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BEYRÛT, the ancient Berytus (within twelve hours sail of Cyprus and
about twenty-four of Port Said), has a considerable population, and is a
pleasant place to stay at, especially in the Winter time. It is
beautifully situated with the Lebanon range in the background, and
boasts two fair hotels and many good bazaars. The fruit of Paradise—the
banana—is plentiful, and considered finer and sweeter than that of any
other region of Syria. The mountains above the town are favourite health
resorts and are associated in our mind with the late Gordon Pasha, who
consulted us as to visiting Syria after his return from the Cape. We
discussed Syria over a pipe, and in the end the General expressed his
intention of resting there. He went shortly after, but his noble
restless nature could not rest in retirement. He unfortunately remained
there only a short time, coming back to undertake the romantic mission
to the Soudan, where, to the lasting disgrace of the Liberal Government
which sent him on a mad mission and then deserted him (only sending a
relieving force when too late), he nobly ended a noble life.
[Illustration:
CYPRUS—_Larnaca._
]
CYPRUS, by-the-bye, is easily visited from Beyrût; we made the journey
some years ago, about the time that Sir Garnet Wolsely took possession
of the island. Without the English and Indian troops who were then there
we should not think Larnaca a very lively place, but the Island, as a
whole, is a very valuable possession, the gem of the Mediterranean, and
has a climate and soil which would produce almost anything. It is a pity
that our Government does not develope its resources and pay the Turk a
lump sum and get rid of this phantom suzerainty—as a crown colony like
Ceylon it would be much more prosperous. We think that if the island
were properly explored some very interesting archæological discoveries
would be made, as from its position it must have been a house of call
for all the great civilised nations of antiquity. The Egyptian,
Assyrian, Tyrian, and Roman galleys must all at some time or other have
sought shelter in its harbours and occupied its towns.
We now bid adieu to Beyrût, with its cedar clad hills, its orange, lemon
and banana groves, its curious bazaars, its bustling lanes and its busy
quays, and embark on board an Austrian steamer for Port Said, where we
find the Peninsula and Oriental Southampton steamer, _Venetia_, which
lands us at MALTA, off which interesting island we see a remarkable
sight—five waterspouts in a row in full swing; they are very fortunately
a long distance off. After a day’s rest there we cross over to Sicily,
to SYRACUSE, still infamous for deeds of blood, as of old, and
celebrated for its ruined theatre, where Æschylus, before 20,000
sympathetic listeners, was wont to recite his immortal tragedies. Here
also is the rock-hewn “Ear of Dionysius,” where a penny popgun goes off
with the report of a pistol. It was visited by St. Paul on his way from
Malta to Rome. Arriving before dawn, we are glad to get a little loaf of
bread for breakfast, and find it well worthy of the lovely island of
Ceres, moist and wholesome, so that we can comfortably swallow it
without the coffee we cannot get. We next come to Catania, famous for
its sulphur and nitre mines, the starting point for the ascent of Etna;
and then pass the Scagli-de-Cyclopi—the rocks flung fruitlessly at
Ulysses by the once one-eyed, but then blind cannibal giant Polyphemus,
who, however, took better aim at the unlucky lover of Galatea, whose
blood still poetically flows in the little river in memory of him, the
Acis which we soon after pass, and then we come to that beautiful
Sicilian Ehrenbreitstein Taormina.
TAORMINA, the ancient Tauromenium, is but little known to the ordinary
Italian tourist; but it is rich in ancient remains. Its ruined theatre
was one of the largest in the world. It began its history by
successfully resisting the Syracusan tyrant, Dionysius, and for 1,400
years was an important town until destroyed by the Saracens. It is now
little more than a large village, but its situation is magnificent,
scarcely to be equalled in the world. Soon after leaving Taormina, we
find ourselves at Messina, where we embark on an Italian steamer for
Naples, whence the train takes us to Rome, Florence and Turin, and
through the Mount Cenis tunnel to Paris, Boulogne and home.
[Illustration:
_The Cedars of Lebanon._
]
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[Illustration]