Born 1704—Died 1765.
THIS distinguished traveller was born at Southampton, in the year 1704.
The scope of his education, which, besides those classical acquirements
that usually constitute the learning of a gentleman, embraced an
extensive knowledge of the principal oriental languages, admirably
fitted him for travelling with advantage in the East. But previously to
undertaking that longer and more important journey upon the history of
which he was to rest all his hopes of fame, he resolved to visit some of
the more remarkable countries of Europe; and accordingly, on the 30th of
August, 1733, he departed from London, and proceeded by the usual route
to Paris. The curiosities of this accessible country, France, of which
we often remain in utter ignorance, because they are near, and may be
easily visited, appeared highly worthy of attention to Pococke. He
attentively examined the palaces and gardens of Versailles, St. Germain,
and Fontainebleau; the remains of antiquity at Avignon, Nismes, and
Arles; and the architectural and picturesque beauties of Montpellier,
Toulon, and Marseilles.
From France he proceeded into Italy, by the way of Piedmont; and having
traversed the territories of Genoa, Tuscany, the territories of the
church, of Venice, and of Milan, he returned through Piedmont, Savoy,
and France, and arrived in London on the 1st of July, 1734.
This tour only serving to increase his passion for travelling, he, on
the 20th of May, 1736, set out from London on his long-projected journey
into the East. He now directed his course through Flanders, Brabant, and
Holland, into Germany, which he traversed in all directions, from the
shores of the Baltic to Hungary and Illyria. He then passed into Italy,
and proceeding to Leghorn, embarked at that port, on the 7th of
September, 1737, for Alexandria in Egypt, where he arrived on the 29th
of the same month.
It is a remark which I have frequently made during the composition of
these Lives, that when an original-minded traveller directs his course
through a well known but interesting country, we follow his track and
peruse his observations with perhaps still greater pleasure than we
should feel had he journeyed through an entirely new region. In the
former case we in some measure consider ourselves competent to decide
upon the accuracy of his descriptions and the justness of his views;
while in the latter, delivered up wholly to his guidance, and having no
other testimony to corroborate or oppose to his, we experience an
involuntary timidity, and hesitate to believe, lest our confidence
should lead us into error. Besides, in no country can the man of genius
fail to find matter for original remark. No man can forestall him,
because such a person discovers things literally invisible to others;
though, when once pointed out, they immediately cease to be so. His
acquirements, the peculiar frame of his mind, in one word, his
individuality, is to him as an additional sense, which no other person
does or can possess; and this circumstance, which is not one of the
least fortunate in the intellectual economy, delivers us from all
solicitude respecting that lack of materials for original composition
about which grovelling and barren speculators have in all ages
clamoured; while the consciousness of mental poverty has generated in
their imaginations an apprehension that every one who approached them
had a design upon their little pedler’s pack of ideas, and driven them
into anxious and unhappy solitude, that, like so many spiders, they
might preserve their flimsy originality from the rough collision of more
robust minds.
The feeling which leads learned and scientific men one after another to
Egypt is the same with that which, after long years of absence, induces
us to visit the place of our birth. Philosophy, according to popular
tradition, had its birthplace on the banks of the Nile—though those of
the Ganges appear to possess a better claim to the honour; and it is to
examine the material traces of early footsteps, urged by some obscure
secret persuasion that momentous revelations respecting the history of
man might be made, could we, if I may hazard the expression, re-animate
the sacred language of the Egyptians, who, as Shelley phrases it,
Hung their mute thoughts on the mute walls around,
that traveller after traveller paces around the mysterious obelisks,
columns, and sarcophagi of Karnac and Edfu. Countries which have never,
so far as we know, been inhabited by any but savage tribes, however
magnificent may be their scenery, however fertile their soil, can never,
in the estimation of the philosophical traveller, possess equal
attractions with India, Persia, Egypt, or Greece: they resemble so many
theatrical scenes without actors; and after amusing the eye or the
imagination for a brief space of time, excite a mortal _ennui_ which
nothing can ward off. The world itself would be a dull panorama without
man. It is only as the scene of his actions, passions, sufferings,
glory, or shame, that its various regions possess any lasting interest
for us. Where great men have lived or died, there are poetry,
romance,—every thing that can excite the feelings or elevate the mind.
“Gray Marathon,” Thermopylæ, Troy, Mantinea, Agincourt, Waterloo, are
more sublime names than Mont Blanc or the Himalaya. On the former we are
lifted up by the remembrance of human energy; the latter present
themselves to us as prodigious masses of brute matter, sublime
undoubtedly, but linked by no glorious associations with the triumphs or
the fall of great or brave men.
The above remarks appeared necessary to explain why we are never weary
of accompanying travellers through Egypt, Palestine, and the other
celebrated lands which border the Mediterranean: I now proceed with the
adventures and researches of Pococke. On arriving at Alexandria, a city
which, when taken by the Arabs, contained four thousand palaces, as many
baths, four hundred public places or squares, and forty thousand Jews
who paid tribute, he immediately exerted himself to gratify his
curiosity, and this so imprudently, that he led several soldiers into a
breach of duty, in showing him the ruins of the ancient Pharos without
permission, for which they were afterward punished. Several travellers
have pretended that the coffin of Alexander the Great is still preserved
in a Mohammedan mosque in this city, and we find Bruce, thirty years
after Pococke, making very diligent inquiry among the inhabitants
respecting it. It is certain that the remains of the Macedonian king
were deposited in a golden coffin in the royal tombs of Alexandria; but
in the age of Augustus his bones had already been transferred from their
gorgeous lodgings to humbler ones of glass, in which they were brought
forth from their narrow house for the inspection of the tyrant, who
threw flowers and placed a golden crown upon the coffin. However, when
we reflect that even in so peaceful a city as Caen, the remains of
William the Conqueror could not be preserved a few hundred years from
popular insult, it seems extremely improbable that those of Alexander
should have been suffered to escape for two thousand years in a place
which has experienced so many and such dreadful vicissitudes.
From Alexandria he proceeded to Rosetta, in company with the English
consul; and on approaching within a few miles of the city, was surprised
to find a tent pitched, and an excellent collation laid out for them in
the desert, for which they were indebted to the politeness of the French
merchants, several of whom came out more than a league to meet them.
Horses, likewise, were sent for their use by the Turkish governor of the
city, whose opinions respecting the natural fitness of asses to be the
coursers of Franks seem to have been quite heterodox. To add to the
compliment, servants were sent whose business it was to run along by the
side of the equestrian travellers; and in this unusual style they
entered Rosetta.
It was now the latter end of October, and Egypt, which goes annually
through as many changes as a butterfly, was already beginning to put on
its winter dress, in which alone, according to the opinion of
connoisseurs, it should be contemplated by the admirers of the
beautiful. Its landscapes, it is well known, are very peculiar. There
are no glaciers, toppling crags, or mountain torrents; but there are
gardens filled with palm, orange, and almond trees; fields of young rice
more green than the emerald; villages perched on little eminences, and
flanked by date groves; diminutive lakes with reeds on greensward
enamelled with flowers around their margin; and to crown all, one of the
mightiest rivers in the world rolling along its broad waters through
scenes of sunshine and plenty, and through ruins of such prodigious
magnificence, that they seem rather to be the remains of a former world
than the works of that race of pigmy stature which now inhabits it. A
large portion of the rich fields in the vicinity of Rosetta belongs to
Mecca; and the inhabitants have a tradition that a member of the
prophet’s family resided on a neighbouring spot, where a mosque was
afterward erected, to which, should the Holy City ever be wrested from
the faithful, all devout persons would go on pilgrimage.
Locke, in combating the doctrine of innate ideas, and in order to show
that modesty, as well as all the other virtues, is an acquired habit,
cites from Baumgarten a description of the nudity and immoral practices
of the Mohammedan saints of Egypt, which in that country were not merely
tolerated, but vehemently approved of. Two of these naked saints Pococke
himself saw in the city of Rosetta. The one, he observes, was a
good-humoured old man; the other a youth of eighteen; and as the latter
walked along the streets the people kissed his hands. He was moreover
informed that on Fridays, when the women are accustomed to visit the
cemeteries, these holy men usually sat at the entrance, when the
visiters not only kissed their hands, but carried their religious
veneration so far as to practise the same ceremony with which the
ancients adored their Phallic divinity, and the modern Hindoos pay their
reverence to the Lingam. Something of this kind our traveller says he
witnessed at Cairo, but that the sight was too common to command the
least attention.
Having seen the principal curiosities of this city, and visited the
Greek patriarch, who entertained him with a pipe, a spoonful of sweet
syrup, and coffee, he set out on the 4th of November for Cairo, sailing
in a large kanja up the Nile. Besides the constantly shifting scenes
presented by the shores of the river, which were of themselves
sufficient to render the voyage a pleasant one, the passengers were
amused by Arab story-tellers, and representations of rude farces, in
which the sailors themselves were the performers. The lakes of natron, a
little of which dissolved in vinegar is, according to Hasselquist, a
sovereign remedy for the toothache, Pococke did not visit; but he was
informed by some of the passengers that their environs abounded with
wild boars. On the 11th of November they arrived at Cairo. This city,
during his stay in Egypt, may be regarded as his home, from which his
excursions radiated in various directions. Though the principal object
of Pococke’s travels, perhaps, was the examination of antiquities, and
the illustration of ancient geography, he very wisely extended his
researches to the modern condition of the country, and the manners of
its actual inhabitants. He visited the convents of dervishes and monks,
the cells of hermits, the cemeteries of Turks, Jews, and Christians, and
observed with care the character and costume of every class of the
population, from the sovereign bey to the houseless courtesan, who, like
Tamar in the Bible, sat by the wayside to inveigle passengers. His
remarks upon ancient Memphis,—the site of which, as I have already
observed in the life of Shaw, he fixed at Metraheny,—and on the
pyramids, are still, notwithstanding all that has been since written,
highly worthy of attention. He was not, like Hasselquist, deterred from
ascending to their summit by the heat of the stones or by tempestuous
winds; he measured their dimensions; descended into the well; and
speculated on their use and origin.
Shortly after his visit to the pyramids, he set out on an excursion to
the district of Faioum, and the Birket el Keroun, or Lake Mœris, with
the governor of the province, who happened to be just then returning
home from Cairo. His companion was a middle-aged Mussulman, of a lively,
cheerful temper, who made no scruple of associating with a Frank, or
even of eating with him, and drinking _liqueurs_, which are not
prohibited in the Koran, not having been invented when it was written.
It could not, however, be said that they fared too luxuriously on the
way; their meals, like those of Forster and his Ghilān Seid, consisted
for the most part of bread, cheese, and onions. After this frugal
supper, they reposed at night in a grove of palm-trees.
Having traversed a succession of small desert plains, sprinkled with
Egyptian flints, they entered a valley bounded on both sides by hills,
composed entirely of oyster-shells, which rest on a bed of reddish clay.
Of these shells the uppermost remain in their original state, while
those which lie deeper, or are scattered over the plain, are petrified.
On arriving at Tamish, the most northern village of the district, the
kasheff, or governor, was met by several Arabs, who, observing him to be
accompanied by a stranger, immediately began to exhibit their skill in
horsemanship, and in the management of the lance. Here the quality of
their fare improved. The onions were replaced by pilaus, roast lamb,
fowl, soup, and sherbets; and in the morning they had for breakfast
bread and butter, poached eggs, honey, cheese, and olives. Faioum, in
fact, should be the land of good living. It is the Arsinoitic Nome of
the ancients, which, in Strabo’s opinion, was the finest spot in all
Egypt; and although it no longer, perhaps, deserves this character, it
still produces corn, wine, olives, vegetables,—in one word, whatever
they choose to sow or plant will thrive. The olive, which requires
cultivation in the gardens of Alexandria, grows spontaneously in this
district. The grapes, too, are of a superior quality, and so sweet that
a thick syrup made from them serves the Mohammedans instead of sugar.
But Pococke soon found that even wine was not an unknown blessing in the
Arsinoitic Nome; for, at a supper to which he invited the traveller, the
honest kasheff got a little tipsy, threw off his gravity, and behaved as
frivolously, says Pococke, as a European.
It was in this canton, according to the ancients, that the Labyrinth of
the Twelve Kings was situated, and Pococke, perhaps erroneously,
imagined himself to have examined its ruins, from which he proceeded to
the shores of Lake Mœris. This lake, the Egyptian priests informed
Herodotus, was the creation of art; but observing its extraordinary
dimensions, it being no less than fifty miles in length by about ten in
breadth, our traveller supposes that the art consisted in the inventing
of the tale, and causing it to be believed, which in boldness and
ingenuity fell very little short of the actually scooping out of that
prodigious basin. But credulity often goes by the side of skepticism.
Having rejected as a fable the artificial origin of the lake, Pococke
supposes himself to have discovered in an extravagant tradition now
current among the Arabs, the basis of the ancient mythus of the Elysian
Fields, and the Infernal Ferryman. The common people, he observes, make
frequent mention of Charon, and describe him as a king who might have
loaded two hundred camels with the keys of his treasury! From this he
infers that the fable of Charon took its rise on this spot, and that the
person known under this name was the officer intrusted with the keys of
the Labyrinth and its three thousand apartments, who, when the corpse of
any prince or chief came thither to be interred, made inquiries
concerning the actions of his life, and, according as they were good or
bad, granted or refused the honours of the tomb. But as the Lake
Acherusia, or Acheron, was in the neighbourhood of Memphis, according to
Diodorus, he supposes that the same ceremonies were practised at both
places, though originating here. Guigniant, a contemporary French
writer, supposes that the ruins discovered by Pococke were not those of
the Labyrinth, which, in fact, have only recently been found and
described by his countrymen Bertre and Jomard.
The original destination of the Labyrinth has not yet been
satisfactorily explained: some learned men suppose it to have been a
kind of senate-house, where the representatives of the various nomes
assembled for political deliberation; others regard it as a real
Pantheon, consecrated to the worship of all the gods of Egypt; while a
third class insist that, to whatever other uses it may have been
applied, its principal object was to afford an asylum to the mummies of
the kings who erected it.
Non nostrum tantas componere lites.
However this may be, it seems extremely probable that the idea of the
Elysian Fields did actually originate in Egypt, and migrate thence into
Greece. Those delicious habitations of the dead, as Creuzer observes
after Diodorus, which are spoken of by the Greeks, really existed on the
banks of a lake called Acheron, situated in the environs of Memphis, and
surrounded by beautiful meadows and cool lakes, and forests of lotus and
reeds. These were the waters which were yet to be traversed by the dead
who had passed the river, and who were journeying to their sepulchral
grottoes in the kingdom of Osiris or Pluto, the Ὅρμος ἀγαθῶν, “haven of
the good, the pious, the virtuous,” to which none were admitted whose
lives were incapable of sustaining the strictest scrutiny. The heaven of
the Egyptians, contrary to what might have been expected, was a place of
more complete happiness and enjoyment than that of the Greeks. The very
word Elysium, according to Jablonski, signified glory and splendour; but
before they could arrive at this region of joy, all human souls were
condemned to pass through a circle of transmigrations, greater or less,
according to their deeds.
To return, however, to Pococke: From Faioum he returned by Dashone and
Saccara to Cairo, from whence he set sail on the 6th of December for
Upper Egypt. Having visited various important ruins by the way, he
arrived on the 9th of January, 1738, at Dendera, where he found the
ruins of the ancient edifices filled with ashes, and the remains of more
modern buildings. In fact, the Arabs had perched their miserable little
cabins upon the very summit of the temple of Athor-Aphrodite, or the
Egyptian Venus, in order to enjoy a cooler air in summer.
From hence he continued to ascend the stream, visited the ruins of
Thebes, Elephantina, Philæ, and the Cataracts; whence he returned to
Cairo, where he arrived on the 27th of February. It was now his
intention to visit Mount Sinai, but finding upon inquiry that the monks
of that mountain were then at open war with the neighbouring Arabs, he
deferred the excursion, and proceeded down the eastern branch of the
Nile to Damietta, where he embarked for the Holy Land.
Pococke arrived at Jaffa on the 14th of March, where, having delivered
up his money, according to custom, to the monks, lest he should be
robbed by the Arabs, he immediately departed by way of Rama for
Jerusalem. The country, at this time, was in a state of great confusion.
Feuds of the most desperate kind existed among the numerous Arab clans
encamped in this part of Palestine; and from whatever tribe the
traveller might take a guide, he necessarily exposed himself during the
journey to the hostility of every other horde. However, since the danger
was inevitable, and, perhaps, after his tame and secure movements in
Egypt, somewhat necessary to give a greater poignancy to his pleasures,
he put himself under the guidance of a respectable Arab horseman,
followed by a servant on foot, and departed on his way. The Arab, who
shared the risk, went a little out of the direct road to the place where
his tribe was encamped; and not being subject to that jealousy which
induces the Turk to keep his wife from the sight of strangers, he
introduced the traveller into his harem, and allowed him to sit down by
the fire with his wife and some other women.
It being now evening, the women, having regaled him with bread and
coffee, showed him a carpet, on which they desired him to take a little
rest. He expected they were to set out in an hour or two in order to
reach Jerusalem before day; but lay down, and, falling asleep, remained
in that comfortable position until long after sunrise next morning. The
Arab now went out and left him in the harem, when the women, who are all
the world over generous and hospitable, exerted themselves to entertain
and regale him with fresh cakes, butter, and coffee. The mistress of the
tent never quitted him for a moment, and while he remained here he was
in safety, for the precincts of the harem are sacred in the East. At
length the Arab himself returned, and promising him that they should
depart in the evening, threw a striped mantle over his shoulders, and
went out to walk with him in the fields. Contrary to his expectations,
the Arab actually set out with him as soon as it was dark, and carefully
avoiding all villages, camps, and inhabited places, in every one of
which he anticipated danger, he arrived safely with him at Jerusalem two
hours before day.
During his stay in this holy city Pococke visited and examined every
remarkable spot within its precincts and environs, and his researches
threw considerable light on numerous points of sacred topography. He
likewise made an excursion to Jericho and Jordan, and on his return from
this journey descended along the banks of the brook Kidron to the Dead
Sea. From the number of decayed trees and shrubs which he saw in the
water, he conjectured that this lake had recently overflowed its ancient
shores, and encroached upon the land. The country in these districts was
formerly liable to volcanic eruptions; abounds in warm springs of a
powerful odour, and in wells of bitumen, which ooze out of the rocks,
and is carried into the sea by the river. It having been asserted by
Pliny and others that animals and other heavy bodies floated
involuntarily in the water of this sea, Pococke undressed, and made the
experiment; and, strange to say, so powerful was the effect of prejudice
upon his mind, that he fancied he could not sink in it, and says that
when he attempted to dive his legs remained in the air, and having once
got the upper hand of his head, gave him considerable trouble to reduce
them to their natural subordinate position. However, though he was
persuaded, he says, that the result would have been still more striking,
his faith in Pliny was not sufficiently powerful to induce him to make
the experiment in deep water; which was fortunate, for as, apparently,
he could not swim, his travels, had he done so, would have terminated
there. On coming out of the sea he found his face covered with a crust
of salt, which, he observed, was likewise the case with the pebbles on
the shore. The pillar of salt into which Lot’s wife was changed was a
little farther south, and therefore he did not see it; but he was
assured by the Jews, who seem to have tasted it, that the salt of this
pillar is very unwholesome. On this point, however, Pococke merely
remarks that he will leave it to the reader to think as he pleases upon
the subject.
Having visited all the most remarkable places in this part of Palestine,
he returned to Jaffa, where he embarked on the 22d of May on board of a
large boat bound for Acra. At this period the sea along the whole coast
of Syria was infested by Maltese pirates. By an agreement entered into
with the monks of Palestine, these corsairs engaged not to meddle with
any of these boats within eighty leagues of the Holy Land; but, in spite
of this arrangement, they frequently boarded them, seizing and carrying
off into slavery every Mohammedan passenger, and pillaging both Turks
and Christians with remarkable impartiality. The vessel in which Pococke
was embarked escaped the clutches of these vagabonds, and arrived safe
at Acra. From this part he made an excursion into the northern parts of
Palestine and Galilee; visited Mount Carmel, Cæsarea, Nazareth, Mount
Tabor, Cana, and the Lake of Tiberias; extended his researches to Mount
Hermon and the sources of the Jordan; and then, returning to the coast,
departed for Tyre, Sidon, and Mount Lebanon.
The mountains in this part of Syria are inhabited by the Maronites and
Druzes, people whose manners and customs I shall have occasion to
describe in the life of Volney. Pococke’s stay among them was short, and
his occasions of observing them few, but the result of his limited
experience was favourable; for he pronounces the Maronites more simple
and less addicted to intrigue than the other Christians of the East, and
for courage and probity prefers the Druzes, who are neither Christians
nor Mohammedans, before every other oriental people. Nevertheless it is
conjectured that the latter are the descendants of the Christian armies
who were engaged in the crusades. They themselves profess, according to
our traveller, to be descended from the English; at other times they
claim a French origin; and the probability is that they know not who
were their ancestors. Like the Yezeedees of Mesopotamia, they are
sometimes compelled to dissemble their incredulity and frequent the
mosques; but Pococke learned that in their secret books they blasphemed
both Christ and Mohammed. This hypocrisy is not altogether consistent
with their character either for courage or probity. They had among them
a sort of monks called _akel_, who abstained from wine, and refused to
sit at their prince’s table lest they should participate in the guilt of
his extortions. These men Pococke regards rather as philosophers,
however, than as monks. Their religion, if they had any, consisted in
the worship of nature; and from their veneration for the calf, the
lingam, and the yoni, the figures of which they were said to preserve in
a small silver box, I should conjecture that both they and their
religion are an offshoot from the great Brahminical trunk; and the same
thing may with equal probability be said of the Yezeedees, the
Ismaelaah, and the Nessariah, whose doctrines had found their way into
the west, and caused the founding of altars to the yoni in Cyprus long
before the birth of history.
Our traveller continued his researches among the rude tribes who inhabit
the fastnesses of Lebanon, visited the cedars, Baalbec (where he found
the body of a murdered man in the temple), Damascus, Horus, and Aleppo;
and having made an excursion across the Euphrates to Orfah, returned by
way of Antioch and Scanderoon to Tripoli, where he embarked on the 24th
of October for Cyprus.
On approaching Limesol from the sea, its environs, consisting entirely
of vineyards, and gardens planted with mulberry-trees, and interspersed
with villas, present a charming landscape to the eye. The wines for
which the island is celebrated are all made here. In Cyprus what
principally interests the traveller are the footsteps of antiquity; he
seeks for little else. The temples and worship of Venus, hallowed, if
not spiritualized, by poetry, have diffused a glow over the soil which
neither time nor barbarism, potent as is their influence, has been able
to dissipate. The heart thrills and the pulse quickens at the very names
of Paphos and Amathus. A thousand pens have celebrated their beauty:
Love has waved his wings over them. Pococke seems, however,
notwithstanding his passion for beholding celebrated places, to have
visited these scenes with as much coolness as he would a turnip-field.
Non equidem invideo: miror magis.
He remarks, indeed, that it was from this city that Venus acquired the
epithet of _Amathusia_; that a temple was here erected in honour of her
and Adonis; and that the ruins of the city walls are fifteen feet thick.
But is this all? Wherefore are we not presented with a picture of the
landscape around the spot? Is it soft, is it beautiful, like the goddess
who was worshipped there?
Tacitus informs us that the temple which stood here was erected by
Amathus, son of King Aërias; and Servius and Macrobius observe that the
statue of the goddess was double-natured and bearded, though clothed in
female garments. The sexes changed dresses on entering the fane; and
during the mysteries instituted by Cinyras, salt, money, and the symbol
of the productive power of nature were presented to the initiated.
Proceeding eastward along the shore from Amathus, the traveller visited
Larnica, the ruins of Cittium, the birthplace of the philosopher Zeno;
Famagosta, the ruins of Salamis; and turning the eastern point of the
island, returned by Nicosia, Soli, and Arsinoe to Paphos. With the
traditions of this place one of the most remarkable fables of antiquity
is connected; for it was here that Venus, born among the foam of the
sea, was wafted on shore by the zephyrs,—“deamque ipsam, conceptam mari,
huc appulsam,” says Tacitus. However, modern mythologists have
maintained that it was not the Grecian but the Assyrian goddess, that
is, the celestial Venus, who was worshipped at Paphos. No effigies of
the goddess adorned this fane; but a cone or white pyramid, that mystic
emblem to which I have had frequent occasion to allude, was the object
of adoration. This emblematical manner of representing the gods was
common in remote antiquity, and Venus herself was thus symbolically
depicted on the coin of the Chalcidians.
Pococke observes that the ladies of Cyprus still keep up in every sense
the worship of their ancient goddess, and even go at Whitsuntide in
procession along the seashore in commemoration of the time of her birth.
They wear no veils, and their dress, in his opinion, is exactly such as
priestesses of the Idalian goddess should be distinguished by.
Having satisfied his curiosity respecting Cyprus, he returned to Egypt
for the purpose of visiting Mount Sinai, and tracing the track of the
Israelites through the wilderness; and when he had accomplished this
design, which he did with little difficulty or danger, he proceeded to
Alexandria, and embarked for Crete. Every person is aware of the
prodigious celebrity which this island enjoyed among the ancients. It
was the great stepping-stone which facilitated the passage of
civilization from Asia into Greece. Here Jupiter was cradled, and Minos,
the prototype of Lycurgus, legislated for a barbarous people whom he
endeavoured by extraordinary, and sometimes by terrible and criminal
regulations, to accustom and be fit to bear the yoke of government.
Pococke disembarked at Sphakia; and in crossing the island to Canea, the
ancient Cydonia, traversed an extraordinary pass called _Ebros Farange_,
where the road is flanked on both sides by lofty rocks which spring up
perpendicularly, and are crowned at their summit by a profusion of
shrubs and trees, such as the cypress, the fig-tree, and the evergreen
oak. This pass is nearly six miles in length, and so difficult of ascent
that towards the inland extremity travellers are compelled to dismount
from their beasts and climb the acclivity on foot. A chain of mountains
which runs almost parallel with the shores occupies the centre of this
part of the island. They were known to the ancients under the name of
the “White Mountains.” On the summit of the northern branch there is a
small circular valley, in which the winter rains form a number of
diminutive lakes, which add exceedingly to the charms of the scene, and
where, according to the inhabitants, there grows a species of auriferous
plant that communicates a golden colour to the teeth of the sheep which
feed upon it. Among the smaller chains, which branch off from the main
ridge of mountains towards the north, there are several valleys of
remarkable beauty.
After having remained a short time at Canea, Pococke set out to make the
tour of the island. His researches, though conducted with haste, throw
much light on the ancient geography of the land of Minos; but of all the
places which he visited none possess so powerful an interest as Mount
Ida, where, as he observes, it is exceedingly probable that Jupiter
passed his early youth in hunting and martial exercises. In the centre,
or somewhat to the south of a vast cluster of mountains, rises the
extremely lofty peak of Ida, composed of successive strata of gray
marble, and rendered peculiarly difficult of ascent by detached blocks
of stone scattered over its sides. Though considerably less elevated
than Mount Lebanon or the Alps, the snow lies all the year round
unmelted in several cavities near the summit, upon the very apex of
which a church has been erected. Here, in clear weather, the traveller
enjoys one of the most magnificent panoramic views in the world. Nearly
the whole island lies within the range of the eye; and looking across
the sea towards the north, he discovers in the distant horizon several
islands of the Archipelago rising beautifully out of the waves.
From Candia he proceeded to Scio, Ipsara, Metelin, Tenedos, Lemnos,
Samos, and Patmos, and then passed over to the continent to Smyrna. Here
those traces of antiquity which formed the principal objects of his
inquiries surrounded him on all sides. Not an excursion could be made
without encountering the ruins or the site of some city renowned in
poetry or history. Every river, every stream had some glorious
association attached to it, from the Meles, on which Homer is sometimes
supposed to have been born, to the Cayster and Mæander, celebrated in
his poems. Pococke, it should be remarked, with all his admiration for
antiquity, had not suffered much of the spirit of Greek poetry to
penetrate into his soul; though he might as a man of the world avoid
alluding to trite and hackneyed fables, this will not in all cases
account for his omitting all mention of remarkable mythi. When encamped,
for example, at night round a large fire on the summit of Mount Latmus
in Caria, fearing an irruption of jackals and wild boars, he seems to
have thrown himself to sleep upon his huge block of granite without once
recalling to mind that it was on that wild spot Endymion was visited
nightly by the moon. He observes, however, that the shepherds who have
succeeded Endymion on this mountain have begun to cultivate a portion of
its summit, and to enclose their fields with large trunks of trees
disposed as pallisades.
Following up the course of the Mæander he entered the Greater Phrygia,
proceeded thence to Galatia, and, turning to the north, took the road
through the ancient Paphlagonia and Bithynia towards Constantinople.
Here he entered into numerous inquiries respecting the religion and
manners of the Turks; and then, descending the Dardanelles, embarked at
Lemnos for Mount Athos in Macedonia. This mountain, it is well known,
has for ages served as a retreat to numerous monks and hermits, who
retire thither from the world to conceal their chagrin at being shut out
by more fortunate or more persevering individuals from the participation
of its more refined pleasures. There were at this period about forty
hermitages situated in a semicircular sweep of the mountain. Some of the
gloomy tenants of these cells were poor persons, who subsisted by their
own labour, or on the bread and cheese bestowed upon them by the
convents in the neighbourhood; and their amusement consisted in carving
images or making wooden spoons. Pococke found them employed in drying
figs, walnuts, and grapes, and learned that they made a little wine and
brandy for their own use, which, I hope, occasionally enabled them to
forget their cares. To complete their misery, no women were ever
permitted to enter their territories.
Leaving this haunt of hypochondriacal drones, he proceeded along the
shores of the Gulf of Contessa, and took the road to Salonica. The road
along the northern shores of the Thermaic Gulf was beset with too many
dangers to be attempted, and he therefore embarked for Caritza in
Thessaly, and, arriving next day, took up his quarters for the night at
the foot of Mount Ossa. Next morning he proceeded to the banks of the
Peneus, which constitute the Vale of Tempé, celebrated by ancient poets
as the most beautiful spot in Greece; but either the valley had lost its
charms, or our traveller all taste for the picturesque, for he passes it
over with still greater coolness than the poetical scenes of Cyprus.
However, his mind was at this time so full of the battle of Pharsalia,
Cæsar, and Pompey, that it would have been wonderful indeed if he had
paused a moment to admire the pastoral scenes of Tempé. Having then
reached the blood-stained spot where the greater tyrant triumphed over
the lesser, and paved the way for the glorious Ides of March, our
traveller examined with attention the various positions said to have
been occupied by the contending armies. From thence he descended towards
the Maliac Bay through Phthiotis, the native country of Achilles, which
was situated in the Thessalian Thebes, the inhabitants of which,
according to Strabo, obtained the name of ants on account of their
industrious habits.
On his arrival at Zeitoun, which appears to occupy the site of the
ancient Lamia, he took lodgings in a caravansary, where, in order to
enjoy a cooler air, and escape the vermin which usually abound in such
places, he spread out his carpet in an open gallery, and fell asleep. He
had not been long in the enjoyment of repose, however, before he was
awakened by a fearful noise; when, starting up, he saw by the light of
the moon that a large portion of the building had been overthrown, and
beheld the terrified horses bursting out of the stables and flying away
with the utmost rapidity. Amazed and confounded, he was at first unable
to comprehend what had happened; but his servant informed him it was an
earthquake, which doubly increased his consternation. They now began to
think of effecting their escape, but the building had been so shattered,
and such immense heaps of ruins choked up the passages, that although
they were apprehensive a second shock might follow and bury them beneath
the tottering walls, they were some time in making their way into the
street. Here they found that a poor Turk, who had thrown himself down
before the door to sleep, had been buried under the ruins; but by prompt
assistance he was dug out uninjured. Though there was a beautiful
moonlight, so thick a cloud of dust arose from the houses which had
fallen down, or were still falling all around, that it was impossible to
discern any object at the distance of ten paces; and from amid this
dense canopy, which hung suspended over the whole city, shrieks, groans,
and sobs, wild lamentations for the dead, the moans of the crushed and
wounded, yells of agony, and exclamations of terror were heard on all
sides. Humanity, however, in the midst of this awful scene was busy at
the work of salvation. Men, goaded on by the sting of affection, rushed
desperately in between the threatening ruins in search of the objects of
their love,—their wives, their parents, their children,—and returned,
some joyously with their living friends in their arms, others with livid
and ghastly looks bearing the corpses of those in whom all their earthly
happiness had centred. The earth still continued agitated, rocking and
heaving like the sea. Pococke caused his baggage to be transported to a
spot which was at a distance from all buildings, where in the course of
two hours he counted nearly twenty shocks, some of which were
exceedingly terrible. The whole scene was tremendous. A multitude of
human beings standing in darkness, fearful that the earth would open
beneath their feet and ingulf them; not daring to fly, lest they should
tumble into chasms already formed around them; incapable of aiding each
other; a prey to every terrible idea, to every horrible foreboding. But
at length the earth became still, and while the inhabitants were
preparing to bury their dead, our traveller obtained horses and fled
away from the city.
Crossing the ancient Sperchius, the stream to which Achilles had vowed
his golden hair, and proceeding along the shore of the Maliac Gulf, he
soon discovered in the distance the famous pass of Thermopylæ,—a spot
which men will tread with a holy pride and triumph so long as a sympathy
for heroic valour and patriotism shall remain upon earth. Such are the
places to which men should go in pilgrimage,—places sanctified by the
dust of the glorious and the great, whose names are rendered eternal by
Providence, that even in the basest and most degenerate times mankind
might never be reduced to a disbelief of virtue.
From Thermopylæ Pococke proceeded through the country of the Opuntian
Locrians to the Euripus, into which Aristotle is absurdly reported by
vulgar tradition to have thrown himself, from a despair of discovering
the cause of its manifold tides. The ancients relate that the tide here
ebbs and flows seven times in the day; but our traveller learned that
the motions of the Euripus are irregular, sometimes ebbing and flowing
as often as fourteen times in the day, and at others not more than
twice. He next directed his course to the shores of the Copaic Lake, the
eels of which Aristophanes seems to have so passionately longed for
during the Peloponnesian war, visited Thebes, and then crossed Mount
Pentelicus into Attica. The ruins of Athens were then far less imperfect
than they are at present, and he examined them with the eye of a learned
antiquary; but extensive as was his learning, he does not seem to have
possessed that sort of reading which would have enabled him thoroughly
to enjoy a tour through Greece. It is for those who have entered deeply
into the private history, literature, and philosophy of the Greeks that
Attica has real charms. He should be able to determine or imagine the
exact spot where Socrates sat under the plane-tree with Phædrus in order
to discuss the merits of Lysias’s style; he should be interested in
discovering where the house of Callias stood, to which the impatient
Hippocrates would have led Socrates before day, that he might lose no
time in being introduced to Protagoras; he should walk up and down the
banks of the Ilyssus, that he might be sure of having visited the spot
where Sophocles nestled all night among the reeds to enjoy the song of
the nightingale: this is the sort of traveller who should visit Greece.
Otherwise, with Strabo, Pausanias, and Vitruvius in hand, he may
determine the sites of cities and measure the height of columns to a
hair; our feelings go not along with him, and his researches become
tiresome in proportion as they are circumstantial and exact.
From Athens Pococke proceeded westward, crossed the ancient territories
of Megara, visited Corinth, and continuing his journey along the
southern shores of the Gulf of Lepanto, arrived at Patras, where he
embarked for Sicily. He then crossed over into Italy, and hurried on
through Germany, Switzerland, and France, to England, and arrived in
London on the 30th of August, 1741, exactly eight years from the day of
his first departure for the Continent.
Being now happily arrived in port, with a prodigious quantity of
materials, Pococke, anxious to enjoy the reputation to which he aspired,
immediately commenced the compilation of his travels, the first volume
of which appeared in 1743, under the title of “A Description of the
East,” &c. Two years afterward the second volume, divided into two
parts, was published; and shortly afterward he added to his travels a
large collection of Greek and Latin inscriptions, which are said by M.
St. Martin to be so exceedingly incorrect as to be almost
unintelligible. As Pococke can very well dispense with the credit
arising from “this kind of researches,” I have not thought it necessary
to examine whether the reproach of the Frenchman be well founded or not;
but I cannot help congratulating that writer upon the felicitous manner
in which he commences his account of our traveller, “the obscure and
insignificant particulars of whose life,” he tells us, “are scarcely
worth relating;” which is certainly a peculiarly ingenious application
of those rules of rhetoric that teach us how to vivify and adorn a
barren subject. The readers of the “Biographie Universelle” may perhaps
suspect, however, that M. St. Martin was deterred from seeking for the
“obscure and insignificant particulars” of Pococke’s life, by the vast
bulk of his volumes, through which they lie scattered at wide intervals;
but few who have perused those volumes, replete with interest and
information, will allow that their author deserved no more than one
little page in an unwieldy collection, where so many obscure scribblers,
whose very names are forgotten by the public, are commemorated at such
disproportionate length.
Pococke, whose reputation was quickly diffused throughout Europe, having
taken orders, was promoted, in 1756, to the archdeaconry of Ossory, in
Ireland; and in 1765 was made bishop of Elphin. This honour he was not
destined long to enjoy, however, for in the month of September, of the
same year, he died of apoplexy, in the 61st year of his age. Besides his
travels, he was the author of several memoirs in the Philosophical
Transactions, and in the Archæologia; and there still remain a number of
his smaller pieces in manuscript at the British Museum. No popular or
well-conceived edition of his works has hitherto been published, though
few travellers are deserving of more credit, or were more competent to
describe the countries through which they journeyed.
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