Haifa, May 27.—Travellers who have gone from Nazareth to Tiberias must
be familiar with the singular outline of a mountain which they perceive
to the left of the road, with its two rocky crests separated from each
other by a hog's back about a quarter of a mile long, and called the
Horns of Hattin. The summit of the higher peak, one thousand feet above
the sea, and about three hundred feet above the plain across which they
are riding, forms a conspicuous object in a landscape which, at this
point, is one of singular interest and beauty. Rising like a gigantic
natural pulpit, tradition has since declared it to be the Mount of the
Beatitudes, and asserts that it was from this picturesque elevation that
Christ delivered that sermon which has exercised so vast an influence on
mankind ever since.
Whether this be so or not, it is certain that the plain on which the
audience was supposed to have gathered which listened to it, was the
scene, about eleven hundred and fifty-seven years afterwards, of the
most memorable conflict in which the Crusaders ever engaged, for it was
the one which lost them Palestine, and which resulted in the triumph of
Saladin, the Saracen, and the slaughter or capture of the most powerful
and celebrated of the Crusading chiefs. At the extremity of the plain,
and immediately beneath one of the horns of the mountain, there is a
precipitous gorge, down which some of the hardly pressed Crusaders
vainly attempted flight, the horses and their riders, heavily panoplied
with armour, only escaping the spear of the Arab to meet an even more
terrible fate, as they hurled themselves headlong down the rocky
precipice. As, dismounting from my active steed, I allowed him to pick
his own way down this dangerous defile, I looked with interest at the
scene of the disaster, and listened to the story of my guide, who
narrated how, only twenty years ago, a fight had taken place here
between a celebrated Bedouin chief and a Kurdish tribe, in which the
latter were signally defeated on the old Crusading battle-ground, and,
seeking safety, like the Christian warriors, in the direction of this
treacherous gorge, left sixty dead men and horses at the bottom.
These traditions and associations served to enhance the novelty and
picturesqueness of the view before me as I entered the gorge, for it was
now the scene of a great gathering of the sheiks and chiefs of the Druse
nation, who come here annually on a pilgrimage to the shrine of one of
their most celebrated saints, at which I was fortunate enough to be
allowed to assist, a privilege which, so far as I am aware, had not
before been granted to a foreigner. The building which forms this sacred
resort has been erected by the Druses over the tomb of a certain holy
man called Schaib, but exactly who Schaib was my utmost endeavours
failed to discover. The Moslems say that he is Jethro, the father-in-law
of Moses; but when I asked the Druses whether Moses had married Schaib's
daughter, they denied it. Then a Jew of the country, familiar with the
Druses, suggested that Schaib was Balaam, but they refused altogether to
admit that an ass had ever spoken to their holy man. He had crossed the
Red Sea with Moses, they said, and after Moses' death had been ordered
by God to bury him, and had done so, and had fought against a mighty
king and prevailed against him, and had himself been buried here, and he
was the Father of all Prophets and the elect of God, and there were none
greater or more sacred than he. I thought possibly he might be Joshua,
but him they knew by his own name, so I have given up the personality of
Schaib as an insoluble mystery. He is one of those Druse characters whom
their tradition has interwoven with Biblical history, but the tomb which
they thus honour is undoubtedly considered by Moslems to be the tomb of
Jethro, who is known among them as Schaib; and the Rabbi Bar Simeon,
writing in 1210 A.D., mentions the tomb of Jethro as being at Hattin.
Considering that Jethro lived in Midian, on the shores of the Red Sea,
it seems rather unlikely that he should be buried here. However, that is
a detail. The fact remains that the spot is one of great sanctity, but
is infinitely more venerated by the Druses than by the Moslems. Indeed,
I met a Moslem who laughed at the Druses' superstitions in regard to it,
and who was as much surprised and puzzled as I was when he heard them
deny that Moses was the son-in-law of the buried saint.
The building which the Druses have erected over the old, dilapidated
Moslem shrine, which still stands here, has already cost more than
$5000, all subscribed by the Druses among themselves, and it is not yet
completed. It consists of a courtyard, one side of which is formed by
the solid rock, while the other contains chambers. The roof forms a
terrace, and above it, also partly faced by rock, is a large upper
chamber surmounted by a dome. The scene as we approached was very
striking. The Druse sheiks, desirous of doing honour to their guest,
formed in two lines to receive me, while guns were fired off and songs
of welcome were sung. The white building, with its terraces crowded by
men and women in bright-coloured garments, harmonized well with the
romantic character of the scenery, and formed a picture calculated to
impress the imagination.
I was ushered by my hosts into an anteroom, after exchanging cordial
greetings with those I knew, and being introduced to those who were
still strangers to me; and then we all squatted on carpets, thus
occupying all the four sides of the room, which assumed the appearance
of a sort of council-chamber. As, with the exception of the Japanese,
the Druses are the politest and most courteous people I have ever met, a
great part of our time is taken up in salutations and compliments. First
we press our hands to our hearts and lips and foreheads, with great
effusion. No sooner are we seated than we repeat this process as if we
had not done it just before. Then, in flowery language, we ask each
other repeatedly after our respective healths, and are profuse in our
thanks to God that we are well, that they are well, that our families
are well, and that we are permitted to enjoy the great privilege of
meeting one another. Then coffee is brought in, and after drinking it we
go through the same process of saluting each other all around. Then I
request permission to light a cigarette, which is necessary, as the
Druses never indulge in tobacco; indeed, the more rigid eschew coffee.
As I look around at the twenty or thirty sheiks, solemnly seated with
their backs to the wall, I am much struck with the dignity of their
bearing, the intelligence of their countenances, and their superior
physique generally. As a rule, there is a religious and a secular sheik
to each village, so that about half my entertainers exercise spiritual
functions, and half temporal. There was nothing, however, in their dress
to distinguish them. They all wore white turbans, black or striped
_abbas_, or wide-sleeved cloaks reaching to the knee, beneath which was
the usual flowing garment of the Oriental, and their feet were bare.
Many of the Druses, both men and women, have brown hair and blue eyes,
and complexions as light as our own, and some of both sexes are
singularly handsome.
As all the sheiks had not yet assembled, we had not been long in
conclave—indeed, had hardly exhausted our stock of compliments—before
the singing of men and the firing of guns announced a distinguished
arrival. Then we all went out to meet him, and I was interested in
watching the method of greeting. I soon perceived that the forms of
etiquette are most rigidly adhered to among them. When two of equal rank
meet they clasp hands, and there appears a slight struggle—as they both
bow their heads and lift their clasped hands towards their lips—as to
who shall kiss the back of the other's hand first. This involves rather
a curious twisting movement of the hands and heads, which produces a
somewhat comical effect. Let any of my readers make the experiment, and,
grasping each other's hands, try and kiss the respective backs of each
without unclasping them, and the effort as to which shall succeed first
makes quite a little game. My servant, who is a Moslem from Egypt,
declared that they each kissed their own hands, and the argument waxed
so hot between us that we had to refer the matter to a Druse to know
which was right, so difficult was it to perceive exactly what really
happened. If one felt himself inferior in rank to the other, he always
succeeded in kissing the other's hand first, and snatching his own away
before the other had time to kiss it. But if the difference in rank was
still more marked, the superior made no pretence of wanting to kiss the
inferior's hand after his own had been kissed.
Next came a great struggle as to who should take the lowest place. The
place of honour was a particular corner, which, had I been better versed
in their etiquette, I should have insisted on declining; but I
innocently accepted it, and then the invariable struggle came as to who
should be forced to sit next to me. I observed that in most instances
the refusals were of that formal kind which young ladies indulge in when
they have made up their minds to sing, but decline to do so until after
they have been sufficiently pressed. I suppose there were envyings,
jealousies, pride, and other base passions among my hosts as among other
men, but if so they certainly concealed their failings with marvellous
skill. One could not but be struck with the air of genuine harmony and
affectionate cordiality which seemed to prevail among them.
The respect they showed to the head sheik of all, and the warm terms in
which they spoke of him to me in private, could not but have been
sincere, and, indeed, he seemed to deserve it. Though only a young man
of about thirty-five, he inherited his honours, coming as he did of one
of the most honourable Druse families; yet his distinguishing
characteristic was a marked humility and consideration for others. His
wife was certainly the most charming and lady-like person I have yet
seen among Druse women. She was not more than three or four and twenty,
with a fair complexion, magnificent eyes, and an elegant figure, a grace
natural to her characterizing all her movements. Indeed, had she been
dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, she would have been a strikingly
attractive person in any society, nor would it have been possible by her
features or complexion to distinguish her from any pretty American
woman. As it was, her dress was exceedingly becoming. On her head was a
long white veil; a loose, tunic-shaped jacket, with full sleeves,
covered an embroidered sort of chemisette, and her short, flowing skirts
partially concealed full trousers, tight around the ankle. On her wrists
were a pair of heavy gold bracelets, and she was the only woman of the
party who indulged in the luxury of shoes and stockings. The shoes,
however, were always slipped off before entering a room.
The Druse women of Galilee do not, like those of the Lebanon, cover
their faces; and, indeed, they are allowed a freedom which contrasts
strongly with the position of their Moslem sisters. This wife of the
head sheik enjoyed a privilege denied to any of the other women who had
accompanied their lords to the shrine, for she frequently sat in the
men's council, taking part in the conversation, though modestly, and
with great reserve. In talking to me, which she did freely, I found that
she was bright and intelligent, and full of inquiries as to the manners
and customs of the females of civilization, in regard to whom she had an
intense curiosity. I do not know, however, whether, if it had been fully
gratified, it would have tended very much to her moral and intellectual
improvement. She had brought her baby with her, and was generally
surrounded by some of the more prominent of the other ladies, who,
however, treated her with a marked deference. I watched her mode of
greeting the different ladies as they arrived, with even more interest
than I had that of the men. We read in the Bible of people falling upon
each other's necks; this was exactly what the Druse women did, and very
prettily and gracefully they did it, while they recognized the men by a
distant, modest, and deferential salutation.