to know when Richard was coming back. I scented danger, and by
a trusty messenger I instantly dispatched a warning to Richard to “look
out for tricks.” By God’s blessing it was in time. Richard changed his
road, and from a concealed shelter he watched the progress of a Ghazu,
or armed band, beating the country, looking for some one. By whom they
were sent, whom they were looking for, and for what fell purpose may be
imagined.
My heart was torn with anxiety. Nevertheless I went to the christening,
and kept a calm exterior. I felt a qualm when a certain Greek said to
me, with a meaning, unpleasant smile, “There is a telegram or something
important arrived for you.” “Oh, is there?” I said coolly; “well, I
dare say I shall get it when I go home.” Presently a kawwass came in,
and saluted and said, “The Consul is returned, Sitti, and wants you.”
Making my excuses, I retired from the festivities; and jumping on my
horse, I galloped home, where I found Richard safe and sound. The
telegram, which was quite unimportant, did not arrive until several
hours later. Had the Ghazu fallen in with Richard, the verdict would
have been, “Fallen a prey to his wild and wandering habits in the
desert.” But it was not God’s will that he should be removed in this
way.
About this time the trouble with the Shazlis also came to a head. The
Shazlis were Sufis, or mystics, esoterics of El Islam, who tried to
spiritualize its material portions. Richard was most interested in
them, and he used to study them and their history. The mystic side
of their faith especially appealed to him. He thought he saw in it a
connexion between Sufiism in its highest form and Catholicism; and
indeed it was so. He followed it up unofficially, disguised as a
Shazli, and unknown to any mortal except myself. He used to mix with
them, and passed much of his time in the Maydán at Damascus with them.
Many of the Shazlis were secretly converted to Christianity in the
spring of 1870. It was only natural that it should be so, for there
was a link between the highest form of Sufiism and the true Catholic
Church. Before long the news of these conversions leaked out, and the
Wali determined to crush conversion, because it would add to European
influence, of which he was already jealous, and he persecuted and
imprisoned the converts. Richard endeavoured to protect them, and thus
brought himself into conflict with the Wali.
Richard thought very seriously of this revival of Christianity in
Syria, and wrote to the Protestant missionaries about it. He also wrote
to Sir Henry Elliot and to Lord Granville on the subject, so impressed
was he with its vigour and vitality. And indeed there was a remarkable
revival going on below the surface. The persecutions to which the
Shazlis had been subjected had caused the movement to grow with
redoubled force, and the number of converts increased from day to day.
Many were secretly baptized, and many more were yearning for baptism.
Richard knew all this, and sympathized with the converted Shazlis heart
and soul. Indeed I think he was never nearer a public profession of
Catholicity than at that time. What he might have done for them, if he
had had the chance, I know not; but the chance was denied him.
The next week or two went by without anything important happening.
On June 25 we went by the Wali’s invitation to a grand review at El
Haneh, the first ever seen in Syria. Nothing could exceed the kindness
and courtesy of the Wali. Indeed every one was very kind to me, the
only woman present. We had fireworks and dinner, and then wild native
dances, and after a pleasant drive home to Damascus in Abd el Kadir’s
carriage.
About this time the heat was very great; not a breath of air was
stirring, night or day. We felt like the curled-up leaves of a book.
Food or sleep was impossible to us. Every one who could fled from
Damascus. I refused to go to summer quarters because Richard could
not go too, and I would not shirk anything he had to bear. At last,
however, I fell ill of fever, and Richard sent me away to Bludán.
One night, when I was sitting alone, I heard a great noise against
the door. I seized the only thing handy, a big stick, and ran out. A
large serpent had been attracted by a bowl of milk put on the terrace
for my large white Persian cat, who was valiantly defending her milk
against the snake. It raised up its long neck and hissed at me; but I
hit it with my stick a foot away from its tail, which is the proper
place to paralyze a snake. It tried to make away, but was unable, and
then I killed it. It was two yards and a half long, and as thick as a
child’s arm. It had a flat head, and was of a bluish silver colour.
Another night, when I went up to the housetop, a large wolf sprang over
my head. I ran in for my gun, but though I was not gone an instant the
wolf was out of my reach. After a few weeks Richard came up and joined
me at Bludán with Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake.
During this summer we made many excursions to pleasant spots around
Bludán, and we used to invite the Shaykhs and principal people to meet
us. We would choose a spot near water, or near Bedawin tents, or a
melon plantation; and arriving at the appointed place, we would eat and
drink, make a fire, roast and prepare our coffee, and have a siesta.
These impromptu picnics were very pleasant, and we always found the
Bedawin charming. Those days were very pleasant ones; our lives were
peaceful, useful, and happy. But suddenly there came a bolt from the
blue. On August 16, 1871, the blow fell.
That morning at Bludán the horses were saddled at the door, and we
were going for a ride, when a ragged messenger on foot stopped to
drink at the spring, and then came up to me with a note. I saw it was
for Richard, and took it into the house to him, never thinking what
it contained. It was a curt letter from the Vice-Consul of Beyrout,
informing Richard that, by the orders of his Consul-General, he had
arrived at Damascus the previous day, and had taken charge of the
Consulate.
Richard and Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake were in the saddle in five minutes,
and galloped into Damascus without drawing rein. Richard would not
let me go with him. A few hours later a mounted messenger came back
to Bludán with these few written words: “Do not be frightened. I am
recalled. Pay, pack, and follow at convenience.” I was not frightened;
but I shall never forget what my feelings were when I received that
note. Perhaps it is best not to try to remember them.
The rest of the day I went about trying to realize what it all meant.
When I went to bed that night, my mind was full of Richard, and I had
one of my dreams, a terribly vivid dream. I dreamed that Something
pulled me by the arm. I sat up in bed, and I could still see and feel
it, and it said in a loud whisper, “Why do you lie
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