surrounding scenery, she withdrew to a little nook thatched over with
leaves, where her guide quickly kindled a good fire in the Indian
fashion. Cutting a small piece of wood to a fine point, and then
selecting a second piece, which he grooved with a narrow and not very
deep furrow, in this he rubbed the pointed stick until the fragments
detached during the process began to smoke. These he flung into a heap
of grass and dry leaves previously collected, and swung the whole
several times round in the air until it ignited. The entire operation
did not occupy more than two minutes. Some roasted plantains served for
supper; after which Madame Pfeiffer retired to her lonely couch of dry
leaves, to sleep as best she might. Who will refuse a tribute of
admiration to the courage, self-reliance, and intrepidity of this
remarkable woman? Who but must admire her wonderful physical
capabilities? How many of her sex could endure for a week the exposure
and fatigue to which she subjected herself year after year?
The night passed without any eventful incident, and on the following
morning she accomplished the return journey in safety.
* * * * *
On the 17th of May she left Tahiti, the Dutch vessel in which she had
embarked being bound _via_ the Philippines. This rich and radiant island
group they passed on the 1st of July, and the next day entered the
dangerous China Sea. Soon afterwards they reached Hong Kong, which had
been an English settlement since 1842. But as Madame Pfeiffer wanted to
see the Chinese at home, she made no stay in this hybrid town, but
ascended the Pearl River, marvelling much at the immense
rice-plantations on either bank, and the quaint little country houses,
with their fronts of coloured tiles, to Canton. As she approached this
great seat of commerce, she was much moved by the liveliness of the
scene. The river was thronged with ships and inhabited boats--with junks
almost as large as the old Spanish galleons, their poops impending far
over the water, and covered in with a roof, like a house; with
men-of-war, flat, broad, and long, mounted with twenty or thirty guns,
and ornamented in the usual Chinese mode, with two large painted eyes at
the prow, that they may be the better able to see their way. Mandarins'
boats she saw, with doors, and sides, and windows gaily painted, with
carved galleries, and tiny silken flags fluttering from every point. And
flower-boats she also saw; their upper galleries decked with flowers,
garlands, and arabesques, as if they were barks fitted out for the
enjoyment of Queen Titania and her fairy company. The interior is
divided into one large apartment and a few cabinets, which are lighted
by quaint-patterned windows. Mirrors and silken hangings embellish the
sides, while the enchanting scene is completed with a liberal store of
glass chandeliers and coloured paper lanterns, interspersed with lovely
little baskets of fresh flowers.
It was characteristic of Madame Pfeiffer that she found access to so
much which no European woman had ever seen before. She obtained entrance
even into a Buddhist temple--that of Honan, reputed to be one of the
finest in China. A high wall surrounds the sacred enclosure. The
visitor enters first a large outer court, and thence, through a huge
gateway, passes into the inner. Beneath the gateway stand the statues of
war-gods, each eighteen feet high, with faces terribly distorted, and in
the most threatening attitudes; these are supposed to prevent the
approach of evil genii. A second portal, similarly constructed, under
which the "four heavenly kings" sit enthroned, leads to a third court,
surrounding the principal sanctuary, which measures one hundred feet in
length, and is of equal breadth. On rows of wooden pillars rests a flat
roof, from which hang glass lamps, lustres, artificial flowers, and
brightly-coloured ribbons. All about the area are scattered altars,
statues, vases of flowers, censers, and candelabra.
But the eye is chiefly attracted by the three shrines in the foreground,
with the three coloured statues behind them, of Buddha, seated as
symbolical of Past, Present, and Future. On the occasion of Madame Ida
Pfeiffer's visit, a funeral ceremony was being performed in honour of a
mandarin's deceased wife. Before the right and left altars stood several
priests, in garments curiously resembling, as did the rites also
resemble, those of the Roman Church. The mandarin himself, attended by a
couple of fan-bearers, prayed before the middle altar. He kissed the
ground repeatedly, and each time he did so, thin, fragrant wax tapers
were put into his hands. These, after raising in the air, he handed to
the priests, who then stationed them, unlighted, before the Buddha
images. Meantime, the temple resounded with the mingling strains of
three musicians, one of whom struck a metal ball, while another scraped
a stringed instrument, and a third educed shrill notes from a kind of
flute.
This principal temple is surrounded by numerous smaller sanctuaries,
each decorated with images of deities, rudely wrought, but a-glow with
gold and vivid colours. Special reverence seems to be accorded to
Kwanfootse, a demi-god of war, and to the four-and-twenty gods of mercy.
These latter have four, six, and even eight arms. In the Temple of
Mercy, Madame Pfeiffer met with an unpleasant adventure. A Bonze had
offered her and her companions a couple of wax tapers to light in honour
of the god. They were on the point of compliance, as a mere act of
civility, when an American missionary, who was one of the visitors,
roughly snatched them from their hands, and gave them back to the
priests, protesting that such compliance was idolatrous. It was not
without difficulty they forced their way through the crowd, and escaped
from the temple.
The curiosity hunters were next led to the so-called House of the Sacred
Swine. These porcine treasures are as tenderly cared for as was Hamlet's
mother by Hamlet's father. They reside in a spacious hall of stone, but
the atmosphere, it must be owned, teems with odours that are not Sabaean.
Throughout their idle existence, the swine are reverentially cherished
and liberally fed; nor is the cruel knife permitted to cut short the
thread of their destiny. At the time of Ida Pfeiffer's visit, only one
pair were living in this otiose state, and the number seldom exceeds
three pairs.
* * * * *
From China our adventurous lady sailed for the East Indies, "looking in"
on the way at Singapore, a British settlement, which forms the
meeting-place of the traders of South Asia. The scenery around it is of
a rich and agreeable character, and the island on which it is situated
excels in fertility of vegetation. Very pleasant the visitor finds it,
to saunter among the plantations of cloves and nutmegs, the air
breathing a peculiar balsamic fragrance, a concentration of sweet
odours. Pepper and gambie plantations are also among the sights of
Singapore. Further, it is an island of fruits. Here thrives the
delectable mangosteno, which almost melts in the mouth, and enchants the
palate with its exquisite flavour. Here, too, the pine-apple frequently
attains the weight of four pounds. Here grows the saucroys, as big as
the biggest pine-apple, green outside, and white or pale yellow inside,
with a taste and perfume like that of the strawberry. And to Singapore
belongs the custard-apple, which is as savoury as its compound name
implies.
From Singapore, Madame Pfeiffer crossed to Point de Galle, in Ceylon.
The charming appearance of this island from the sea moved her, as it
moves every traveller, to admiration. "It was one of the most
magnificent sights I ever beheld," she says, "that island soaring
gradually from the sea, with its mountain ranges growing more and more
distinctly defined, their summits lighted by the sun, while the dense
cocoa-groves, and the hills, and the plains lay shrouded in cool
shadows." Above the whole towers the purple mass of Adam's Peak, and
wherever the eye roams, it surveys the most prodigal foliage, and glades
rich in verdure, and turfy slopes deep in flowers.
Point de Galle presents a curious mixture of races. Cingalese,
Kanditores, Tamils from South India, and Moormans, with crimson caftans
and shaven crowns, form the bulk of the crowd that throng its streets;
but, besides these, there are Portuguese, Chinese, Jews, Arabs, Parsees,
Malays, Dutchmen, English, with half-caste burghers, and now and then a
veiled Arab woman, or a Veddah, one of the aboriginal inhabitants of the
island. Sir Charles Dilke speaks of "silent crowds of tall and graceful
girls, as we at first supposed, wearing white petticoats and bodices,
their hair carried off the face with a decorated hoop, and caught at the
back by a high tortoise-shell comb. As they drew near, moustaches began
to show, and I saw that they were men, whilst walking with them were
women naked to the waist, combless, and far more rough and 'manly' than
their husbands. Petticoats and chignons are male institutions in
Ceylon."
With indefatigable energy of mind and body, Madame Pfeiffer visited
Colombo and Kandy, the chief towns of the island. At the latter she
obtained admission to the temple of Dagoba, which contains a precious
relic of Buddha, namely, one of his teeth. The sanctuary enshrining it
is a small chamber or cell, less than twenty feet in breadth. It is
shrouded in darkness, for of windows there are none, and the door is
curtained inside, still more effectually to exclude the light. Rich
tapestry covers the walls and ceiling. But the principal object is the
altar, which glitters with plates of silver, and is encrusted about the
edges with precious stones. Upon it rests a bell-shaped case, about
three feet high, and at the base three feet in diameter. It is made of
silver, is elaborately gilt, and decorated with costly jewels. In the
middle blazes a peacock of precious stones. Six smaller cases, said to
be of gold, each diminishing in size, are enclosed within the large
case, and under the last is the tooth of Buddha. It is as large as that
of a great bull, so the great Indian philosopher must have had a
monstrous jaw!
Madame Pfeiffer arrived at Madras on the 30th of October. Thence she
proceeded to Calcutta, the city of palaces; but, of course, she adds
nothing to the information furnished by a swarm of travellers. She saw
the broad flood of the Ganges, and, filling a glass with its sacred
water, drank to the health of the Europeans and all whom she loved.
Throughout her Indian travel she felt much vexed at being conveyed in a
palanquin; it seemed a dishonouring of men to treat them as beasts of
burden. However, necessity prevailed over her humanitarian scruples.
Unlike the majority of Indian tourists, she went everywhere without an
expensive retinue of attendants; she had but one servant, yet she
contrived to go everywhere, and to see all that was to be seen. It is
worth noting that she reduced the cost of travel to a minimum, and
accomplished the circuit of the globe for a less sum than the rent of a
furnished house in Mayfair for only a twelvemonth. It is true that she
submitted to privations which the English tourist would deem
insupportable; she embarked in sailing ships because they were cheaper
than steamers; resorted to third-class railway carriages; avoided
expensive hotels; lived always with the "masses" and on plainest fare;
and dispensed with the services of dragoman or interpreter. But for all
that her enjoyment was not the less, and she saw much which, had she
travelled in the usual fashion, she would not have seen.
One is apt to think that a woman who accomplished such really remarkable
feats of endurance and energy must have been endowed with great physical
strength and robust proportions. But such was by no means the case. Her
stature did not exceed--nay, was below--the average, and there was
nothing masculine in her face or figure. "I smile," she says in one of
her letters, "when I think of those who, knowing me only through my
voyages, imagine that I must be more like a man than a woman! Those who
expect to see me about six feet high, of bold demeanour, and with pistol
in my belt, will find me a woman as peaceable and as reserved as most of
those who have never set foot outside their native village."
At Benares she saw the bazaars, and the temples, and the palaces; the
bathing in the Ganges, the burning of the dead on the bank of the sacred
river, and a nautchni or dance of nautches; but her attention was
chiefly drawn to the miserable fanaticism of the fakeers, who revelled
in self-imposed tortures. Thus they stuck an iron hook through the
flesh, and allowed themselves to be suspended by it at a height of
twenty or twenty-five feet; or for long hours they stood upon one foot
in the burning sunshine, with their arms rigidly extended in the air; or
they held heavy weights in various positions, swinging round and round
for hours together, and tearing the flesh from their bodies with red-hot
pincers. One man held a heavy axe over his head as if about to fell a
tree, and in this position stood immovable like a statue; another held
the point of his toe to his nose. Yet, from one point of view, these men
are right. What torture of the body can equal the torture of the soul?
If it were possible by any amount of physical pain to still and silence
the agony of conscience, who would not endure it? The greatest
condemnation of the self-cruelty of the fakeers is--its uselessness.
* * * * *
In her tour through India Madame Pfeiffer visited Allahabad, at the
junction of the Jumna and the Ganges; Agra, where she surveyed with
admiring eyes the lovely Taj-Mahal, erected by the Sultan Jehan as a
memorial to his favourite wife, and the Pearl Mosque, renowned for the
beauty of its carving; Delhi, the ancient capital of the Moguls; the
cave-temples of Ellora and Ajunta, and the great commercial port of
Bombay.
Crossing the border of British India, she sailed to Bassora, and
ascended the historic Tigris--so named from the tiger-like swiftness of
its course--to Bagdad, that quaint Oriental city, which is associated
with so many wonderful legends and not less wonderful "travellers'
tales." This was of old the residence of the great Haroun-al-Raschid, a
ruler of no ordinary sagacity and the hero of many a picturesque
tradition, whose name the "Thousand and One Nights" have made familiar
to every English reader. It is still a populous and wealthy city, with,
we suspect, a future before it not less glorious than its past. Many of
its houses are surrounded by blooming gardens; its shops are bright with
the products of Eastern looms; and it descends in terraces to the river
banks, which are lined with orchards and groves of palm. Over all
extends the arch of a glowing sky.
From Bagdad Madame Pfeiffer made an excursion to the ruins of Babylon.
They consist of massive fragments of walls and columns, lying on either
side of the Euphrates.
On the 17th of June she joined a caravan which was bound for Mosul, a
journey of three hundred miles, occupying from twelve to fourteen days,
and lying across a desert country of the most inhospitable character.
Madame Pfeiffer's experiences on this journey were new and interesting.
One day she repaired to a small village in search of food. After
wandering from hut to hut, she obtained a small quantity of milk and
three eggs. These she laid in hot ashes, covering them completely;
filled her leathern flask from the Tigris, and thus provided regained
the encampment formed by the caravan. She ate her eggs and drank her
milk with an appetite, which, to an epicure, would have been a surprise.
The manufacture of butter at this village was conducted on primitive
principles. The cream was poured into a leathern bottle, and rolled
about on the ground until consolidated into butter, which was then
transferred to a bottle filled with water, and eventually turned out as
white as snow.
Next day, when they rested during the heat, the guide of the caravan
endeavoured to procure her a little shelter from the sun's pitiless
glare by laying a small cover over a couple of poles let into the
ground; but so small was the area thus protected, and so weak the
artificial tent, that she was compelled to sit immovably in one
position, as the slightest motion would have overthrown it. Shortly
afterwards, when she wished to dine, she could obtain nothing but
lukewarm water, bread so hard that she was obliged to soak it before it
was eatable, and a cucumber without salt or vinegar.
At a village near Kerku the caravan halted for ten days. On the first
day Madame Pfeiffer's patience was severely tested; for all the women of
the place hastened to examine "the strange woman." First they inspected
her clothes, and next wanted to take off her turban; in fact, they were
inquisitive beyond all toleration. At last, Madame Pfeiffer seized one
of them by the arm, and turned her out of her room with so much
promptitude that she had no time to think of resistance. By the
eloquence of gesture, our traveller made the others understand that,
unless they withdrew at once, a similarly abrupt dismissal awaited them.
She then drew a circle round her place, and forbade them to cross it; a
prohibition which was strictly respected.
She had next to settle with the wife of her guide, who had besieged her
the whole day, and incessantly petitioned for largesse. Fortunately her
husband came on the scene, and to him Madame Pfeiffer preferred her
complaint, threatening to leave his house and seek shelter elsewhere,
well knowing that the Arabs consider this a great disgrace. He
immediately ordered his wife to desist, and the traveller was at peace.
"I always succeeded," says Madame Pfeiffer, "in obtaining my own will. I
found that energy and boldness influence all people, whether Arabs,
Persians, Bedouins, or others." It was this strength of will which
crowned Madame Pfeiffer's enterprises with success.
Towards evening, she says, she saw, to her great delight, a caldron of
mutton seething on the fire. For eight days she had eaten nothing but
bread, cucumber, and a few dates; she had a great craving, therefore,
for a hot and more nutritious meal. But her appetite declined when the
style of cookery was forced on her notice. The old woman, her guide's
mother, threw several handfuls of small grain and a large quantity of
onions into a pan full of water to soften. In about half an hour she
thrust her dirty hands into the water, and mixed the whole together, now
and then taking a mouthful, and, after chewing it, spitting it back
again into the pan! She then took a dirty rag, strained off the juice,
and poured it over the flesh in the caldron. Madame Pfeiffer had firmly
resolved to refuse the dish, but when it was ready her appetite was so
keen, and the smell so savoury, that her resolution gave way, and she
comforted herself with the reflection that she must often have eaten of
food prepared in a similar manner. What we do not see, it is easy enough
to tolerate.
* * * * *
On the 28th of June the caravan reached Erbil, anciently Arbela, the
scene of one of Alexander the Great's most famous victories. Two days
later they crossed the great river Sab upon rafts of inflated skins,
fastened together with poles, and covered with reeds, canes, and planks.
Rapidly traversing the Mesopotamian wastes, they arrived at Mosul on the
1st of July, and thence Madame Pfeiffer proceeded to inspect the ruins
of Nineveh. Her description of them, however, presents no points of
interest to merit quotation.
A caravan being about to start for Tabriz, Madame Ida Pfeiffer decided
that she would join it, though warned that it would traverse a country
containing not a single European. But, as we have seen, she was a woman
who knew not what fear was. Nothing could divert her from a fixed
purpose. She had made up her mind to go to Persia, and to Persia she
would go. The caravan set out on the 8th of July, and next day crossed
the hills that intervene between Mesopotamia and Kurdistan. The latter
country has never enjoyed a good reputation among travellers, and Madame
Pfeiffer's experience of it confirmed its evil fame. The travellers were
crossing a recently reaped corn-field, when half-a-dozen Kurds, armed
with stout cudgels, sprang out from their hiding-place among the
sheaves, and, seizing the bridles, poured out a volley of mingled oaths
and menaces. One of the travellers leaped from his steed, seized his
assailant by the throat, and, holding to his head a loaded pistol,
indicated his determination to blow out his brains. The effect of this
courageous conduct was immediate; the robbers desisted from their
attack, and were soon engaged in quite a friendly conversation with
those whom they had intended to plunder. At last they pointed out a good
site for an encampment, receiving in return a trifling backshish,
collected from the whole caravan.
A few days later, the travellers, having started at two in the morning,
passed into a sublime mountain valley, which the waters of a copious
stream had cleft through the solid rock. A narrow stony path followed
the upward course of the stream. The moon shone unclouded, or it would
have been difficult even for the well-trained horses of the caravan to
have kept their footing along the perilous way, encumbered as it was
with fallen masses of rock.
Like chamois, however, they scrambled up the steep mountain side, and
safely carried their riders round frightful promontories and past
dangerous and dizzy precipices. So wildly romantic was the scene, with
its shifting lights and shadows, its sudden bursts of silvery radiance
where the valley lay open to the moon, and its depths of darkness in
many a sinuous recess, that even Madame Pfeiffer's rude companions felt
the influence of its strange beauty; and, as they rode along, not a
sound was heard but the clatter of the horses' hoofs, and the fall of
rolling stones into the chasm below. But all at once thick clouds veiled
the moon, and so intense a darkness prevailed that the travellers could
scarcely discern each one his fellow. The leader continually struck fire
with a flint that the sparks might give his companions some indication
of the course. This, however, proved insufficient guidance; and at last,
as the horses began to miss their footing, their sole chance of safety
consisted in standing still. At daybreak, however, a grey light spread
over the scene, and the travellers found themselves surrounded by a ring
of lofty mountains, rising one above the other in grand gradation, and
superbly dominated by one mighty, snow-crowned, massive summit.
The journey was resumed. Soon the travellers became aware of the fact
that the path was sprinkled with spots of blood. At last they came to a
place where crimsoned a complete pool; and looking down into the ravine,
they could see two human bodies, one about a hundred feet below them,
the other, which had rolled farther, half hidden by a projecting crag.
They were glad to leave behind them this wild Aceldama.
* * * * *
At a town called Ravandus, Madame Pfeiffer had numerous opportunities of
observing the manners and customs of the Kurds. What she saw by no means
prepossessed her in their favour; the women were idle, ignorant, and
squalid; the men worked as little and robbed as much as they could. The
Kurds practise polygamy; their religion is simply the practice of a few
formalities which repetition renders meaningless. The costume of the
wealthier is absolutely Oriental, but that of the common people differs
in some particulars. The men wear wide linen trousers, and over them a
shirt confined round the waist by a girdle, with a sleeveless woollen
jacket made of stuff of only a hand's-breadth, sewed together. Instead
of white trousers some affect brown, but these are by no means
picturesque; they look like sacks with two holes for the insertion of
the feet--the said feet being encased in red or yellow leather boots,
with huge iron heels; or in shoes of coarse white wool, adorned with
three tassels. The turban is the universal head-covering.
The women don loose trousers, and red or yellow iron-heeled boots, like
those of the men; but over all they throw a long blue garment, which, if
not tucked up under the girdle, would depend some inches below the
ankles. A large blue shawl descends below the knee. Round their heads
they twist black shawls, turban-wise, or they wear the red fez, with a
small silk handkerchief wound about it; and on the top of this, a kind
of wreath made of short black fringe, worn like a diadem, but leaving
the forehead free. The hair falls in narrow braids over the shoulders,
and from the turban droops a heavy silver chain. As a head-dress it is
remarkably effective; and it is only just to say that it frequently sets
off really handsome faces, with fine features and glowing eyes.