THE OCCUPATIONS OF THE PEOPLE.
It is early in spring. The snow that last week lay ancle deep in the
plains and valleys of Mount Lebanon, has rapidly dissolved under the
genial heat of the April sun. Storms that wildly raged along the
sea-girt coast, outriders of Æolus, as he swept by in his hurricane-car,
drawn by equinoctial gales; these have been lulled into repose, and the
turbulent billows of the deep have forgotten their rough playmate, and
are hushed into tranquility. The winter garb of the forest is fast being
set aside; the waters of the river flow pleasantly in the warm glow of
sunshine; feathered songsters are tuning up against the great spring
jubilee; the linnet and the bulbul now call to mind snatches of sweet
carols many months forgotten; nature awakes to the bright morning of the
year; with light heart the bee sucks from early opening flowers; with the
passing song, the peasant trudges forward to his daily labour; oxen are
yoked to the plough; the earth—softened with excessive moisture—yields
readily to the deep furrows made by the friendly implement; long hidden
seeds are turned up to the light of day, and brought forth from nature’s
storehouse to supply the wants of the hungry feathered multitude; grass
springs up almost perceptibly beneath our feet; the swallow has returned
from his distant journeyings, and brought with him a retinue of gaily
dressed butterflies. The sun grows warmer from day to day; the sky
remains clear and cloudless; the first week of April has fled on the
rapid wings of time, and we are fairly launched into all the delights of
an incomparable Syrian spring—hie we forth early on the morrow to breathe
the pure untainted air—to revel in the sweet odours wafted around us from
countless flowers—to watch the master-touch of that great and beneficent
Creator, who has left no work unfinished. Manifold indeed are His works,
and in wisdom has He made them all.
The morrow has come, we are up and abroad before the sun has cast his
first mantle of light over the pleasant waters of the deep blue sea. We
saunter into one of the many white mulberry plantations that surround us
on every side, and observe that the leafless boughs are only just putting
forth their tender spring buds: yet there is an unusual commotion amongst
the rearers of the silkworm—whole families, men, women, and children, are
variously employed; the earth round the roots of the mulberry trees is
being hoed up; some are planting young shoots, others busy in the kitchen
gardens; whilst, to the European eye, a few appear as though engaged in a
mysterious occupation. They seem as if their arms were an inconvenience
to them, or, as though they were all afflicted with boils or eruptions
under their arms, which preclude the possibility of using them without
intense pain and difficulty. The singular attitude of these people, as
they move about like so many brood-hens with anxiously expanded wings,
once attracted the attention of an English medical officer, who assured
me, with great alarm depicted in his countenance, that tumours under the
arm-pits are certain indications of the plague, and he immediately
recommended our instant departure from the neighbourhood; whilst
uncertain what course to pursue, one of the men thrust his hand into his
bosom, and extracted the immediate cause of my friend’s alarm; this
proved to be a small bag of silk-worm eggs, and as this remainder of his
stock has been late in hatching, the peasant resorted to artificial
means, and the heat of his body is usually productive of beneficial
effects. However, in some parts of Syria the eggs are deposited in
moderately warm rooms, which speedily bring forth the embryo worm.
Wonderful to say, these eggs, which have been suspended in linen bags
throughout the whole year; during the heat of summer, the mild autumn,
and the cold of winter—on which temperature has produced no effect—now
that the right season has arrived, issue forth from the diminutive eggs,
just as the mulberry first puts forth its delicate foliage, so well
adapted to the weak state of the _microscopic worm_. Insects now creep
round the bag that had confined them as eggs, and the peasant, who has
been anxiously watching them for the last week, welcomes their appearance
with infinite satisfaction, as sure harbingers of spring; and, as on the
produce of the silk season the fellah and his family depend, in a great
measure, for their maintenance, the different processes are watched by
them with great anxiety. Now let us attend from day to day, and watch
the progress of these tiny millions as they advance in growth, and
finally spin round themselves that marvellous small store-house of silk,
commonly designated as the cocoon.
The first steps taken by the peasants after the eggs are hatched, is to
place some of the minute worms in the centre of small circular baskets,
which have been carefully cemented over with cow-dung, and left in a
sunny spot till completely dry; this precaution is indispensable, because
the worms are so diminutive that, however closely wrought may be the
workmanship of the basket, they would inevitably fall through, and be
destroyed or lost. The reason also for having the cow-dung is, that the
cow is held in great esteem amongst most Oriental silk-worm breeders; and
a superstitious idea prevails, that this animal has a sacred charm, and
they therefore imagine that by covering the baskets with cow-dung, it
will have some power over the worms. In this primitive condition, a
handful of the tender leaves of the mulberry is plucked, and cut up
similarly to tobacco, and then sprinkled over the young brood. This
process is repeated twice daily, and suffices for the food of numerous
caterpillars during the first days of their existence. Their growth is
very rapid, and their appetite ravenous; and though tended each day with
the utmost solicitude, it is by no means certain that one-half of the
immense numbers contained in these baskets will arrive at perfection.
Hundreds are trodden to death by their companions; scores of brave young
worms perish beneath the weight of some slender mulberry twig, the size
of which, though small indeed, is, in comparison to them, like a huge
tree; besides these calamities, the worms are entirely at the mercy of
the weather. In some parts of Syria, nature takes a freak into her head,
and in the midst of sunshine and warmth, down comes a tremendous
hail-stone shower or snow storm—then farewell to the worms and the poor
peasant’s prospects; his only chance is, to send immediately to the
mountain plantations, whose colder climate has retarded the hatching of
the egg, and here, at great expense, purchase a second supply of
“silk-worm seed” (as it is technically called by us), and then the crop
is entirely artificial, for the leaves have attained too coarse a
texture, and the peasant is compelled to chop them up into minute
particles, before he durst administer them to the feeble and delicate
insects. There are two other enemies from which the insect has to be
guarded: during its first week’s growth, it is extremely liable to be
beset by red ants; and during the spinning, or last week of its existence
as a worm, the swallow and the sparrow think it a delicacy wherewith to
feed their newly-hatched progeny; and great havoc is sometimes committed
by these swift-winged depredators. Yet, notwithstanding all these
drawbacks, so careful are the peasants, that every precaution has been
taken long before the season arrives, to guard against any and all of
these foes; and it may be accurately observed, that bad crops and unlucky
seasons are the exceptions to a general rule. One year with another, he
generally obtains, within a few drachmas, the quantity of silk he has
reckoned upon, and he is usually pretty sure as to the amount of money he
hopes to gain, as this has most commonly been agreed upon many months
past, and the peasant has already received some portion of the fixed
valuation in advance.
The first week of our watching has expired; the worms have increased.
These little creatures, which occupied but a very small spot in the
centre of the baskets, have now become so bulky, that they can no longer
find space sufficient to crawl about without destruction to each other;
consequently they have now to be removed to the _hoosse_, or cottages,
erected purposely for their rearing, and they are no sooner placed here
than the laborious part of the peasant’s business commences. Heretofore
his wife and children have chiefly occupied themselves in supplying the
frugal wants of the colony of young insects, and they had nothing else to
do but to strip the smaller branches and twigs of the tender leaves; now,
however, the worms, which are growing and thriving, require five times as
much attention and food as before, consequently, the good man of the
house and his son (if he has one), take the responsibility upon their
shoulders the moment the worms become inmates of the _hoosse_, where they
are generally installed with much ceremony; the priest repeats a
benediction, and sprinkles holy water where the worms are to be placed.
We will follow the silk cultivator and his family, as they carry the
small baskets containing the worms into the _hoosse_, which is a large
hut with a peat roof; the walls are composed of reeds, platted liked
mats, with small partitions on every side. The building, which has been
newly done up, is daily inspected, to prevent birds from taking up their
abode amongst the straw and rushes of which it is composed; the interior
of the _hoosse_ is fitted up with shelves, formed with canes, on which
are laid closely-worked long and narrow mats, woven of reeds. These
extend round three sides of the nurseries, and are placed one above
another, with an intervening space between each shelf of about twenty
inches. On these mats a thick layer of mulberry leaves is laid among the
insects; the baskets containing the worms are moved carefully on the
mats, instinct leading them to the freshest leaves; meanwhile, the
peasant and his family are busily repeating prayers for a blessing on
their undertakings, at the same time mixing the grossest and most absurd
superstitions with their simple prayers. Pieces of red cloth rags, or
other dazzling colours, together with a shell of a hen’s egg, ornamented
with a red silk tassel and blue beads, are attached to the poles that
support the hoosse, and every other imaginable part of the building where
they are likely to meet the eye and attract attention. This is to divert
the stranger from allowing his thoughts to be wholly occupied with the
worms, or from gazing on them uninterruptedly: such an offence would be
sure to be productive of the “_evil eye_.” Indeed so great is the
superstition of these poor ignorant peasants, and their dread of the
baneful influence of this imaginary being, that they seldom have a child,
cattle, or possess cocks and hens, or even trees upon which they place
any value, without affixing to them a bunch of coloured rags, with a blue
ring made of common glass, for say they, “those that have such things
will be influenced by the venom of envy; and the venom of envy shooting
out of the eyes will blight the object of our desire, as lightning blasts
the tree.” So much for this absurd and ridiculous notion. Another
formula gone through, is the tying small skeins of last year’s silk in
various positions over the silkworms; this is to excite them to industry,
and to shame such as are slothful, by shewing them the remnants of the
riches and skill of their ancestors.
We have seen the silkworms duly installed in the hoosse, and retire to
the music of their active mastication of the leaves, to return again on
the morrow and see how things thrive.
To the surprise of my European friend, on entering the hoosse on the
morrow, he found all solemn silence; on examining the shelves, he thought
that the worms were all dead and gone. While he was regretting the heavy
loss which would fall upon the cultivators, I smiled at his ignorance,
and assured him that the worms were never more healthy than at the
present moment, (the peasant adding in a whisper), “_they are all good_
_Christians of the Greek faith_, _and are keeping a three days’ rigid
fast_.” And this is firmly believed by him and his family, and is the
prevalent notion in Syria. At such periods as the present, when the
worms are in a state of torpor, owing to their rapid growth, they are
compelled at certain intervals to disembarrass themselves of the tight
old skin, which being too small gradually bursts, and a fresh skin is
formed, suitable to the increased size of the insect. At such periods
the natives, from the highest to the lowest, priests and laymen,
acknowledge the worms to be keeping a _Soame_, the Arabic term for fasts.
The third morning after our last visit we call again, and find the newly
clad worms rapidly awaking to the sense of a keen appetite, glistening
and shining like bridesmaids in their beautiful new white satin costumes.
This process of shedding the skin, is evidently attended with danger to
the silk-worm, if we may be permitted to judge from the number that have
died under the process, whilst others, though surviving, have been so
disfigured as to be rendered entirely useless. The peasant and his
family are occupied collecting the dead and the maimed before feeding the
hungry survivors; this finished, he arms himself with a sharp sickle;
henceforth the leaves are no more gathered by the hands—trees are marked
out in regular rotation—the smaller branches are cut off, which are then
carried by the woman and children to a clean swept place in front of the
hoosse; the leaves and even smaller twigs, are speedily separated from
the branches, and sprinkled plentifully over the worms; the branches are
collected up on one side, and left to dry for future use as fuel; thus,
whilst the foliage of the mulberry nourishes and maintains life in the
silk-worm, the branches are used to light the fire which suffocates the
poor creatures when they have formed the cocoon, and assumed the
chrysalis state. After this first _soame_, or fast, the worms grow very
rapidly; in about a fortnight afterwards, they undergo the second
fast—they are now, however, much stronger, and better able to resist the
casting of their skins; so much so, that scarcely one dies under the
operation. On recovering from this second _soame_, they eat
prodigiously, and grow very rapidly. The peasant is compelled to cut the
branches off the mulberry three times a day in lieu of once, as
heretofore, and the worms feast without intermission, morning, noon and
night; at length in about eight weeks from the time they were hatched,
their existence as worms is rapidly drawing to a close. What was at
first barely the size of a grain of fine gunpowder, is now become three
and four inches long, sleek and fat, and for all the world looking like a
young roasting lamb of Lilliputian breed, ready trussed up for cooking.
All the mulberry trees in the plantation, with the exception of some six
or a dozen, present the lamentable spectacle of so many boughless stems;
whilst nature around is profuse in luxuriance, and the wild convolvolus,
as though compassionating the sad condition of the mulberry, twists its
friendly leaves around, and decks it with gaudy blossoms of the early May
morning. The peasant has been busy cutting down boughs of trees, etc.,
the bark of which he makes into string and ropes; these have been exposed
to the sun, till all the leaves have withered and fallen to the ground.
The worm which, by a wonderful instinct, has heretofore never strayed
seven inches from where it was originally placed, now begins to evince
symptoms of impatience, and roves about the edges of the shelves, or
tries to mount up the smooth and slippery canes that support the shelves.
The peasant, marking these indications, immediately places the dry twigs
of thorn and bushes over the worms, and in a short time the whole colony
rapidly mounts amongst these twigs, each choosing out for itself some
favourable position, where it may with greater facility weave its costly
and wonderful web. And now we stand quietly, and watch the indefatigable
little creature silently persevering in completing its own little
storehouse, and what will prove to be its own little tomb. No machinery
could be more exact than the movements of this small insect, as it
carefully draws out of its mouth thread after thread, now moving with its
head to the right, and carrying the almost invisible web down to its
tail, then turning its head in the opposite direction, apparently for the
purpose of drawing the silk from where it had been fastened on one side,
till it has carefully drawn it over its own head, and secured it with
gummy saliva. We quit the worms at mid-day, when hardly a thread of this
wonderful substance is as yet visible; we return early the next day, and
the cocoon is formed, but it is yet too tender to be touched. The
peasant merely contents himself with observing the shape and color of
these cocoons—setting much store on such as are of a yellow brown tinge,
small, with a belt in the centre. Some of the cocoons are as white as
snow, some yellow, some brown. The peasant now reports the condition of
the silk-worms to his masters who immediately places his seal on the door
of the hoosse.
When they are considered fit to reel off the silk, he has the old oven to
put in repair, to inspect the basin on the top of this altar-shaped
furnace, to erect the old wheel, which has lain on the dust-heap ever
since last year—drive a nail in here—put a new spoke in there; and when
all is completed, and ready for immediate use, the peasant’s wife goes
early on the morning of the auspicious day, and carries in her hand a
morsel of damp clay; this she flings against the door-post of the
master’s house, if it adheres, then luck will attend the season, if, on
the contrary, it drops off, the silk will be unsaleable. This is not the
last superstitious ceremony observed; early that morning, about an hour
after sunrise, the master of the plantation, followed by the peasants,
and all his family, march in regular procession to the hoosse, the great
man carrying under his arm a bundle of handkerchiefs, or other trifles,
as presents for his followers; these are duly distributed on reaching the
sheds; every one says a blessing on that day’s undertaking, the door is
unsealed, the people rush in, and rapidly empty the hoosse of the twigs
and branches on which the cocoons have settled; these are piled up
outside of the door, the women and children spread mats on the ground;
here seated, they pick the cocoons from the twigs, and the peasants, as
the mats get overloaded, gather them into a goodly-sized basket: by
nightfall this operation has been concluded; they then separate from the
mass some two or three hundred of the very best cocoons, which are set
aside to breed from. Next day, the first streak of dawn has barely lit
up the east, before the busy peasants are up and doing. “The cocoon
cleaners” are occupied picking them; that is, detaching from the hard
shell the soft downy substance, which afterwards constitutes what is
termed the rough silk. The peasant, meanwhile, has lit the furnace; the
water in the boiler is wrought to a proper temperature for reeling the
silk. An old man busies himself in bringing bundles of faggots from the
large pile of mulberry branches, with which to keep the fire alive.
Baskets of picked cocoons are placed beside the peasant who, seated on a
stool, chooses from these a dozen or fourteen at a time, while a man or a
boy turns the large wheel with his foot; this wheel is about fifteen feet
in diameter; the cocoons are thrown into the warm water, and well whipped
with switches, till the whole surface becomes frothy, and the threads of
the cocoons begin to detach themselves. Seizing these, the peasant
skilfully draws them up, gradually using more strength, till he has
sufficient length of thread to fasten to a peg in the wheel. The party
at the wheel commences turning with all his force: the wheel goes round
rapidly; the peasant is ever on the watch, knotting broken threads,
supplying the place of empty shells by fresh cocoons, or screaming to his
attendant for more fire or more water. So passes the day. Evening
arrives, and there is a large heap of empty cocoons, in which, however,
the dead worms still remain; and on the wheel, which was bare in the
morning, there is a fine thick golden-looking skein of silk, weighing
some four or five pounds. This primitive style of reeling is of course
detrimental to the quality of the silk, and is a frightfully slow method
compared to European factories, which I have visited. When the peasant
discovers that he has more cocoons than he can possibly reel off within a
given time, he stifles them by exposing them to great heat, a process by
which the quantity of silk they yield is greatly diminished; but as the
cocoon fly, _i.e._, the moth, comes out within three weeks, this stifling
is indispensable, as the cocoon (except for rough silk) is wholly unfit
for use when once it has been perforated by the moth.
About two weeks have passed since first the cocoon commenced to be
reeled; the silk is now ready for the market, and is hanging out in
golden festoons to dry thoroughly before it is packed. The old baskets
are once again brought into play, but they are this time all alive with
fluttering white velvet-like moths; they never fly. Their enjoyment of
life is very brief indeed; the male moth dies within twenty hours of its
birth; the female is then placed on fine linen rags, where, in the course
of the day it will deposit from 100 to 500 eggs, which are left in the
air for a short time, and then put into linen bags and hung from the beam
in the centre of the house, or sent to the mountain to await another
year. The silk season ends just as the heat of June sets in.
Having watched the whole process of the fellah throughout the silk
season, we will continue to follow him to the close of the year. The
silk being weighed and given to the women to make into hanks, and
provision made for the future brood of worms, I will call my reader’s
attention to the wheat harvest. The labours of the peasantry will now be
of a severer nature than hitherto; he has to toil under the scorching
rays of the sun, whose beams, at least in some parts of Syria and
Palestine, are far more powerful than those ever endured by English
reapers; consequently the fellah is compelled to desist from his
occupation from mid-day till about two o’clock in the afternoon. During
this portion of the day, scarcely a breath of air stirs, not a leaf is
ruffled; even the many-coloured and beautiful butterflies lazily flutter
from flower to flower seeking shade beneath the petals of the Damascene
rose; all is perfectly still, and the peasants take their wonted siesta.
However great may be the inconvenience of the intense heat, yet it is
wholly balanced by the benefits which accrue from the excellent climate
with which this country is blest. The farmer in Syria has little cause
of apprehension from sudden storms or showers, so that the harvest is
gathered in, receiving no injury from those changes of weather, to which
it is subject in less genial latitudes. The corn being reaped by the
fellahs, the damsels, even as in the time of Ruth, follow, gathering the
ears and binding them in sheaves; after leaving them for a short time to
dry, they are carried to a part of the field called _baiedar_, which has
been levelled and swept clear to receive them. A rude machine,
constructed of oaken planks with stones fixed in holes drilled on the
under side, is placed on the now scattered sheaves; on this a youth sits
or stands to drive the oxen round and round, which have been harnessed to
it. This process separates the grain from the husk; it has next to be
winnowed, and for this purpose is collected in heaps; the corn, by means
of a wooden shovel, is thrown up in the air, when the delightful and cool
breezes of evening waft the chaff to the winds. The reaping, threshing,
and winnowing, being now completed, the wheat intended for domestic
consumption, is stored in wells, constructed expressly for this purpose,
whilst that which is for agricultural uses, is placed in enormous jars,
of from five to fifteen feet in height, and of proportionate diameter.
The peasant now receives from his master the portion due to him from the
harvest; he then commences making one half of what he obtains into
_borghol_. The weather is most favourable for this process, as it
requires fine sunny days, and during the night the wheat is covered with
sheets to protect it from the dew, which is very heavy in the East. The
grain is first washed and boiled, when it is exposed for several days to
dry on mats, before carrying it to the mill, where it is ground and thus
converted into _borghol_. Of this there are two kinds, viz., coarse and
fine; this latter serves simply as a substitute for rice, and is called
_ruzz-mufalfal_, whilst the other is used in _kubbas_, that favourite
dish to which I have before alluded. The harvest is now over, and the
vineyards in the surrounding mountains present a rich and beautiful
sight; the bright and luscious clusters of black and white grapes lie in
profusion along the ground, for in Syria the vines are suffered to trail
on the earth; and I am persuaded that were they trained as in the Rhenish
vineyards, they would yield a more abundant crop.
At this season of the year, the scene which is now presented is both
picturesque, lovely, and interesting. Beneath a sky pure and bright,
amidst the luxuriant and straggling vines, the damsels of Lebanon are
busily occupied collecting the grapes. With what ease and elegance they
move! Their graceful forms are shewn to full advantage in their loose
and flowing vesture the brilliant and well-selected shades of which
contrast beautifully with surrounding nature. Some are bringing baskets
to be filled, whilst others are cutting the grapes and placing them in
these panniers. The sun now begins to shed a deep red on the face of the
western horizon, this is the signal to return home; each one takes her
basket, puts it on her head, or loads her donkey, and the gay cavalcade
moves homewards, singing some plaintive ditty; and thus ends a day which
I know many of my fair Western readers would be not a little interested
to witness. On the following day, those which are not required by the
villagers for their own wines, arakey, or raisins, are carried to the
market where they are sold. Even in the vineyards there remain enough to
satisfy the weary traveller as he passes by, and to supply the feathered
tribes, and the bees, that therefrom gather an abundant store of rich
honey, either for hives, or, flying to far distant woods and meadows,
make for themselves a secret nest amidst the fragrant herbs; however,
these hidden stores are soon tracked out and added to the simple repasts
of our peasantry. Scarcely is the vintage over, when the olive
plantations require attention. This is one of the most celebrated as
well as useful of all trees. The fruit is beaten from the tree in the
same way as walnuts in England are threshed in a green or unripe state,
it is steeped in an alkaline ley, and then pickled in salt and water, and
that it is much esteemed when thus preserved is well known. To procure
the oil, the nearly ripe fruit is bruised by moderate pressure in a mill,
when the oil flows out. This valuable article is used in almost every
Syrian culinary preparation, and it is also applied for many medicinal
purposes. Thus with the olive, meet emblem of peace, end the bright
beams of this year’s sun. Winter comes on with rapid strides: the boughs
so lately loaded with leaves, flowers, and lastly, with fruits, are daily
losing their beautiful foliage; and chilling autumnal breezes coldly
whisper through the leafless branches, and Lebanon grows dark till the
pale snow covers its top, and reflects the last dying rays of the sun.
The peasantry now gather their supplies of fuel, which the relentless
winds tear from the trees, scattering the earth with fragments of boughs,
which, however, prove most acceptable to those who are in search of wood.
And now the fellah and his cheerful family being furnished with fruits of
all kinds, wine, honey, poultry and firing, and the numerous other et
ceteras necessary to a Syrian household, fear nought for winds or storms;
nor are his cattle forgotten, his cow and treasured mare are both
furnished with provender, much of which has been made from the refuse
left by the silkworm of the mulberry leaves, the centre part of which
they could not devour; these having been collected were made into stacks
ready for winter. During the autumn, the cattle derive much nourishment
from the second crop which sprouts from the despoiled mulberry trees.
The fellah’s wants being thus well supplied, he fails not to acknowledge
the blessing which he possesses, and exclaims, “_El-Hham’dvo li-llah_!”
God be praised!
The resources of Syria are inexhaustible if only properly developed. The
trade in wine may rival that of Spain, Portugal, or France; the grapes
are beautiful, and if they were only properly selected, and proper means
taken to secure a good wine in this country, neither in Europe nor Asia
is there greater facility for establishing an extensive and lucrative
trade in this one department than in Syria and Palestine? The fruits are
delicious; and those grown in the open air and without any trouble, rival
in flavour, quality, and quantity, those of any other country, where the
greatest pains are taken and great expense incurred to accomplish this.
Then, again, the articles of tobacco, wheat, wool, etc., and innumerable
other articles; madder root, the beautiful dyes of Syria (the Tyrian dye
is not known now); one and all may, if properly cultivated and brought
into the English market, rival its imports from all other parts of the
world. The immense plains could, with very little outlay or labour, give
us wheat and wool, indeed supply all the world; and Syria will, I hope,
yet, at no remote period, become the granary of the west.
The white wool of Scripture was up to a late period partially grown in
the country around the Euphrates; and, as is suggested by Dr. Thompson in
the articles already adverted to in the Colonial and Asiatic Magazine,
when an improved breed of sheep from English colonies, Spain, etc., shall
be introduced into Syria, we may expect to supply with its resources the
markets now chiefly furnished with wool from America, Australia, Germany,
etc.