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HASBÊYA is a small town beautifully situated some 2,000 feet above the
sea, on the western side of Hermon, in an amphitheatre of hills well
cultivated and inhabited by Maronite Christians, Druses and Moslems, all
very fanatical, hating and fearing each other intensely, and not, as far
as the Christians are concerned, without cause, for here they were
treacherously massacred by the Druses in 1860. They were decoyed into
the Konak, or Governor’s Castle, by the Turkish commander under pretence
of protection, induced to part with their arms, and then the Druses
being admitted men women and children were massacred without mercy. The
French army of the Lebanon avenged these cowardly murders partially, and
but for the milder (and doubtfully humane) counsels of the English,
would have done so effectually. We saved the Druse scoundrels from their
just fate then, and consequently they are quite ready to repeat the
crime now. This our rulers would do well to remember that maudlin
sentimentality is often another name for weakness and not true mercy
which is frequently obliged “to be cruel to be kind.” Orientals do not
practice and do not understand undeserved clemency. The Christians in
the Anti-Lebanon feel the effects of a too lenient policy, and are
periodically in a panic about their ruffianly neighbours, and the Moslem
feeling too is often inflamed against Christians, the old rumour that
the five kings of Europe (as the great powers are called) are about to
depose the Sultan and upset Islamism, being for fanatical purposes often
revived. This rumour was one of the causes which led to the rebellion of
Arabi in Egypt. If Arabi had not been crushed, there would probably have
been a general rising of Arabic Islam against the Ottoman Caliphate and
European interference—and it may come yet. The Ottomans are no longer a
nation—they are quite effete—but the Arabs are as vigorous a race as
they were in the days of Alexander the Great and Mahomet. The Arabs and
the Jews, the children of Abram’s two sons, are destined to endure for
ever distinct races in the midst of a heterogeneous world, everlasting
monuments of the truth of the Bible story.
HASBÊYA is thought by many to be the Hermon and Baal-Gad of the Bible,
but others identify the latter with Baalbec. We will not attempt to
decide that on which many doctors differ. We lodge in one of the best
houses at the head of the valley, near the Konak. A sort of stretcher,
much resembling an oriental bier, is hastily run up for us as a place to
sleep on. Round the room and in the courtyard below we see ranged a
number of immense jars, each large enough to contain one of the “forty
thieves,” some in fact could have accommodated two. We find them to be
mostly full of new wine, which is rather too rich and luscious to take
much of. Just as the day is dawning an oriental maiden enters our room
and makes for one of the jars (to get something out of it) and we are
forcibly reminded that we are in the land of the “Arabian Nights.” Next
day, after about three hours toiling over mountain paths, we pass the
mouth of the Wady-et-Teim, in which is the source of the Hasbâny, the
highest and most northerly source of the Jordan, the Banias and Dan
branches of which it joins just above the waters of Merom, or Lake
Huleh, after running almost parallel with them for some distance. We
crossed this stream lower down by an old Roman bridge on our way from
Kadesh to Dan and Banias.
THE DRUSES.
THE DRUSES make the Hasbâny Valley their religious centre, as their
prophet, Ed Darazi, is supposed to have been born there. Their religious
books having been lost (or rather stolen by the Egyptians), their
religion, which is of more recent origin than Mahometanism, is
traditional only, and it is difficult to say what it really is, but it
seems to have been founded on an ancient form of freemasonry. It
consists of several degrees. The Druses hate Moslem and Christian pretty
equally, but are more tolerant of the former, with whom they often
associate for the purpose of plunder, but they would murder either
without compunction. At the same time, with an appreciable regard to
expediency, their religion allows them to live under whatever creed is
supreme. They have, since the 1860 massacres, migrated in large numbers
from the Lebanon to the Hauran, east of Jordan, which they hold
practically independent of any Government whatever, although nominally
subject to the Turkish Sultan. They are distinguished by white turbans.
Lebanon being now a separate pashalic, under a Christian governor with a
native Christian army, the Druses would find it more difficult to occupy
that district now than they did in 1860; but in Anti-Lebanon they are
more formidable. When a fanatical Mahommedan wishes to annoy a Druse (as
was done by our muleteer in our presence) he calls him “a worshipper of
the calf.” This is curious, as the golden calf set up at Dan was only a
day’s march from here. The Druses have no mosques or temples, but
worship in a room outside a village, and only the higher initiated
members are admitted to the whole performance or allowed to learn what
is known of their sacred records, which are imparted by oral instruction
only, and never reduced to writing. Very few indeed are acquainted with
all the mysteries of their religion, and to the higher degrees no man
under 30 is ever admitted, the women, we think, never. The most sacred
shrine of the Druses is a secluded cave half-way up Hermon, and there
only the most secret rites are performed. A pretty ride of about six
hours brings us to Rashêya.
RASHÊYA, the Syrian Heliopolis, or City of the Sun, is finely and
healthily situated high up on the slope of Hermon. I have never been
mobbed in any Eastern town as I was here, a European being quite a _rara
avis_. Men women and children cluster round me, and even crowd into my
little room to stare at me and touch my clothes, prompted, I suppose, by
either curiosity or superstition or both; many seem to think me a
medicine man, and bringing sick children ask me to touch them; but
unfortunately I am not a doctor. A few of the younger women, having
confidence in their good appearance, beg of me to draw their portraits,
but my first sketch soon puts the other fair candidates to flight. Two
or three enterprising young ladies, clasping my hand in theirs, entreat
me to take them back with me to England and make them members of my
family. I have to explain to them that the social system of the West
does not allow of any such extensive adoption as that of the East. We
have often been asked by mothers to take their children and bring them
up as Feringhees, but think that in most cases this is done to frighten
the children. The Rashêya folk are strong healthy-looking people, but
have a barbarous habit of tattooing their bodies (which is seldom seen
in the East), the hands especially with stripes looking like the seams
of gloves. We have, as usual, the floor only to sit and sleep on. We are
beginning to be quite clever at squatting à la Turc, but must admit that
we think chairs, tables and beds more comfortable. The Rashêya
Christians in 1860, were, as in Hasbêya, decoyed into the castle by the
Turks, and by them basely betrayed to the Maronite Druses, who massacred
man, woman and child.
MOUNT HERMON, we believe, has not been ascended to the summit by any
Englishman for some years. It is called by the Arabs the Snowy Mountain:
misled probably by this the text books on the subject boldly assert that
its summit is perpetually covered with snow, but this is not the case,
nor is it so even with the loftier peaks of Lebanon, on the opposite
side of the plain. From Hermon the snow disappears some two months at
least, and although we find it cold there is not a trace of snow
anywhere. The bare white limestone sides of mountains are often mistaken
at a distance for snow, but few travellers ever attain the summit, and
hence the perpetuation of the perpetual snow fable.
ASCENT OF MOUNT HERMON.
HERMON, being isolated from the Anti-Lebanon, and the three peaks rising
abruptly some 3,000 feet above the lower ridges, has an apparent
altitude much greater than many higher mountains. The grandeur of the
Matterhorn, for instance, although a monarch of mountains, is diminished
by the magnitude of its mighty neighbours, Monte Rosa and the Breithorn
(which latter we ascended a few years since, so can judge from
experience). The Matterhorn is a giant among giants, a king of kings;
but Hermon stands alone in its glory—is, as it were, a sturgeon amongst
minnows, and owes its prestige, not to its height, which is under 10,000
feet, but to its isolated position and abrupt elevation; and the same
may be said of Carmel, which Swiss travellers would scarcely dignify
with the name of a mountain at all.
HERMON, the Sirion of the Sidonians, and Shenir of the Amorites, is
called by the Arabs, Jebel el Sheikh, the Monarch of Mountains; it was
once encircled by shrines to the Sun God, Baal, all facing the great
central temple on the summit of the southern peak; there is only one of
these remaining now, between Banias and Hasbêya, which we have already
described.
BAAL, literally interpreted Lord, was probably applied first to the
greatest hero, then to the favourite deity of the day. We hear of it as
Bel applied to Nimrod; and we trace it in many other names, such as Bel
Shazzar, which means King under the Lord Baal, a sort of divine right we
suppose. The Phœnicians generally patronised the Sun, the Israelites
probably called their golden calf Baal. After the Greek conquest, Baal
and the other Gods were very much mixed up, and the Romans later on, to
appease the conquered Syrians, identified their Jupiter with Baal, and
their Venus with Astarte, or Ashtaroth. It may be interesting to note
here that a memorial of Sun worship survives in Scotland in the Bel tane
(Bel’s fire) fair still held at Peebles. It is commemorated on May-day
morning. Our actual ascent of the mountain is without much interest,
except that on the way we pass a very well-preserved wine press, hewn
out of the solid rock. The horses are at the door at four a.m., but not
until six can we venture out, for Hermon is veiled in dark cloud, and
over the Rashêyan Valley bursts a terrific thunderstorm, the thunder
reverberating grandly among the mountains. A continuous bombardment by
the biggest guns ever launched from Woolwich would have been infants’
rattles compared to it. At six a.m. a ray of sunshine breaks through the
black firmament above, and we set out briskly, and in about four hours
scramble up to the southern—the highest peak—where we find extensive and
massive remains of two temples, dedicated to Baal, also a large cave in
which we tiffin. Time and space would fail to describe the grand
panoramic picture displayed from this sacred summit, no high peaks near
to intercept the view. During the ascent, to the summit, which is some
5,000 feet above Rashêya, we have a fine sight of the coast from Carmel
to Tyre, but on the summit, the greater part of Palestine and Syria are
opened out as a map—to the west, the Mediterranean coast; to the north,
the ranges of the Lebanon stand boldly out; the plain of Damascus,
bounded by the six day’s desert, flanked by Abana and Pharpar, is in the
extreme north-west; Dan, Cæsarea Philippi, Kadesh Naphtali, Safed, &c.,
nestle beneath on the near south-east; further south the broad waters of
Merom, and the silver streak of the Jordan glisten in the noon-day sun,
and in the far east the lofty plains of Basan and the Mountains of Moab
bound the distant horizon; on the south, Mount Tabor raises its
beautifully wooded crest over Nazareth; Gilboa near by seems lost in the
plains of Esdraelon; and further west, in the dim distance on the coast,
Carmel slopes away to the sea. We enjoy the view only a short time, as a
blinding hailstorm comes down and causes us to beat a very precipitate
retreat; but as the black thunder clouds gather above and beneath us,
and the sun at intervals shines through and upon them, the _mélange_ of
earth and sky, sunshine and cloud, gold and colour, is grand in the
extreme. Mountain and meadow bathed in black and gold, here and there
mellowed with the most delicate tinges of purple green and orange, form
an effect, which if fixed on the canvas, would be called an impossible
picture, and we could now well understand and feel that enthusiastic
praise so often in the Bible bestowed on Hermon, “that Tower of Lebanon
which looketh towards Damascus.” The ascent is neither difficult nor
dangerous to a careful and vigorous climber, but extremely laborious,
being a steady steep and continuous scramble over loose stones, on which
it is difficult to retain a footing; there is no defined path to the
summit, and it should not be attempted without a _local_ guide, as the
clouds gather round and envelope Hermon very quickly, and sleet or snow
may come on suddenly, in which case there would be but little chance for
any but the most experienced guides. Hermon is thought by some to have
been the scene of the transfiguration as Banias, where our Saviour
started from, is near by. On our way up we try to track a bear, but
fortunately fail to find him. If our curiosity had been gratified, we
probably should not have written this account.
[Illustration:
_Tiberias._
]
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[Illustration]