by running aground with a thump, which injured one paddle wheel and
obliged us to lie up part of the night for repairs near the ruins of
the ancient palace of Ctesiphon. Seleucia, on the right bank of the
river, is little more now than a historic name, but the palace of
Tak-i-Kasr, with its superb archway 100 feet in height, has been even
in recent times magnificent enough in its ruin to recall the glories
of the Parthian kings, and the days when, according to Gibbon,
"Khosroes Nushirwan gave audience to the ambassadors of the world"
within its stately walls. Its gaunt and shattered remains have even
still a mournful grandeur about them, but they have suffered so
severely from the barbarous removal of the stones and the fall of much
of the front as to be altogether disappointing.
Soon after leaving Ctesiphon there is increased cultivation, and
within a few miles of Baghdad the banks of the river, which is its
great high road, become populous. "Palatial residences," in which the
women's apartments are indicated by the blankness of their walls, are
mixed up with mud hovels and goat's-hair tents; there are large
farmhouses with enclosures for cattle and horses; date gardens and
orange groves fringe the stream, and arrangements for drawing water
are let into its banks at frequent intervals. Strings of asses laden
with country produce, companies of horsemen and innumerable foot
passengers, all moved citywards.
The frosty sun rose out of an orange sky as a disc of blood and flame,
but the morning became misty and overcast, so that the City of the
Arabian Nights did not burst upon the view in any halo of splendour. A
few tiled minarets, the blue domes of certain mosques, handsome
houses,--some of them European Consulates, half hidden by orange
groves laden with their golden fruitage,--a picturesque bridge of
boats, a dense growth of palms on the right bank, beyond which gleam
the golden domes of Kazimain and the top of Zobeide's tomb, the
superannuated British gun-boat _Comet_, two steamers, a crowd of
native craft, including _kufas_ or _gophers_, a prominent
Custom-house, and decayed alleys opening on the water, make up the
Baghdad of the present as seen from the _Mejidieh's_ deck.
As soon as we anchored swarms of _kufas_ clustered round us, and
swarms of officials and _hamals_ (porters) invaded the deck. Some of
the passengers had landed two hours before, others had proceeded to
their destinations at once, and as my friends had not come off I was
alone for some time in the middle of a tremendous Babel, in which
every man shouted at the top of his voice and all together, Hadji
assuming a deportment of childish helplessness. Certain officials
under cover of bribes lavished on my behalf by a man who spoke
English professed to let my baggage pass unopened, then a higher
official with a sword knocked Hadji down, then a man said that
everything would be all right if I would bestow another gold _lira_,
about L1, on the officers, and I was truly glad when kind Captain
Dougherty with Dr. Sutton came alongside in the _Comet's_ boat, and
brought me ashore. The baggage was put into another of her boats, but
as soon as we were out of sight it was removed, and was taken to the
Custom-house, where they insisted that some small tent poles in a
cover were guns, and smashed a box of dates in the idea that it was
tobacco!
The Church Mission House, in which I am receiving hospitality, is a
"native" house, though built and decorated by Persians, as also are
several of the Consulates. It is in a narrow roadway with blank walls,
a part of the European quarter; a door of much strength admits into a
small courtyard, round which are some of the servants' quarters and
reception rooms for Moslem visitors, and within this again is a
spacious and handsome courtyard, round which are kitchens, domestic
offices, and the _serdabs_, which play an important part in Eastern
life.
These _serdabs_ are semi-subterranean rooms, usually with arched
fronts, filled in above-ground with latticework. They are lofty, and
their vaulted roofs are supported in rich men's houses on pillars. The
well of the household is often found within. The general effect of
this one is that of a crypt, and it was most appropriate for the
Divine Service in English which greeted my arrival. The cold of it
was, however, frightful. It was only when the Holy Communion was over
that I found that I was wearing Hadji's revolver and cartridge belt
under my cloak, which he had begged me to put on to save them from
confiscation! In these vaulted chambers both Europeans and natives
spend the hot season, sleeping at night on the roofs.
Above this lower floor are the winter apartments, which open upon a
fine stone balcony running round three sides of the court. On the
river side of the house there is an orange garden, which just now
might be the garden of the Hesperides, and a terrace, below which is
the noble, swirling Tigris, and beyond, a dark belt of palms. These
rooms on the river front have large projecting windows, six in a row,
with screens which slide up and down, and those which look to the
courtyard are secluded by very beautiful fretwork. The drawing-room,
used as a dormitory, is a superb room, in which exquisitely beautiful
ceiling and wall decorations in shades of fawn enriched with gold, and
fretwork windows, suggest Oriental feeling at every turn. The
plaster-work of this room is said to be distinctively Persian and is
very charming. The house, though large, is inconveniently crowded,
with the medical and clerical mission families, two lady missionaries,
and two guests. Each apartment has two rows of vaulted recesses in its
walls, and very fine cornices above. It is impossible to warm the
rooms, but the winter is very short and brilliant, and after ulsters,
greatcoats, and fur cloaks have been worn for breakfast, the sun
mitigates the temperature.
I. L. B.
LETTER II
BAGHDAD, _Jan. 9_.
Baghdad is too well known from the careful descriptions given of it by
Eastern travellers to justify me in lingering upon it in detail, and I
will only record a few impressions, which are decidedly _couleur de
rose_, for the weather is splendid, making locomotion a pleasure, and
the rough, irregular roadways which at other seasons are deep in foul
and choking dust, or in mud and pestilential slime, are now firm and
not remarkably dirty.
A little earlier than this the richer inhabitants, who have _warstled_
through the summer in their dim and latticed _serdabs_, emerge and
pitch their tents in the plains of Ctesiphon, where the men find a
stimulating amusement in hunting the boar, but it is now the "season"
in the city, the liveliest and busiest time of the year. The cholera,
which is believed to have claimed 6000 victims, has departed, and the
wailing of the women, which scarcely ceased day or night for a month,
is silent. The Jewish troubles, which apparently rose out of the
indignation of the Moslems at the burial within the gates, contrary to
a strict edict on the subject, of a Rabbi who died of cholera, have
subsided, and the motley populations and their yet more motley creeds
are for the time at peace.
In the daytime there is a roar or hum of business, mingled with
braying of asses, squeals of belligerent horses, yells of
camel-drivers and muleteers, beating of drums, shouts of beggars,
hoarse-toned ejaculations of fakirs, ear-splitting snatches of
discordant music, and in short a chorus of sounds unfamiliar to
Western ears, but the nights are so still that the swirl of the Tigris
as it hurries past is distinctly heard. Only the long melancholy call
to prayer, or the wail of women over the dead, or the barking of dogs,
breaks the silence which at sunset falls as a pall over Baghdad.
Under the blue sunny sky the river view is very fine. The river itself
is imposing from its breadth and volume, and in the gorgeous sunsets,
with a sky of crimson flame, and the fronds of the dark date palms
mirrored in its reddened waters, it looks really beautiful. The city
is stately enough as far as the general _coup-d'oeil_ of the river
front goes, and its river _facade_ agreeably surprises me. The Tigris,
besides being what may be called the main street, divides Baghdad into
two unequal parts, and though the city on the left bank has almost a
monopoly of picturesque and somewhat stately irregularity in the
houses of fair height, whose lattices and oriel windows overhang the
stream from an environment of orange gardens, the dark date groves
dignify the meaner buildings of the right bank. The rush of a great
river is in itself attractive, and from the roof of this house the
view is fascinating, with the ceaseless movements of hundreds of boats
and _kufas_, the constant traffic of men, horses, asses, and caravans
across the great bridge of boats, and the long lines of buildings
which with more or less picturesqueness line the great waterway.
Without the wearisomeness of sight-seeing there is much to be seen in
Baghdad, and though much that would be novel to a new-comer from the
West is familiar to me after two years of Eastern travel, there is a
great deal that is really interesting. The _kufas_ accumulating at
their landing, freighted with the products of the Upper Tigris, the
transpontine city, in which country produce takes the foremost place;
the tramway to Kazimain constructed during the brief valiship of
Midhat Pasha, on which the last journey of the day is always performed
at a gallop, _coute que coute_; the caravans of asses, each one with a
huge fish, the "Fish of Tobias," hanging across its back; the strings
of the same humble animal, carrying skins of water from the river
throughout the city; the tombs, the mosques, the churches, the great
caravans of mules and camels, almost monopolising the narrow roadways,
Arabs and Osmanlis on showy horses, Persians, Turks, Arabs, Jews,
Armenians, Chaldaeans, in all the variety of their picturesque national
costumes, to which the niggardly clothing of a chance European acts as
an ungraceful foil; Persian dead, usually swaddled, making their last
journey on mule or horseback to the holy ground at Kerbela, and the
occasional march of horse or foot through the thronged bazars, are
among the hourly sights of a city on which European influence is
scarcely if at all perceptible.
Turkish statistics must be received with caution, and the population
of Baghdad may not reach 120,000 souls, but it has obviously recovered
wonderfully from the effects of war, plague, inundation, and famine,
and looks busy and fairly prosperous, so much so indeed that the
account given of its misery and decay in Mr. Baillie Fraser's charming
_Travels in Kurdistan_ reads like a story of the last century. If
nothing remains of the glories of the city of the Caliphs, it is
certainly for Turkey a busy, growing, and passably wealthy
nineteenth-century capital. It is said to have a hundred mosques,
twenty-six minarets, and fifteen domes, but I have not counted them!
Its bazars, which many people regard as the finest in the East outside
of Stamboul, are of enormous extent and very great variety. Many are
of brick, with well-built domed roofs, and sides arcaded both above
and below, and are wide and airy. Some are of wood, all are covered,
and admit light scantily, only from the roof. Those which supply the
poorer classes are apt to be ruinous and squalid--"_ramshackle_," to
say the truth, with an air of decay about them, and their roofs are
merely rough timber, roughly thatched with reeds or date tree fronds.
Of splendour there is none anywhere, and of cleanliness there are few
traces. The old, narrow, and filthy bazars in which the gold and
silversmiths ply their trade are of all the most interesting. The
trades have their separate localities, and the buyer who is in search
of cotton goods, silk stuffs, carpets, cotton yarn, gold and silver
thread, ready-made clothing, weapons, saddlery, rope, fruit, meat,
grain, fish, jewellery, muslins, copper pots, etc., has a whole alley
of contiguous shops devoted to the sale of the same article to choose
from.
At any hour of daylight at this season progress through the bazars is
slow. They are crowded, and almost entirely with men. It is only the
poorer women who market for themselves, and in twos and threes, at
certain hours of the day. In a whole afternoon, among thousands of
men, I saw only five women, tall, shapeless, badly-made-up bundles,
carried mysteriously along, rather by high, loose, canary-yellow
leather boots than by feet. The face is covered with a thick black
gauze mask, or cloth, and the head and remainder of the form with a
dark blue or black sheet, which is clutched by the hand below the
nose. The walk is one of tottering decrepitude. All the business
transacted in the bazars is a matter of bargaining, and as Arabs shout
at the top of their voices, and buyers and sellers are equally keen,
the roar is tremendous.
Great _cafes_, as in Cairo, occur frequently. In the larger ones from
a hundred to two hundred men are seen lounging at one time on the
broad matted seats, shouting, chaffering, drinking coffee or _sharbat_
and smoking _chibouks_ or _kalians_. Negro attendants supply their
wants. These _cafes_ are the clubs of Baghdad. Whatever of public
opinion exists in a country where the recognised use of words is to
"conceal thought," is formed in them. They are centres of business
likewise, and much of the noise is due to bargaining, and they are
also manufactories of rumours, scandals, and fanaticism. The great
caravanserais, such as the magnificent Khan Othman, are also resorts
of merchants for the display and sale of their goods.
Europeans never make purchases in the bazars. They either have the
goods from which they wish to make a choice brought to their houses,
or their servants bargain for them, getting a commission both from
buyer and seller.
The splendour of the East, if it exists at all, is not to be seen in
the bazars. The jewelled daggers, the cloth of silver and gold, the
diaphanous silk tissues, the brocaded silks, the rich embroideries,
the damascened sword blades, the finer carpets, the inlaid armour, the
cunning work in brass and inlaid bronze, and all the articles of
_vertu_ and _bric-a-brac_ of real or spurious value, are carefully
concealed by their owners, and are carried for display, with much
secrecy and mystery, to the houses of their ordinary customers, and to
such European strangers as are reported to be willing to be
victimised.
Trade in Baghdad is regarded by Europeans and large capitalists as
growing annually more depressed and unsatisfactory, but this is not
the view of the small traders, chiefly Jews and Christians, who start
with a capital of L5 or upwards, and by buying some cheap lot in
Bombay,--gay handkerchiefs, perfumery, shoes, socks, buttons, tin
boxes with mirror lids, scissors, pocket-knives, toys, and the
like,--bid fair to make small fortunes. The amount of perfumery and
rubbish piled in these ramshackle shops is wonderful. The trader who
picks up a desert Arab for a customer and sells him a knife, or a
mirror box, or a packet of candles is likely to attract to himself a
large trade, for when once the unmastered pastoral hordes of Al
Jaz[=i]ra, Trak, and Stram[=i]ya see such objects, the desire of
possession is aroused, and the refuse of Manchester and Birmingham
will find its way into every tent in the desert.
The best bazars are the least crowded, though once in them it is
difficult to move, and the strings of asses laden with skins of water
are a great nuisance. The foot-passenger is also liable at any moment
to be ridden down by horsemen, or squeezed into a jelly by the passage
of caravans.
It is in the meat, vegetable, cotton, oil, grain, fruit, and fish
bazars that the throngs are busiest and noisiest, and though
cucumbers, the great joy of the Turkish palate, are over, vegetables
"of sorts" are abundant, and the slant, broken sunbeams fall on
pyramids of fruit, and glorify the warm colouring of melons, apples,
and pomegranates.
A melon of 10 lbs. weight can be got for a penny, a sheep for five or
six shillings, and fish for something like a farthing per pound, that
is the "Fish of Tobias," the monster of the Tigris waters, which is
largely eaten by the poor. Poultry and game are also very cheap, and
the absolute necessaries of life, such as broken wheat for porridge,
oil, flour, and cheese, cost little.
Cook-shops abound, but their viands are not tempting, and the bazars
are pervaded by a pungent odour of hot sesamum oil and rancid fat,
frying being a usual mode of cooking in these restaurants. An
impassive Turk, silently smoking, sits cross-legged on a platform at
each Turkish shop door. He shows his goods as if he had no interest in
them, and whether he sells or not seems a matter of indifference, so
that he can return to his pipe. It is not to him that the overpowering
din is owing, but to the agitated eagerness of the other
nationalities.
The charm of the bazars lies in the variety of race and costume and in
the splendid _physique_ of the greater number of the men. The European
looks "nowhere." The natural look of a Moslem is one of _hauteur_, but
no words can describe the scorn and lofty Pharisaism which sit on the
faces of the Seyyids, the descendants of Mohammed, whose hands and
even garments are kissed reverently as they pass through the crowd; or
the wrathful melancholy mixed with pride which gives a fierceness to
the dignified bearing of the magnificent beings who glide through the
streets, their white turbans or shawl head-gear, their gracefully
flowing robes, their richly embroidered under-vests, their Kashmir
girdles, their inlaid pistols, their silver-hilted dirks, and the
predominance of red throughout their clothing aiding the general
effect. Yet most of these grand creatures, with their lofty looks and
regal stride, would be accessible to a bribe, and would not despise
even a perquisite. These are the _mollahs_, the scribes, the traders,
and the merchants of the city.
The Bedouin and the city Arabs dress differently, and are among the
marked features of the streets. The under-dress is a very coarse shirt
of unbleached homespun cotton, rarely clean, over which the Sheikhs
and richer men wear a robe of striped silk or cotton with a Kashmir
girdle of a shawl pattern in red on a white ground. The poor wear
shirts of coarse hair or cotton, without a robe. The invariable
feature of Arab dress is the _abba_--a long cloak, sleeveless, but
with holes through which to pass the arms, and capable of many
adaptations. It conceals all superabundance and deficiency of attire,
and while it has the dignity of the _toga_ by day it has the utility
of a blanket by night. The better-class _abba_ is very hard, being
made of closely-woven worsted, in broad brown and white or black and
white perpendicular stripes. The poorest _abba_ is of coarse brown
worsted, and even of goat's-hair. I saw many men who were destitute of
any clothing but tattered _abbas_ tied round their waists by frayed
hair ropes. The _abba_ is the distinctive national costume of the
Arabs. The head-gear is not the turban but a shawl of very thick silk
woven in irregular stripes of yellow and red, with long cords and
tassels depending, made of the twisted woof. This handsome square is
doubled triangularly, the double end hangs down the back, and the
others over the shoulders. A loosely-twisted rope of camel's-hair is
wound several times round the crown of the head. When the weather is
cold, being like all Orientals very sensitive in their heads, they
bring one side of the shawl over the whole of the face but the eyes,
and tuck it in, in great cold only exposing one eye, and in great heat
also. Most Moslems shave the head, but the Arabs let their hair grow
very long, and wear it in a number of long plaits, and these elf-locks
mixed up with the long coloured tassels of the _kiffiyeh_, and the
dark glittering eyes looking out from under the yellow silk, give them
an appearance of extreme wildness, aided by the long guns which they
carry and their long desert stride.
The Arab moves as if he were the ruler of the country, though the grip
of the Osmanli may be closing on him. His eyes are deeply set under
shaggy eyebrows, his nose is high and sharp, he is long and thin, his
profile suggests a bird of prey, and his demeanour a fierce
independence.
The Arab women go about the streets unveiled, and with the _abba_
covering their very poor clothing, but it is not clutched closely
enough to conceal the extraordinary tattooing which the Bedouin women
everywhere regard as ornamental. There are artists in Baghdad who make
their living by this mode of decorating the person, and vie with each
other in the elaboration of their patterns. I saw several women
tattooed with two wreaths of blue flowers on their bosoms linked by a
blue chain, palm fronds on the throat, stars on the brow and chin, and
bands round the wrists and ankles. These disfigurements, and large
gold or silver filigree buttons placed outside one nostril by means of
a wire passed through it, worn by married women, are much admired.
When these women sell country produce in the markets, they cover their
heads with the ordinary _chadar_.
The streets are narrow, and the walls, which are built of fire-burned
bricks, are high. Windows to the streets are common, and the oriel
windows, with their warm brown lattices projecting over the roadways
at irregular heights, are strikingly picturesque. Not less so are
latticework galleries, which are often thrown across the street to
connect the two houses of wealthy residents, and the sitting-rooms
with oriel windows, which likewise bridge the roadways. Solid doorways
with iron-clasped and iron-studded doors give an impression of
security, and suggest comfort and to some extent home life, and sprays
of orange trees, hanging over walls, and fronds of date palms give an
aspect of pleasantness to the courtyards.
The best parts of the city, where the great bazars, large
dwelling-houses, and most of the mosques are, is surrounded by a
labyrinth of alleys, fringing off into streets growing meaner till
they cease altogether among open spaces, given up to holes, heaps,
rubbish, the slaughter of animals, and in some favoured spots to the
production of vegetables. Then come the walls, which are of
kiln-burned bricks, and have towers intended for guns at intervals.
The wastes within the walls have every element of decay and meanness,
the wastes without, where the desert sands sweep up to the very foot
of the fortifications, have many elements of grandeur.
Baghdad is altogether built of chrome-yellow kiln-dried bricks. There
are about twenty-five kilns, chiefly in the hands of Jews and
Christians in the wastes outside the city, but the demand exceeds the
supply, not for building only, but for the perpetual patchings which
houses, paths, and walls are always requiring, owing to the absorption
of moisture in the winter.
Bricks at the kilns sell for 36s. per thousand twelve inches square,
and 18s. per thousand seven inches square. They are carried from the
kilns on donkeys, small beasts, each taking ten large or twenty-five
small bricks.
Unskilled labour is abundant. Men can be engaged at 9d. a day, and
boys for 5d.