DAMASCUS.
A Beautiful Valley—Flowing Rivers—Mohammed at Damascus—Garden
of God—Paul at Damascus—Mohammedan at Prayer—Valley More
Beautiful—Damascus Exclusively Oriental—Quaint Architecture—”Often
in Wooden Houses Golden Rooms we Find”—Narrow Streets—Industrious
People—Shoe Bazaars—Manufacturing Silk by hand—Fanatical
Merchants—“Christian Dogs”—Cabinet-Making—Furniture Inlaid
with Pearl—Camel Markets—A Progenitor of the Mule—Machinery
Unknown—Ignorance Stalks Abroad—Fanatical Arabs—A Massacre—The
Governor Gives the Signal—Christians Killed—French Army—Abraham Our
Guide—Brained before Reaching the Post-Office—Warned not to Look at
the Women—Johnson’s Regret—Vailed Women—Johnson’s Explanation.
AT four o’clock, on the second day after leaving Baalbek, I spy
one of the prettiest objects that ever greeted human vision. It is
Damascus, the oldest city in the world—Damascus, laid out by Uz, the
great-grandson of Noah. For days I have been riding over a ruined and
desolate country, and now my eyes fall and feast on a broad, rich
valley, through which flow Abana and Pharpar, two rivers of pure water.
The whole valley is one great garden, or orchard, in which flourishes
almost every tropical plant. Here are the orange, olive and oleander,
the peach, pear, palm and pome-granate, the banana, the apple, apricot
and myrtle. Amid the rich green foliage of these trees, their golden
fruit is seen. Autumn, which is only summer meeting death with a
smile, has seared the leaves of some of the more delicate plants of
the valley. Red leaves are beautifully interwoven with the green, and
they gleam in the rays of the setting sun like sheets of purest gold.
Here and there tall and slender silver poplars rise high, and are
gracefully swaying to and fro in the evening breezes.
Damascus is situated in the midst of this luxuriant garden. Looking
down from the hilltop I see the taller houses, the mosques and
minarets, rising from amidst the luxuriant foliage of the trees. Ah,
what a picture! According to tradition, when Mohammed reached this
point and looked down upon Damascus for the first time, he said: “Man
can enter only one paradise, and I prefer to enter the one above.” So
he sat down here and feasted his eyes upon the earthly paradise of
Damascus and went away without entering its gates, that hereafter he
might be permitted to enter the portals of the paradise of God. A stone
tower marks the spot where the prophet stood. From that early period
Damascus has been regarded by all Arabs as an earthly reflection of
paradise, where a foretaste of all the joys of heaven are obtainable.
In accordance with the description given in the Koran, the Mohammedan
Bible, Arabs picture to themselves paradise as a limitless orchard,
traversed by streams of water, where the most delicious fruits are ever
ready to drop into the mouth.
[Illustration: DAMASCUS.]
When we remember that Damascus is situated on the edge of the great
Syrian desert, that it is surrounded on three sides by hills, high
and lifted up, and that the whole country for miles and scores of
miles around is bleak, parched and desolate, we can not for a moment
be surprised at the pleasing effect the sight of this smiling garden
produces in the heart of the Arab. Probably these swarthy sons of the
desert have been traveling for ten days or a fortnight, coming from
Palmyra or Bagdad, coming from central Arabia or Persia, coming across
the arid plain where naught but broad oceans of sand stretch out
before them, with not a blade of green grass to enliven the scene or to
“rest the dazzled sight.” Finally the fortnight has past; the journey
has ended; and the Arabs stand at last upon this hilltop and look down
upon yonder green garden of God. In contemplating such a scene, after
such a journey, these sons of Ishmael are moved by emotions strong and
deep. They have found trees in the wilderness, springs in the desert;
and they can but say: “Though old as history itself, thou art fresh as
the breath of spring, blooming as thine own rosebud, and fragrant as
thine own orange-blossom, O Damascus, pearl of the East.”
This is the scene that Paul was looking upon when suddenly a great
light shone round about him from heaven, and he fell to the earth as
dead. Only a few feet from where I stand, tradition points out the
place where he fell. Paul, you remember, was taken up and carried
into the city. Desiring to follow him, I leave the mountain top and
approach the valley. Damascus is surrounded now, as in Paul’s day,
by a stone wall twenty-five or thirty feet high. Entering the city
through the Jerusalem gate, I am at once attracted by a man prostrate
on the river bank. Placing his palms on the ground, and lifting himself
the length of his long arms, he looks down upon the glassy surface
of the river as though he were gazing at his image reflected in the
water. Then, bending his elbows, he once more lets his breast to the
earth. This is repeated over and over again. While going through this
strange performance, the man is constantly mumbling and muttering in
some unknown Eastern tongue. Rising to his feet, and lifting his face
to the sky, the Arab repeatedly smites himself upon the brow, breast
and mouth. Then waving his hand towards Heaven, he cries aloud: “Suah
baha, yalla Mohammed, Mohammed, Mohammed!” I ask, “Tolhammy, what means
this?” “Why, sir, that is a sacred river. The man was worshipping the
river, and then, rising, he called upon Mahomet, his god, to accept
his worship. He says ‘O Mahomet, accept my worship, and (placing his
hand on his brow) I will think of thee with this mind; (on his breast)
I will love thee with this heart; (with hand upon his mouth) and with
these lips I will speak thy praises abroad. Hear me, O Mohammed,
Mohammed, Mohammed!’” Who could see a sight like this without thinking
of Him who said: “Pray not upon the street corners, to be seen of men;
but pray secretly, and your Father who seeth in secret, will reward you
openly.”
The valley was charming, even when viewed from the hilltop; but the
laughing water, the green foliage and the golden fruit have grown more
and more beautiful as we have approached nearer to them. “Abana and
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus,” are each divided into eight artificial
channels, so there are sixteen small rivers flowing through the city,
bringing fresh and sparkling water into almost every yard. The
luxuriant vegetation of this well-watered valley is never scorched by
summer’s fierce heat, nor chilled by winter’s frosty breath. It is a
perpetual growth. Flowers and fruits are always on the trees, fragrance
and music always in the air.
Damascus is the capital of Syria. It has one hundred and eighty
thousand inhabitants, and a large manufacturing interest. As a
commercial and distributing centre, it has no equal in the Orient.
Great camel caravans are constantly arriving from, and departing for,
Palmyra and Bagdad, and all the other more important cities of Persia
and central Arabia. Being an inland city, hence unaffected by European
thought and civilization, Damascus is exclusively Eastern; and is,
therefore, the best place on earth to get correct conceptions of
Oriental life and ideas.
Coming into the midst of the city, we find the houses are quaint and
characteristically Eastern. From their appearance, one would suppose
that they were built 1,500 or 2,000 years ago. Most of them are one
story high, and are built of stone, and large sun-dried brick made
half and half of straw and white clay. Sometimes a dozen or twenty
houses are covered by the same roof. On going into some of these
miserable-looking huts, we are reminded that “often in wooden houses
golden rooms we find.” Some of these wealthy Damascene merchants live
in style—not in American or European style, but in style after the
Eastern idea. Their houses, though small, and rough of exterior are
richly furnished. Frequently they are lined with marble. The walls and
ceilings are beautifully frescoed, while the floor is laid with rich
Persian carpets. And yet in these houses we find no chairs, tables or
bedsteads. The merchants, though dressed in silks, sit flat on the
carpet or on small mats. Their beds consist, usually, of pallets made
of soft and beautiful Persian rugs. “A strange way for wealthy people
to live,” you say. Well, yes, it is decidedly strange to you; but you
must remember that your way of living would be just as strange to these
Damascene folk.
The streets are exceedingly narrow, being not more than from nine to
twelve feet wide. The stores or shops on either side of the street
are little more than holes in the wall, usually about six feet wide
and eight feet deep. The floor of this stall is twelve to eighteen
inches above the ground. The end facing the street is open, while on
the two sides and the back end, shelf rises above shelf. Goods are
arranged on these, and also suspended from the ceiling. The customer,
should one chance to come along, stands in the street and bargains with
the merchant, who sits flat on the floor in the centre of the stall.
With a hook in his hand, he, without rising, reaches to one shelf or
another, and drags down such goods as may please the purchaser’s fancy.
These people eat no idle bread. As soon as the customer is gone, the
merchant continues to manufacture saddles, shoes, silks, or such goods
as he may deal in.
I was never before so impressed with industry. Damascus is a great
manufacturing centre. The people have no machinery—all work is done
by hand, and nothing is done within walls or behind curtains. Caps
and carpets, saddles and sabres, shoes and shawls, silks and safes,
beds and baskets, and a hundred other things, are manufactured on the
streets in the open air before our eyes. One entire street is given
up to a single industry. For instance the street here to my right is
called the shoe bazaar. It is probably a quarter of a mile long; and on
either side of the street, from one end to the other, are men, women
and children, seated on mats or flat down on the ground with their
limbs folded under them. All are as busy as bees, sewing and stitching
leather, making shoes. If one wants to buy a pair of shoes, he trades
with the man who makes them. The merchant does not stop work, but talks
without looking up.
Most of the manufacturers are eager to trade with Europeans and
Americans, but some of them are so fanatical that they will not receive
money from “Christian dogs.” Numerous poles are thrown across the
streets, twelve or fourteen feet from the ground, from which strings
are hanging. When the shoes are finished, they are tied to these
strings and left suspended. Looking down the street, one sees hundreds
and hundreds of shoes dangling in the air, about four feet from the
ground.
Silk bazaars are numerous. Looking down these several streets, one
sees many weavers seated on the ground, plying their shuttles. Above
their uncombed heads is silk of every grade and color, suspended in the
air and trembling in the wind. As with shoes and silks, so also with
carpets, saddles, and other departments of industry.
The leading industry of Damascus is cabinet-making. The furniture made
here is of the finest woods, and is inlaid with mother-of-pearl; hence
it is perfectly exquisite and quite costly. Skilled artisans are to be
found in these different departments of work. The best of them receive
only from sixty to eighty cents per day, while craftsmen of equal
skill, in our country, command four to five dollars per day.
Thursday of each week presents a busy scene at the donkey and camel
markets. Hundreds of half-dressed and hard-looking camel raisers from
the desert drive their patient beasts, old and young, into an open
square in the midst of the city. Sellers, buyers and traders, wearing
different costumes, representing different tribes and countries,
meet. Going in among the camels, they catch, ride and drive them. The
animals are priced, and trouble begins. The purchaser offers the seller
one-third, or one-fourth of his price. This is taken as an insult. They
quarrel, curse each other, and sometimes fight, the friends on either
side taking part. Finally the difficulty is settled by an agreement
to “split the difference;” so the camel is sold at half of the first
price—frequently for less. Late in the evening they adjourn in much
disorder. Turbaned Arabs now lead long trains of camels down different
streets to the several gates of the city. To-morrow morning, at an
early hour, these much abused “ships of the desert” will be loaded and
started out on a long voyage across an ocean of sand.
The donkey-markets create less confusion. Donkeys, however, have
no unimportant part to play in the daily life of Damascus. They
are indispensable. They take the place of our drays, carts and
market-wagons. One may look up the street at almost any moment, and
see a pair of ears coming. This is regarded as a sure sign that a
progenitor of the mule will be along after a while.
I repeat that all goods manufactured in Damascus are made by hand,
machinery being unknown. Probably three-fourths of the people here
never saw or heard of a daily newspaper. They know nothing of the
outside world. They never learn anything, never invent anything. They
repudiate and scorn anything that is new. They regard an invention
as an offspring of the devil. A Christian they hate as they do a
serpent. Ignorance is the most prevalent thing in Damascus. It walks
the streets; it sits in the shops; it drives camels; it stares the
traveler in the face, go where he will. Here, too, as elsewhere,
ignorance has borne her legitimate fruit—superstition and fanaticism.
The people are, I believe, as fanatical as the devil wants them to
be. Only a few years ago, their fanaticism arose to such a pitch that
they, without the slightest provocation, pounced upon, and killed, five
thousand Christians in the streets of Damascus! Men, women and children
were butchered indiscriminately like sheep. Their mangled bodies were
piled up in the streets, and scattered through the city, for days and
days. The Mohammedans would not defile their pure (?) hands by putting
them on “Christian dogs”—they had killed them—that was enough. From
Damascus the thirst for blood spread throughout all Syria, and no less
than 14,000 Christians perished.
One would naturally suppose that the government would protect life
better than that. But the Pasha, or governor, of Syria was the man who
gave the signal for the massacre to begin. And it continued until the
French government interfered. Napoleon III, whom the world is so fond
of condemning, dispatched a body of ten thousand well-armed troops
here to stop that human butchery. The Pasha and other officials were
arrested and beheaded in the city. The French soldiers, following the
custom of the old Romans, constructed a military road from Beyrout
to Damascus. This road, which is still in good repair, is the only
guarantee of safety Christians now have among these heathen people.
My guide in Damascus is named Abraham. I have not met Isaac and Jacob,
but have become somewhat intimate with Abraham. He tells me that his
father and mother were victims of that horrible massacre; that when
killed, their blood and brains spattered upon him; that his escape
was little less than miraculous; that he, with a number of other
Christians, was shut up in the citadel for three days; that for three
days and nights the Mohammedans stood there with their battering rams,
thundering against the walls and gates of the citadel, which were just
ready to totter and fall when the French army came up and put a stop to
the whole inhuman business.
Several persons who were eye-witnesses to the whole scene have given
me a full and detailed account of the massacre. Mohammedans from their
beginning may be tracked through history by a trail of blood. They
seem to have a thirst that nothing but human gore will satiate. This
massacre of Damascus is their last and crowning act. It is worthy of
their bloody history. They destroyed “even till destruction sickened.”
I have just read a history of this fearful slaughter which closes with
this sentence: “Unfortunately, since the massacre matters have improved
but little.” I dare not walk the streets of Damascus to-day with a
Bible in hand, and let the people know what book it is. I would be in
danger of being brained before reaching the post-office.
The guide-book warns us not to look at the women. This goes hard with
Johnson. I regret it on his account. There is a custom in this country,
which practically amounts to a law, that the women shall keep their
faces vailed. Yesterday, while walking up a narrow and gloomy-looking
alley, we saw a woman coming towards us. Touching me in the side with
his elbow, Johnson said: “Whittle, I am going to look at her a little,
anyhow.” When we met the woman, she piteously cried: “Howazhu, howazhu,
bachsheesh, bachsheesh,” which being interpreted means, “O, gentlemen,
gentlemen, money, money.” Johnson responded: “Lift your vail, then.”
When the ill-favored female drew her vail aside, Johnson gave her three
piasters (about nine cents) and immediately said: “Put down your vail
quickly, and I will give you three more.” I was sorry for my traveling
companion. He looked disappointed. He said that the reason the women
had to keep their faces covered was, that they were so ugly that to
expose them would subject men to sore eyes—if not to blindness.
The early religious history of Damascus is of peculiar interest to
all Christians. A great persecution arose against the Christians in
Jerusalem. Saul of Tarsus made havoc of the church; entering into every
house, and, haling men and women, committed them to prison, breathing
out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord. He
obtained letters from the Jewish authorities, authorizing him to arrest
and carry to Jerusalem all Christians whom he might find in Damascus.
As he journeyed, he came near Damascus, and suddenly there shined
round about him a light from Heaven, and he fell to the earth. When
Saul asked of the Lord, “What wilt thou have me to do?” the Lord said
unto him, “Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what
thou must do.” Saul rose from the earth and they brought him into
Damascus, and he stopped with Judas, who lived on the street that is
called Straight. The Lord directed Ananias to go to Saul, and instruct
him what to do. The scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he arose and was
baptized; and straightway he preached Christ, that he was the Son of
God. This created a great disturbance in Damascus, and the Jews held
a mass meeting and decided to kill Saul. For this purpose the Jews
watched the gates of the city day and night. In order to save his life,
the disciples took Saul by night and let him down by the wall in a
basket.
[Illustration: TOMBS OF THE CALIPHS, DAMASCUS.]
Damascus is now pretty much as it was eighteen hundred years ago. The
places mentioned in connection with Paul are still pointed out—with
what degree of certainty, I can not say. Of course I visited the places
where “he fell to the earth,” and where “he was let down over the wall
in a basket.” At this point the wall is some thirty feet high, and is
surmounted by a house which is occupied by a Christian family. The
reputed houses of Ananias and Judas are partly underground, and are
built of huge stones. These strongly built houses are certainly very
old; and it has been suggested that if Ananias and Judas did not live
in them at the time of Paul, some other people did.
If I should to-day begin to proclaim the gospel of Christ with the same
zeal and earnestness that characterized the ministry of Paul, I would
have to be let down over the walls in a basket, or else be butchered on
the street.