_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.