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TO WILLIAM D. HOWELLS THESE NOTES OF ORIENTAL TRAVEL ARE FRATERNALLY INSCRIBED.
TO WILLIAM D. HOWELLS THESE NOTES OF ORIENTAL TRAVEL ARE FRATERNALLY INSCRIBED.
CONTENTS PREFACE IN THE LEVANT. I.—FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM. II.—JERUSALEM. III.—HOLY PLACES OP THE HOLY CITY. IV.—NEIGHBORHOODS OF JERUSALEM. V.—GOING DOWN TO JERICHO. VI.—BETHLEHEM AND MAR SABA. VII.—THE FAIR OF MOSES; THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCH. VIII.—DEPARTURE FROM JERUSALEM. IX.—ALONG THE SYRIAN COAST. X.—BEYROUT.—OVER THE LEBANON. XI.—BA'ALBEK. XII.—ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS. XIII.—THE OLDEST OF CITIES. XIV.—OTHER SIGHTS IN DAMASCUS. XV.—SOME PRIVATE HOUSES. XVI.—SOME SPECIMEN TRAVELLERS. XVII.—I
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PREFACE
PREFACE
I N the winter and spring of 1875 the writer made the tour of Egypt and the Levant. The first portion of the journey is described in a volume published last summer, entitled “My Winter on the Nile, among Mummies and Moslems”; the second in the following pages. The notes of the journey were taken and the books were written before there were any signs of the present Oriental disturbances, and the observations made are therefore uncolored by any expectation of the existing state of affairs. Signs e
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I.—FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM.
I.—FROM JAFFA TO JERUSALEM.
S INCE Jonah made his short and ignominious voyage along the Syrian coast, mariners have had the same difficulty in getting ashore that the sailors experienced who attempted to land the prophet; his tedious though safe method of disembarking was not followed by later navigators, and the landing at Jaffa has remained a vexatious and half the time an impossible achievement. The town lies upon the open sea and has no harbor. It is only in favorable weather that vessels can anchor within a mile or s
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II.—JERUSALEM.
II.—JERUSALEM.
I T was in obedience to a natural but probably mistaken impulse, that I went straight to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre during my first hour in the city. Perhaps it was a mistake to go there at all; certainly I should have waited until I had become more accustomed to holy places. When a person enters this memorable church, as I did, expecting to see only two sacred sites, and is brought immediately face to face with thirty-seven , his mind is staggered, and his credulity becomes so enfeebled t
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III.—HOLY PLACES OP THE HOLY CITY.
III.—HOLY PLACES OP THE HOLY CITY.
T HE sojourner in Jerusalem falls into the habit of dropping in at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre nearly every afternoon. It is the centre of attraction. There the pilgrims all resort; there one sees, in a day, many races, and the costumes of strange and distant peoples; there one sees the various worship of the many Christian sects. There are always processions making the round of the holy places, sect following sect, with swinging censers, each fumigating away the effect of its predecessor.
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IV.—NEIGHBORHOODS OF JERUSALEM.
IV.—NEIGHBORHOODS OF JERUSALEM.
W HEREVER we come upon traces of the Knights of St. John, there a door opens for us into romance; the very name suggests valor and courtesy and charity. Every town in the East that is so fortunate as to have any memorials of them, whatever its other historic associations, obtains an additional and special fame from its connection with this heroic order. The city of Acre recalls the memory of their useless prowess in the last struggle of the Christians to retain a foothold in Palestine; the name
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V.—GOING DOWN TO JERICHO.
V.—GOING DOWN TO JERICHO.
I T is on a lovely spring morning that we set out through the land of Benjamin to go down among the thieves of Jericho, and to the Jordan and the Dead Sea. For protection against the thieves we take some of them with us, since you cannot in these days rely upon finding any good Samaritans there. For some days Abd-el-Atti has been in mysterious diplomatic relations with the robbers of the wilderness, who live in Jerusalem, and farm out their territory. “Thim is great rascals,” says the dragoman;
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VI.—BETHLEHEM AND MAR SABA.
VI.—BETHLEHEM AND MAR SABA.
B ETHLEHEM lies about seven miles south of Jerusalem. It is also a hill village, reposing upon a stony promontory that is thrust out eastward from the central mountain-range; the abrupt slopes below three sides of it are terraced; on the north is a valley which lies in a direct line between it and Jerusalem; on the east are the yawning ravines and the “wilderness” leading to the Dead Sea; on the south is the wild country towards Hebron, and the sharp summit of the Frank mountain in the distance.
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VII.—THE FAIR OF MOSES; THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCH.
VII.—THE FAIR OF MOSES; THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCH.
T HE Moslems believe that their religion superseded Judaism and Christianity,—Mohammed closing the culminating series of six great prophets, Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Jesus, Mohammed,—and that they have a right to administer on the effects of both. They appropriate our sacred history and embellish it without the least scruple, assume exclusive right to our sacred places, and enroll in their own calendar all our notable heroes and saints. On the 16th of April was inaugurated in Jerusalem the fê
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VIII.—DEPARTURE FROM JERUSALEM.
VIII.—DEPARTURE FROM JERUSALEM.
T HE day came to leave Jerusalem. Circumstances rendered it impossible for us to make the overland trip to Damascus or even to Haifa. Our regret that we should not see Bethel, Shechem, Samaria, Nazareth, and the Sea of Galilee was somewhat lessened by the thought that we knew the general character of the country and the villages, by what we had already seen, and that experience had taught us the inevitable disenchantment of seeing the historical and the sacred places of Judæa. It is not that one
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IX.—ALONG THE SYRIAN COAST.
IX.—ALONG THE SYRIAN COAST.
O UR only business in Jaffa being to get away from it, we impatiently expected the arrival of the Austrian Lloyd steamer for Beyrout, the Venus , a fickle and unsteady craft, as its name implies. In the afternoon we got on board, taking note as we left the land of the great stones that jut out into the sea, “where the chains with which Andromeda was bound have left their footsteps, which attest [says Josephus] the antiquity of that fable.” The Venus , which should have departed at three o'clock,
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X.—BEYROUT.—OVER THE LEBANON.
X.—BEYROUT.—OVER THE LEBANON.
A LL the afternoon we had the noble range of Mt. Lebanon in view, and towards five o'clock we saw the desert-like promontory upon which Beyrout stands. This bold headland, however, changed its appearance when we had rounded it and came into the harbor; instead of sloping sand we had a rocky coast, and rising from the bay a couple of hundred feet, Beyrout, first the shabby old city, and then the new portion higher, up, with its villas embowered in trees. To the right, upon the cliffs overlooking
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XI.—BA'ALBEK.
XI.—BA'ALBEK.
W E were entertained at the house of the Rev. Mr. Wood, who accompanied us the next day to Ba'albek, his mission territory including that ancient seat of splendid paganism. Some sort of religious fête in the neighborhood had absorbed the best saddle-beasts, and we were indifferently mounted on the refuse of donkeys and horses, Abdallah, our most shining possession, riding, as usual, on the top of a pile of baggage. The inhabitants were very civil as we passed along; we did not know whether to at
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XII.—ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS.
XII.—ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS.
T HE station at Stoura is a big stable and a dirty little inn, which has the kitchen in one shanty, the dining-room in another, and the beds in a third; a swift mountain stream runs behind it, and a grove of poplars on the banks moans and rustles in the wind that draws down the Lebanon gorge. It was after dark when we arrived, but whether our coming put the establishment into a fluster, I doubt; it seems to be in a chronic state of excitement. The inn was kept by Italians, who have a genius for
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XIII.—THE OLDEST OF CITIES.
XIII.—THE OLDEST OF CITIES.
I T is a popular opinion that there is nothing of man's work older than Damascus; there is certainly nothing newer. The city preserves its personal identity as a man keeps his from youth to age, through the constant change of substance. The man has in his body not an atom of the boy; but if the boy incurred scars, they are perpetuated in the man. Damascus has some scars. We say of other ancient cities, “This part is old, that part is new.” We say of Damascus, its life is that of a tree, decayed
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XIV.—OTHER SIGHTS IN DAMASCUS.
XIV.—OTHER SIGHTS IN DAMASCUS.
D AY after day we continued, like the mourners, to go about the streets, in the tangle of the bazaars, under the dark roofs, endeavoring to see Damascus. When we emerged from the city gate, the view was not much less limited. I made the circuit of the wall on the north, in lanes, by running streams, canals, enclosed gardens, seeing everywhere hundreds of patient, summer-loving men and women squatting on the brink of every rivulet, by every damp spot, in idle and perfect repose. We stumbled about
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XV.—SOME PRIVATE HOUSES.
XV.—SOME PRIVATE HOUSES.
T HE private houses of Damascus are a theme of wonder and admiration throughout the Orient. In a land in which a moist spot is called a garden, and a canal bordered by willows a Paradise, the fancy constructs a palace of the utmost splendor and luxury out of materials which in a less glowing country would scarcely satisfy moderate notions of comfort or of ostentation. But the East is a region of contrasts as well as of luxury, and it is difficult to say how much of their reputation the celebrate
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XVI.—SOME SPECIMEN TRAVELLERS.
XVI.—SOME SPECIMEN TRAVELLERS.
I T is to be regretted that some one has not the leisure and the genius for it would require both—to study and to sketch the more peculiar of the travellers who journey during a season in the Orient, to photograph their impressions, and to unravel the motives that have set them wandering. There was at our hotel a countryman whose observations on the East pleased me mightily. I inferred, correctly, from his slow and deliberate manner of speech, that he was from the great West. A gentleman spare i
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XVII.—INTO DAYLIGHT AGAIN.—AN EPISODE OF TURKISH JUSTICE.
XVII.—INTO DAYLIGHT AGAIN.—AN EPISODE OF TURKISH JUSTICE.
I T was an immense relief to emerge from Damascus into Bey-rout,—into a city open, cheerful; it was to re-enter the world. How brightly it lies upon its sunny promontory, climbing up the slopes and crowning every eminence with tree-embowered villas! What a varied prospect it commands of sparkling sea and curving shore; of country broken into the most pleasing diversity of hill and vale, woodlands and pastures; of precipices that are draped in foliage; of glens that retain their primitive wildnes
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XVIII.—CYPRUS.
XVIII.—CYPRUS.
I N the early morning we were off Cyprus, in the open harbor of Larnaka,—a row of white houses on the low shore. The town is not peculiar and not specially attractive, but the Marina lies prettily on the blue sea, and the palms, the cypresses, the minarets and church-towers, form an agreeable picture behind it, backed by the lovely outline of mountains, conspicuous among them Santa Croce. The highest, Olympus, cannot be seen from this point. A night had sufficed to transport us into another worl
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XIX.—THROUGH SUMMER SEAS.—RHODES.
XIX.—THROUGH SUMMER SEAS.—RHODES.
A T daylight next morning we could just discern Cyprus sinking behind us in the horizon. The day had all the charm with which the poets have invested this region; the sea was of the traditional indigo blue,—of which the Blue Grotto of Capri is only a cheap imitation. No land was in sight, after we lost Cyprus, but the spirit of the ancient romance lay upon the waters, and we were soothed with the delights of an idle existence. As good a world as can be made with a perfect sea and a perfect sky a
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XX.—AMONG THE ÆGEAN ISLANDS.
XX.—AMONG THE ÆGEAN ISLANDS.
O UR sail all day among the Ægean islands was surpassingly lovely; our course was constantly changing to wind among them; their beautiful outlines and the soft atmosphere that enwrapped them disposed us to regard them in the light of Homeric history, and we did not struggle against the illusion. They are all treeless, and for the most part have scant traces of vegetation, except a thin green grass which seems rather a color than a substance. Here are the little islands of Chalce and Syme, once s
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XXI.—SMYRNA AND EPHESUS.
XXI.—SMYRNA AND EPHESUS.
W HEN we left Chios we sailed at first east, right into the sun, gradually turned north and rounded the promontory of the mainland, and then, east by south, came into the beautiful landlocked bay of Smyrna, in which the blue water changes into a muddy green. At length we passed on the right a Turkish fortress, which appeared as formidable as a bathing establishment, and Smyrna lay at the bottom of the gulf, circling the shore,—white houses, fruit-trees, and hills beyond. The wind was north, as i
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XII.—THE ADVENTURERS.
XII.—THE ADVENTURERS.
W E sailed away from Smyrna Sunday morning, with the Achille more crowded than when we entered that port. The second-class passengers still further encroached upon the first-class. The Emir of Damascus, with all his rugs and beds, had been pushed farther towards the stern, and more harems occupied temporary pens on our deck, and drew away our attention from the natural scenery. The venerable, white-bearded, Greek bishop of Smyrna was a passenger, also the tall noble-looking pasha of that city, j
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XXIII.—THROUGH THE DARDANELLES.
XXIII.—THROUGH THE DARDANELLES.
T HE Achille , which has a nose for freight, but none for poetry, did not stop at Tenedos, puffed steadily past the plain of Troy, turned into the broad opening of the Dardanelles, and by daylight was anchored midway between the Two Castles. On such a night, if ever, one might see the evolution of shadowy armies upon the windy plain,—if, indeed, this conspicuous site was anything more than the theatre of Homer's creations,—the spectators on the walls of Ilium, the Greeks hastily embarking on the
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XIV.—CONSTANTINOPLE.
XIV.—CONSTANTINOPLE.
T HE capital which we know as Constantinople, lying in two continents, presents itself as three cities. The long, hornshaped promontory, between the Sea of Marmora and the Golden Horn, is the site of ancient Byzantium, which Constantine baptized with his own name, and which the Turks call Stamboul. The ancient city was on the eastern extremity, now known as Seraglio Point; its important position was always recognized, and it was sharply contended for by the Spartans, the Athenians, the Macedonia
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XXV.—THE SERAGLIO AND ST. SOPHIA, HIPPODROME, etc.
XXV.—THE SERAGLIO AND ST. SOPHIA, HIPPODROME, etc.
H AVING procured a firman, we devoted a day to the old Seraglio and some of the principal mosques of Stamboul. After an occupation of fifteen centuries as a royal residence, the Seraglio has been disused for nearly forty years, and fire, neglect, and decay have done their work on it, so that it is but a melancholy reminiscence of its former splendor. It occupies the ancient site of Byzantium, upon the Point, and is enclosed by a crumbling wall three miles in circuit. No royal seat in the world h
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XXVI.—SAUNTERINGS ABOUT CONSTANTINOPLE.
XXVI.—SAUNTERINGS ABOUT CONSTANTINOPLE.
D URING the day steamers leave the Galata bridge every halfhour for the villages and palaces along the Bosphorus; there is a large fleet of them, probably thirty, but they are always crowded, like the ferry-boats that ply the waters of New York Bay. We took our first sail on the Bosphorus one afternoon toward sunset, ascending as far as Bebek, where we had been invited to spend the night by Dr. Washburne, the President of Roberts College. I shall not soon forget the animation of the harbor, crow
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XXVII.—FROM THE GOLDEN HORN TO THE ACROPOLIS.
XXVII.—FROM THE GOLDEN HORN TO THE ACROPOLIS.
O UR last day in Constantinople was a bright invitation for us to remain forever. We could have departed without regret in a rain-storm, but it was not so easy to resolve to look our last upon this shining city and marvellous landscape under the blue sky of May. Early in the morning we climbed up the Genoese Tower in Galata and saw the hundred crescents of Stamboul sparkle in the sun, the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus, shifting panoramas of trade and pleasure, the Propontis with its purple islan
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XXVIII.—ATHENS.
XXVIII.—ATHENS.
I N the thought of the least classical reader, Attica occupies a space almost as large as the rest of the world. He hopes that it will broaden on his sight as it does in his imagination, although he knows that it is only two thirds as large as the little State of Rhode Island. But however reason may modify enthusiasm, the diminutive scale on which everything is drawn is certain to disappoint the first view of the reality. Who, he asks, has made this little copy of the great Athenian picture? Whe
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XXIX.—ELEUSIS, PLATO'S ACADEME, ETC.
XXIX.—ELEUSIS, PLATO'S ACADEME, ETC.
T HERE was a nightingale who sang and sobbed all night in the garden before the hotel, and only ceased her plaintive reminiscence of Athenian song and sorrow with the red dawn. But this is a sad world of contrasts. Called upon the balcony at midnight by her wild notes, I saw,—how can I ever say it?—upon the balcony below, a white figure advance, and with a tragic movement of haste, if not of rage, draw his garment of the night over his head and shake it out over the public square; and I knew—for
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XXX.—THROUGH THE GULF OF CORINTH.
XXX.—THROUGH THE GULF OF CORINTH.
W ITH deep reluctance we tore ourselves from the fascinations of Athens very early one morning. After these things, says the Christian's guide, Paul departed from Athens and came to Corinth. Our departure was in the same direction. We had no choice of time, for the only steamer leaves on Sunday morning, and, besides, our going then removed us from the temptation of the Olympic games. At half past five we were on board the little Greek steamer at the Piraeus. We sailed along Salamis. It was a mor
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