THE LANDS OF THE SARACEN

or, Pictures of Palestine, Asia Minor, Sicily, and Spain. 

by

Bayard Taylor. 

Twentieth Edition. 

1863

To Washington Irving, This book--the chronicle of my travels through lands once occupied by theSaracens--naturally dedicates itself to you, who, more than any otherAmerican author, have revived the traditions, restored the history, andillustrated the character of that brilliant and heroic people. Yourcordial encouragement confirmed me in my design of visiting the East, andmaking myself familiar with Oriental life; and though I bring you now butimperfect returns, I can at least unite with you in admiration of a fieldso rich in romantic interest, and indulge the hope that I may one daypluck from it fruit instead of blossoms. In Spain, I came upon your track, and I should hesitate to exhibit my own gleanings where you haveharvested, were it not for the belief that the rapid sketches I have givenwill but enhance, by the contrast, the charm of your finished picture. 

Bayard Taylor. 

Preface. 

This volume comprises the second portion of a series of travels, of whichthe "Journey to Central Africa, " already published, is the first part. Ileft home, intending to spend a winter in Africa, and to return during thefollowing summer; but circumstances afterwards occurred, which prolongedmy wanderings to nearly two years and a half, and led me to visit manyremote and unexplored portions of the globe. To describe this journey in asingle work, would embrace too many incongruous elements, to say nothingof its great length, and as it falls naturally into three parts, orepisodes, of very distinct character, I have judged it best to group myexperiences under three separate heads, merely indicating the links whichconnect them. This work includes my travels in Palestine, Syria, AsiaMinor, Sicily and Spain, and will be followed by a third and concludingvolume, containing my adventures in India, China, the Loo-Choo Islands, and Japan. Although many of the letters, contained in this volume, describe beaten tracks of travel, I have always given my own individualimpressions, and may claim for them the merit of entire sincerity. Thejourney from Aleppo to Constantinople, through the heart of Asia Minor, illustrates regions rarely traversed by tourists, and will, no doubt, benew to most of my readers. My aim, throughout the work, has been to givecorrect pictures of Oriental life and scenery, leaving antiquarianresearch and speculation to abler hands. The scholar, or the man ofscience, may complain with reason that I have neglected valuableopportunities for adding something to the stock of human knowledge: but ifa few of the many thousands, who can only travel by their firesides, should find my pages answer the purpose of a series of cosmoramicviews--should in them behold with a clearer inward eye the hills ofPalestine, the sun-gilded minarets of Damascus, or the lonely pine-forestsof Phrygia--should feel, by turns, something of the inspiration and theindolence of the Orient--I shall have achieved all I designed, and morethan I can justly hope. 

New York, _October_, 1854. 

Contents

Chapter I. 

Life in a Syrian Quarantine. 

 Voyage from Alexandria to Beyrout--Landing at Quarantine--The Guardians--Our Quarters--Our Companions--Famine and Feasting--The Morning--The Holy Man of Timbuctoo--Sunday in Quarantine--Islamism--We are Registered--Love through a Grating--Trumpets--The Mystery Explained--Delights of Quarantine--Oriental _vs. _ American Exaggeration--A Discussion of Politics--Our Release--Beyrout--Preparations for the Pilgrimage

Chapter II. 

The Coast of Palestine. 

 The Pilgrimage Commences--The Muleteers--The Mules--The Donkey--Journey to Sidon--The Foot of Lebanon--Pictures--The Ruins of Tyre--A Wild Morning--The Tyrian Surges--Climbing the Ladder of Tyre--Panorama of the Bay of Acre--The Plain of Esdraelon--Camp in a Garden--Acre--the Shore of the Bay--Haifa--Mount Carmel and its Monastery--A Deserted Coast--The Ruins of Cæsarea--The Scenery of Palestine--We become Robbers--El Haram--Wrecks--the Harbor and Town of Jaffa. 

Chapter III. 

From Jaffa to Jerusalem. 

 The Garden of Jaffa--Breakfast at a Fountain--The Plain of Sharon--The Ruined Mosque of Ramleh--A Judean Landscape--The Streets Ramleh--Am I in Palestine?--A Heavenly Morning--The Land of Milk and Honey--Entering the Hill Country--The Pilgrim's Breakfast--The Father of Lies--A Church of the Crusaders--The Agriculture of the Hills--The Valley of Elah--Day-Dreams--The Wilderness--The Approach--We See the Holy City

Chapter IV. 

The Dead Sea and the River Jordan. 

 Bargaining for a Guard---Departure from Jerusalem--The Hill of Offence--Bethany--The Grotto of Lazarus--The Valley of Fire--Scenery of the Wilderness--The Hills of Engaddi--The shore of the Dead Sea--A Bituminous Bath--Gallop to the Jordan--A watch for Robbers--The Jordan--Baptism--The Plains of Jericho--The Fountain of Elisha--The Mount of Temptation--Return to Jerusalem

Chapter V. 

The City of Christ. 

 Modern Jerusalem--The Site of the City--Mount Zion--Mount Moriah--The Temple--The Valley of Jehosaphat--The Olives of Gethsemane--The Mount of Olives--Moslem Tradition--Panorama from the Summit--The Interior of the City--The Population--Missions and Missionaries--Christianity in Jerusalem--Intolerance--The Jews of Jerusalem--The Face of Christ--The Church of the Holy Sepulchre--The Holy of Holies--The Sacred Localities--Visions of Christ--The Mosque of Omar--The Holy Man of Timbuctoo--Preparations for Departure. 

Chapter VI. 

The Hill-Country of Palestine. 

 Leaving Jerusalem--The Tombs of the Kings--El Bireh--The Hill-Country--First View of Mount Hermon--The Tomb of Joseph--Ebal and Gerizim--The Gardens of Nablous--The Samaritans--The Sacred Book--A Scene in the Synagogue--Mentor and Telemachus--Ride to Samaria--The Ruins of Sebaste--Scriptural Landscapes--Halt at Genin--The Plain of Esdraelon--Palestine and California--The Hills of Nazareth--Accident--Fra Joachim--The Church of the Virgin--The Shrine of the Annunciation--The Holy Places. 

Chapter VII. 

The Country of Galilee. 

 Departure from Nazareth--A Christian Guide--Ascent of Mount Tabor--Wallachian Hermits--The Panorama of Tabor--Ride to Tiberias--A Bath in Genesareth--The Flowers of Galilee--The Mount of Beatitude--Magdala--Joseph's Well--Meeting with a Turk--The Fountain of the Salt-Works--The Upper Valley of the Jordan--Summer Scenery--The Rivers of Lebanon--Tell el-Kadi--An Arcadian Region--The Fountains of Banias

Chapter VIII. 

Crossing the Anti-Lebanon. 

 The Harmless Guard--Cæsarea Philippi--The Valley of the Druses--The Sides of Mount Hermon--An Alarm--Threading a Defile--Distant view of Djebel Hauaran--Another Alarm--Camp at Katana--We Ride into Damascus

Chapter IX. 

Pictures of Damascus. 

 Damascus from the Anti-Lebanon--Entering the City--A Diorama of Bazaars--An Oriental Hotel--Our Chamber--The Bazaars--Pipes and Coffee--The Rivers of Damascus--Palaces of the Jews--Jewish Ladies--A Christian Gentleman--The Sacred Localities--Damascus Blades--The Sword of Haroun Al-Raschid--An Arrival from Palmyra

Chapter X. 

The Visions of Hasheesh. 

Chapter XI. 

A Dissertation on Bathing and Bodies. 

Chapter XII. 

Baalbec and Lebanon. 

 Departure from Damascus--The Fountains of the Pharpar--Pass of the Anti-Lebanon--Adventure with the Druses--The Range of Lebanon--The Demon of Hasheesh departs--Impressions of Baalbec--The Temple of the Sun--Titanic Masonry--The Ruined Mosque--Camp on Lebanon--Rascality of the Guide--The Summit of Lebanon--The Sacred Cedars--The Christians of Lebanon--An Afternoon in Eden--Rugged Travel--We Reach the Coast--Return to Beyrout

Chapter XIII. 

Pipes and Coffee

Chapter XIV. 

Journey to Antioch and Aleppo. 

 Change of Plans--Routes to Baghdad--Asia Minor--We sail from Beyrout--Yachting on the Syrian Coast--Tartus and Latakiyeh--The Coasts of Syria--The Bay of Suediah--The Mouth of the Orontes--Landing--The Garden of Syria--Ride to Antioch--The Modern City--The Plains of the Orontes--Remains of the Greek Empire--The Ancient Road--The Plain of Keftin--Approach to Aleppo. 

Chapter XV. 

Life in Aleppo. 

 Our Entry into Aleppo--We are conducted to a House--Our Unexpected Welcome--The Mystery Explained--Aleppo--Its Name--Its Situation--The Trade of Aleppo--The Christians--The Revolt of 1850--Present Appearance of the City--Visit to Osman Pasha--The Citadel--View from the Battlements--Society in Aleppo--Etiquette and Costume--Jewish Marriage Festivities--A Christian Marriage Procession--Ride around the Town--Nightingales--The Aleppo Button--A Hospital for Cats--Ferhat. 

Chapter XVI. 

Through the Syrian Gates. 

 An Inauspicious Departure--The Ruined Church of St. Simon--The Plain of Antioch--A Turcoman Encampment--Climbing Akma Dagh--The Syrian Gates--Scanderoon--An American Captain--Revolt of the Koords--We take a Guard--The Field of Issus--The Robber-Chief, Kutchuk Ali--A Deserted Town--A Land of Gardens. 

Chapter XVII. 

Adana and Tarsus. 

 The Black Gate--The Plain of Cilicia--A Koord Village--Missis--Cilician Scenery--Arrival at Adana--Three days in Quarantine--We receive Pratique--A Landscape--The Plain of Tarsus--The River Cydnus--A Vision of Cleopatra--Tarsus and its Environs--The _Duniktash_--The Moon of Ramazan. 

Chapter XVIII. 

The Pass of Mount Taurus. 

 We enter the Taurus--Turcomans--Forest Scenery--the Palace of Pan--Khan Mezarluk--Morning among the Mountains--The Gorge of the Cydnus--The Crag of the Fortress--The Cilician Grate--Deserted Forts--A Sublime Landscape--The Gorge of the Sihoon--The Second Gate--Camp in the Defile--Sunrise--Journey up the Sihoon--A Change of Scenery--A Pastoral Valley--Kolü Kushla--A Deserted Khan--A Guest in Ramazan--Flowers--The Plain of Karamania--Barren Hills--The Town of Eregli--The Hadji again

Chapter XIX. 

The Plains of Karamania. 

 The Plains of Karamania--Afternoon Heat--A Well--Volcanic Phenomena--Karamania--A Grand Ruined Khan--Moonlight Picture--A Landscape of the Plains--Mirages--A Short Interview--The Village of Ismil--Third Day on the Plains--Approach to Konia

Chapter XX. 

Scenes in Konia. 

 Approach to Konia--Tomb of Hazret Mevlana--Lodgings in a Khan--An American Luxury--A Night-Scene in Ramazan--Prayers in the Mosque--Remains of the Ancient City--View from the Mosque--The Interior--A Leaning Minaret--The Diverting History of the Muleteers

Chapter XXI. 

The Heart of Asia Minor. 

 Scenery of the Hills--Ladik, the Ancient Laodicea--The Plague of Gad-Flies--Camp at Ilgün--A Natural Warm Bath--The Gad-Flies Again--A Summer Landscape--Ak-Sheher--The Base of Sultan Dagh--The Fountain of Midas--A Drowsy Journey--The Town of Bolawadün

Chapter XXII. 

The Forests of Phrygia. 

 The Frontier of Phrygia--Ancient Quarries and Tombs--We Enter the Pine Forests--A Guard-House--Encampments of the Turcomans--Pastoral Scenery--A Summer Village--The Valley of the Tombs--Rock Sepulchres of the Phrygian Kings--The Titan's Camp--The Valley of Kümbeh--A Land of Flowers--Turcoman Hospitality--The Exiled Effendis--The Old Turcoman--A Glimpse of Arcadia--A Landscape--Interested Friendship--The Valley of the Pursek--Arrival at Kiutahya

Chapter XXIII. 

Kiutahya, and the Ruins of OEzani. 

 Entrance into Kiutahya--The New Khan--An Unpleasant Discovery--Kiutahya--The Citadel--Panorama from the Walls--The Gorge of the Mountains--Camp in a Meadow--The Valley of the Rhyndacus--Chavdür--The Ruins of OEzani--The Acropolis and Temple--The Theatre and Stadium--Ride down the Valley--Camp at Daghjköi

Chapter XXIV. 

The Mysian Olympus. 

 Journey Down the Valley--The Plague of Grasshoppers--A Defile--The Town of Taushanlü--The Camp of Famine--We leave the Rhyndacus--The Base of Olympus--Primeval Forests--The Guard-House--Scenery of the Summit--Forests of Beech--Saw-Mills--Descent of the Mountain--The View of Olympus--Morning--The Land of Harvest--Aineghiöl--A Showery Ride--The Plain of Brousa--The Structure of Olympus--We reach Brousa--The Tent is Furled

Chapter XXV. 

Brousa and the Sea of Marmora. 

 The City of Brousa--Return to Civilization--Storm--The Kalputcha Hammam--A Hot Bath--A Foretaste of Paradise--The Streets and Bazaars of Brousa--The Mosque--The Tombs of the Ottoman Sultans--Disappearance of the Katurgees--We start for Moudania--The Sea of Marmora--Moudania--Passport Difficulties--A Greek Caïque--Breakfast with the Fishermen--A Torrid Voyage--The Princes' Islands--Prinkipo--Distant View of Constantinople--We enter the Golden Horn

Chapter XXVI. 

The Night of Predestination. 

 Constantinople in Ramazan--The Origin of the Fast--Nightly Illuminations--The Night of Predestination--The Golden Horn at Night--Illumination of the Shores---The Cannon of Constantinople--A Fiery Panorama--The Sultan's Caïque--Close of the Celebration--A Turkish Mob--The Dancing Dervishes

Chapter XXVII. 

The Solemnities of Bairam. 

 The Appearance of the New Moon--The Festival of Bairam--The Interior of the Seraglio--The Pomp of the Sultan's Court--Reschid Pasha--The Sultan's Dwarf--Arabian Stallions--The Imperial Guard--Appearance of the Sultan--The Inner Court--Return of the Procession--The Sultan on his Throne--The Homage of the Pashas--An Oriental Picture--Kissing the Scarf--The Shekh el-Islàm--The Descendant of the Caliphs--Bairam Commences

Chapter XXVIII. 

The Mosques of Constantinople. 

 Sojourn at Constantinople--Semi-European Character of the City--The Mosque--Procuring a Firman--The Seraglio--The Library--The Ancient Throne-Room--Admittance to St. Sophia--Magnificence of the Interior--The Marvellous Dome--The Mosque of Sultan Achmed--The Sulemanye--Great Conflagrations--Political Meaning of the Fires--Turkish Progress--Decay of the Ottoman Power

Chapter XXIX. 

Farewell to the Orient--Malta. 

 Embarcation--Farewell to the Orient--Leaving Constantinople--A Wreck--The Dardanelles--Homeric Scenery--Smyrna Revisited--The Grecian Isles--Voyage to Malta--Detention--La Valetta--The Maltese--The Climate--A Boat for Sicily

Chapter XXX. 

The Festival of St. Agatha. 

 Departure from Malta--The Speronara--Our Fellow-Passengers--The First Night on Board--Sicily--Scarcity of Provisions--Beating in the Calabrian Channel--The Fourth Morning--The Gulf of Catania--A Sicilian Landscape--The Anchorage--The Suspected List--The Streets of Catania--Biography of St. Agatha--The Illuminations--The Procession of the Veil--The Biscari Palace--The Antiquities of Catania--The Convent of St. Nicola

Chapter XXXI. 

The Eruption of Mount Etna. 

 The Mountain Threatens--The Signs Increase--We Leave Catania--Gardens Among the Lava--Etna Labors--Aci Reale--The Groans of Etna--The Eruption--Gigantic Tree of Smoke--Formation of the New Crater--We Lose Sight of the Mountain--Arrival at Messina--Etna is Obscured--Departure

Chapter XXXII. 

Gibraltar. 

 Unwritten Links of Travel--Departure from Southampton--The Bay of Biscay--Cintra--Trafalgar--Gibraltar at Midnight--Landing--Search for a Palm-Tree--A Brilliant Morning--The Convexity of the Earth--Sun-Worship--The Rock

Chapter XXXIII. 

Cadiz and Seville. 

 Voyage to Cadiz--Landing--The City--Its Streets--The Women of Cadiz--Embarkation for Seville--Scenery of the Guadalquivir--Custom House Examination--The Guide--The Streets of Seville--The Giralda--The Cathedral of Seville--The Alcazar--Moorish Architecture--Pilate's House--Morning View from the Giralda--Old Wine--Murillos--My Last Evening in Seville

Chapter XXXIV. 

Journey in a Spanish Diligence. 

 Spanish Diligence Lines--Leaving Seville--An Unlucky Start--Alcalà of the Bakers--Dinner at Carmona--A Dehesa--The Mayoral and his Team--Ecija--Night Journey--Cordova--The Cathedral-Mosque--Moorish Architecture--The Sierra Morena--A Rainy Journey--A Chapter of Accidents--Baylen--The Fascination of Spain--Jaen--The Vega of Granada

Chapter XXXV. 

Granada and the Alhambra. 

 Mateo Ximenez, the Younger--The Cathedral of Granada--A Monkish Miracle--Catholic Shrines--Military Cherubs--The Royal Chapel--The Tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella--Chapel of San Juan de Dios--The Albaycin--View of the Vega--The Generalife--The Alhambra--Torra de la Vela--The Walls and Towers--A Visit to Old Mateo--The Court of the Fishpond--The Halls of the Alhambra--Character of the Architecture-- Hall of the Abencerrages--Hall of the Two Sisters--The Moorish Dynasty in Spain

Chapter XXXVI. 

The Bridle-Roads of Andalusia. 

 Change of Weather--Napoleon and his Horses--Departure from Granada--My Guide, José Garcia--His Domestic Troubles--The Tragedy of the Umbrella--The Vow against Aguardiente--Crossing the Vega--The Sierra Nevada--The Baths of Alhama--"Woe is Me, Alhama!"--The Valley of the River Vélez--Vélez Malaga--The Coast Road--The Fisherman and his Donkey--Malaga--Summer Scenery--The Story of Don Pedro, without Fear and without Care--The Field of Monda--A Lonely Venta

Chapter XXXVII. 

The Mountains of Fonda. 

 Orange Valleys--Climbing the Mountains--José's Hospitality--El Burgo--The Gate of the Wind--The Cliff and Cascades of Ronda--The Mountain Region--Traces of the Moors--Haunts of Robbers--A Stormy Ride--The Inn at Gaucin--Bad News--A Boyish Auxiliary--Descent from the Mountains--The Ford of the Guadiaro--Our Fears Relieved--The Cork Woods--Ride from San Roque to Gibraltar--Parting with José--Travelling in Spain--Conclusion

The Lands of the Saracen

Chapter I. 

Life in a Syrian Quarantine. 

 Voyage from Alexandria to Beyrout--Landing at Quarantine--The Guardiano--Our Quarters--Our Companions--Famine and Feasting--The Morning--The Holy Man of Timbuctoo--Sunday in Quarantine--Islamism--We are Registered--Love through a Grating--Trumpets--The Mystery Explained--Delights of Quarantine--Oriental _vs_. American Exaggeration--A Discussion of Politics--Our Release--Beyrout--Preparations for the Pilgrimage. 

 "The mountains look on Quarantine, And Quarantine looks on the sea. "

 Quarantine MS. 

In Quarantine, Beyrout, _Saturday, April_ 17, 1852. 

Everybody has heard of Quarantine, but in our favored country there aremany untravelled persons who do not precisely know what it is, and who nodoubt wonder why it should be such a bugbear to travellers in the Orient. I confess I am still somewhat in the same predicament myself, although Ihave already been twenty-four hours in Quarantine. But, as a peculiarityof the place is, that one can do nothing, however good a will he has, Ipropose to set down my experiences each day, hoping that I and my readersmay obtain some insight into the nature of Quarantine, before the term ofmy probation is over. 

I left Alexandria on the afternoon of the 14th inst. , in company with Mr. Carter Harrison, a fellow-countryman, who had joined me in Cairo, for thetour through Palestine. We had a head wind, and rough sea, and I remainedin a torpid state during most of the voyage. There was rain the secondnight; but, when the clouds cleared away yesterday morning, we weregladdened by the sight of Lebanon, whose summits glittered with streaks ofsnow. The lower slopes of the mountains were green with fields andforests, and Beyrout, when we ran up to it, seemed buried almost out ofsight, in the foliage of its mulberry groves. The town is built along thenorthern side of a peninsula, which projects about two miles from the mainline of the coast, forming a road for vessels. In half an hour after ourarrival, several large boats came alongside, and we were told to get ourbaggage in order and embark for Quarantine. The time necessary to purify atraveller arriving from Egypt from suspicion of the plague, is five days, but the days of arrival and departure are counted, so that the duranceamounts to but three full days. The captain of the Osiris mustered thepassengers together, and informed them that each one would be obliged topay six piastres for the transportation of himself and his baggage. Twoheavy lighters are now drawn up to the foot of the gangway, but as soon asthe first box tumbles into them, the men tumble out. They attach the craftby cables to two smaller boats, in which they sit, to tow the infectedloads. We are all sent down together, Jews, Turks, and Christians--aconfused pile of men, women, children, and goods. A little boat from thecity, in which there are representatives from the two hotels, hoversaround us, and cards are thrown to us. The zealous agents wish to supplyus immediately with tables, beds, and all other household appliances; butwe decline their help until we arrive at the mysterious spot. At last wefloat off--two lighters full of infected, though respectable, material, towed by oarsmen of most scurvy appearance, but free from every suspicionof taint. 

The sea is still rough, the sun is hot, and a fat Jewess becomes sea-sick. An Italian Jew rails at the boatmen ahead, in the Neapolitan patois, forthe distance is long, the Quarantine being on the land-side of Beyrout. Wesee the rows of little yellow houses on the cliff, and with great apparentrisk of being swept upon the breakers, are tugged into a small cove, wherethere is a landing-place. Nobody is there to receive us; the boatmen jumpinto the water and push the lighters against the stone stairs, while weunload our own baggage. A tin cup filled with sea-water is placed beforeus, and we each drop six piastres into it--for money, strange as it mayseem, is infectious. By this time, the _guardianos_ have had notice of ourarrival, and we go up with them to choose our habitations. There areseveral rows of one-story houses overlooking the sea, each containing twoempty rooms, to be had for a hundred piastres; but a square two-storydwelling stands apart from them, and the whole of it may be had for thricethat sum. There are seven Frank prisoners, and we take it for ourselves. But the rooms are bare, the kitchen empty, and we learn the importantfact, that Quarantine is durance vile, without even the bread and water. The guardiano says the agents of the hotel are at the gate, and we canorder from them whatever we want. Certainly; but at their own price, forwe are wholly at their mercy. However, we go down stairs, and the chiefofficer, who accompanies us, gets into a corner as we pass, and holds astick before him to keep us off. He is now clean, but if his garmentsbrush against ours, he is lost. The people we meet in the grounds stepaside with great respect to let us pass, but if we offer them our hands, no one would dare to touch a finger's tip. 

Here is the gate: a double screen of wire, with an interval between, sothat contact is impossible. There is a crowd of individuals outside, allanxious to execute commissions. Among them is the agent of the hotel, whoproposes to fill our bare rooms with furniture, send us a servant andcook, and charge us the same as if we lodged with him. The bargain isclosed at once, and he hurries off to make the arrangements. It is nowfour o'clock, and the bracing air of the headland gives a terribleappetite to those of us who, like me, have been sea-sick and fasting forforty-eight hours. But there is no food within the Quarantine except apatch of green wheat, and a well in the limestone rock. We two Americansjoin company with our room-mate, an Alexandrian of Italian parentage, whohas come to Beyrout to be married, and make the tour of our territory. There is a path along the cliffs overhanging the sea, with glorious viewsof Lebanon, up to his snowy top, the pine-forests at his base, and thelong cape whereon the city lies at full length, reposing beside the waves. The Mahommedans and Jews, in companies of ten (to save expense), arelodged in the smaller dwellings, where they have already aroused millionsof fleas from their state of torpid expectancy. We return, and take asurvey of our companions in the pavilion: a French woman, with two uglyand peevish children (one at the breast), in the next room, and threeFrench gentlemen in the other--a merchant, a young man with hair ofextraordinary length, and a _filateur_, or silk-manufacturer, middle-agedand cynical. The first is a gentleman in every sense of the word, thelatter endurable, but the young Absalom is my aversion, I am subject toinvoluntary likings and dislikings, for which I can give no reason, andthough the man may be in every way amiable, his presence is verydistasteful to me. 

We take a pipe of consolation, but it only whets our appetites. We give upour promenade, for exercise is still worse; and at last the sun goes down, and yet no sign of dinner. Our pavilion becomes a Tower of Famine, and theItalian recites Dante. Finally a strange face appears at the door. ByApicius! it is a servant from the hotel, with iron bedsteads, camp-tables, and some large chests, which breathe an odor of the Commissary Department. We go stealthily down to the kitchen, and watch the unpacking. Our dinneris there, sure enough, but alas! it is not yet cooked. Patience is nomore; my companion manages to filch a raw onion and a crust of bread, which we share, and roll under our tongues as a sweet morsel, and it givesus strength for another hour. The Greek dragoman and cook, who are sentinto Quarantine for our sakes, take compassion on us; the fires arekindled in the cold furnaces; savory steams creep up the stairs; thepreparations increase, and finally climax in the rapturous announcement:"Messieurs, dinner is ready. " The soup is liquified bliss; the _cotelettesd'agneau_ are _cotelettes de bonheur_; and as for that broad dish ofSyrian larks--Heaven forgive us the regret, that more songs had not beensilenced for our sake! The meal is all nectar and ambrosia, and now, filled and contented, we subside into sleep on comfortable couches. Socloses the first day of our incarceration. 

This morning dawned clear and beautiful. Lebanon, except his snowy crest, was wrapped in the early shadows, but the Mediterranean gleamed like ashield of sapphire, and Beyrout, sculptured against the background of itsmulberry groves, was glorified beyond all other cities. The turf aroundour pavilion fairly blazed with the splendor of the yellow daisies andcrimson poppies that stud it. I was satisfied with what I saw, and felt nowish to leave Quarantine to-day. Our Italian friend, however, is moreimpatient. His betrothed came early to see him, and we were edified by thegreat alacrity with which he hastened to the grate, to renew his vows attwo yards' distance from her. In the meantime, I went down to the Turkishhouses, to cultivate the acquaintance of a singular character I met onboard the steamer. He is a negro of six feet four, dressed in a longscarlet robe. His name is Mahommed Senoosee, and he is a _fakeer_, or holyman, from Timbuctoo. He has been two years absent from home, on apilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, and is now on his way to Jerusalem andDamascus. He has travelled extensively in all parts of Central Africa, from Dar-Fur to Ashantee, and professes to be on good terms with theSultans of Houssa and Bornou. He has even been in the great kingdom ofWaday, which has never been explored by Europeans, and as far south asIola, the capital of Adamowa. Of the correctness of his narrations I havenot the least doubt, as they correspond geographically with all that weknow of the interior of Africa. In answer to my question whether aEuropean might safely make the same tour, he replied that there would beno difficulty, provided he was accompanied by a native, and he offered totake me even to Timbuctoo, if I would return with him. He was very curiousto obtain information about America, and made notes of all that I toldhim, in the quaint character used by the Mughrebbins, or Arabs of theWest, which has considerable resemblance to the ancient Cufic. He wishesto join company with me for the journey to Jerusalem, and perhaps I shallaccept him. 

_Sunday, April_ 18. 

As Quarantine is a sort of limbo, without the pale of civilized society, we have no church service to-day. We have done the best we could, however, in sending one of the outside dragomen to purchase a Bible, in which wesucceeded. He brought us a very handsome copy, printed by the AmericanBible Society in New York. I tried vainly in Cairo and Alexandria to finda missionary who would supply my heathenish destitution of the SacredWritings; for I had reached the East through Austria, where they areprohibited, and to travel through Palestine without them, would be likesailing without pilot or compass. It gives a most impressive reality toSolomon's "house of the forest of Lebanon, " when you can look up from thepage to those very forests and those grand mountains, "excellent with thecedars. " Seeing the holy man of Timbuctoo praying with his face towardsMecca, I went down to him, and we conversed for a long time on religiousmatters. He is tolerably well informed, having read the Books of Moses andthe Psalms of David, but, like all Mahommedans, his ideas of religionconsist mainly of forms, and its reward is a sensual paradise. The moreintelligent of the Moslems give a spiritual interpretation to the natureof the Heaven promised by the Prophet, and I have heard several openlyconfess their disbelief in the seventy houries and the palaces of pearland emerald. Shekh Mahommed Senoosee scarcely ever utters a sentence inwhich is not the word "Allah, " and "La illah il' Allah" is repeated atleast every five minutes. Those of his class consider that there is apeculiar merit in the repetition of the names and attributes of God. Theyutterly reject the doctrine of the Trinity, which they believe implies asort of partnership, or God-firm (to use their own words), and declarethat all who accept it are hopelessly damned. To deny Mahomet'sprophetship would excite a violent antagonism, and I content myself withmaking them acknowledge that God is greater than all Prophets or Apostles, and that there is but one God for all the human race. I have never yetencountered that bitter spirit of bigotry which is so frequently ascribedto them; but on the contrary, fully as great a tolerance as they wouldfind exhibited towards them by most of the Christian sects. 

This morning a paper was sent to us, on which we were requested to writeour names, ages, professions, and places of nativity. We conjectured thatwe were subjected to the suspicion of political as well as physical taint, but happily this was not the case. I registered myself as a _voyageur_, the French as _negocians_ and when it came to the woman's turn, Absalom, who is a partisan of female progress, wished to give her the sameprofession as her husband--a machinist. But she declared that her onlyprofession was that of a "married woman, " and she was so inscribed. Herpeevish boy rejoiced in the title of "_pleuricheur_, " or "weeper, " and theinfant as "_titeuse_, " or "sucker. " While this was going on, theguardiano of our room came in very mysteriously, and beckoned to mycompanion, saying that "Mademoiselle was at the gate. " But it was theItalian who was wanted, and again, from the little window of our pavilion, we watched his hurried progress over the lawn. No sooner had she departed, than he took his pocket telescope, slowly sweeping the circuit of the bayas she drew nearer and nearer Beyrout. He has succeeded in distinguishing, among the mass of buildings, the top of the house in which she lives, butalas! it is one story too low, and his patient espial has only beenrewarded by the sight of some cats promenading on the roof. 

I have succeeded in obtaining some further particulars in relation toQuarantine. On the night of our arrival, as we were about getting into ourbeds, a sudden and horrible gush of brimstone vapor came up stairs, and weall fell to coughing like patients in a pulmonary hospital. The odorincreased till we were obliged to open the windows and sit beside them inorder to breathe comfortably. This was the preparatory fumigation, inorder to remove the ranker seeds of plague, after which the mildersymptoms will of themselves vanish in the pure air of the place. Severaltimes a day we are stunned and overwhelmed with the cracked brays of threediscordant trumpets, as grating and doleful as the last gasps of a dyingdonkey. At first I supposed the object of this was to give a greateragitation to the air, and separate and shake down the noxious exhalationswe emit; but since I was informed that the soldiers outside would shoot usin case we attempted to escape, I have concluded that the sound is meantto alarm us, and prevent our approaching too near the walls. On inquiringof our guardiano whether the wheat growing within the grounds was subjectto Quarantine, he informed me that it did not ecovey infection, and thatthree old geese, who walked out past the guard with impunity, were free togo and come, as they had never been known to have the plague. Yesterdayevening the medical attendant, a Polish physician, came in to inspect us, but he made a very hasty review, looking down on us from the top of a highhorse. 

_Monday, April_ 19. 

Eureka! the whole thing is explained. Talking to day with the guardiano, he happened to mention that he had been three years in Quarantine, keepingwatch over infected travellers. "What!" said I, "you have been sick threeyears. " "Oh no, " he replied; "I have never been sick at all. " "But are notpeople sick in Quarantine?" "_Stafferillah!_" he exclaimed; "they arealways in better health than the people outside. " "What is Quarantine for, then?" I persisted. "What is it for?" he repeated, with a pause of blankamazement at my ignorance, "why, to get money from the travellers!"Indiscreet guardiano! It were better to suppose ourselves under suspicionof the plague, than to have such an explanation of the mystery. Yet, inspite of the unpalatable knowledge, I almost regret that this is our lastday in the establishment. The air is so pure and bracing, the views fromour windows so magnificent, the colonized branch of the Beyrout Hotel socomfortable, that I am content to enjoy this pleasant idleness--the morepleasant since, being involuntary, it is no weight on the conscience. Ilook up to the Maronite villages, perched on the slopes of Lebanon, withscarce a wish to climb to them, or turning to the sparkling Mediterranean, view

 "The speronara's sail of snowy hue Whitening and brightening on that field of blue, "

and have none of that unrest which the sight of a vessel in motionsuggests. 

To-day my friend from Timbuctoo came up to have another talk. He wascurious to know the object of my travels, and as he would not havecomprehended the exact truth, I was obliged to convey it to him throughthe medium of fiction. I informed him that I had been dispatched by theSultan of my country to obtain information of the countries of Africa;that I wrote in a book accounts of everything I saw, and on my return, would present this book to the Sultan, who would reward me with a highrank--perhaps even that of Grand Vizier. The Orientals deal largely inhyperbole, and scatter numbers and values with the most recklessprofusion. The Arabic, like the Hebrew, its sister tongue, and other oldoriginal tongues of Man, is a language of roots, and abounds with theboldest metaphors. Now, exaggeration is but the imperfect form ofmetaphor. The expression is always a splendid amplification of the simplefact. Like skilful archers, in order to hit the mark, they aim above it. When you have once learned his standard of truth, you can readily gauge anArab's expressions, and regulate your own accordingly. But whenever I haveattempted to strike the key-note myself, I generally found that it wasbelow, rather than above, the Oriental pitch. 

The Shekh had already informed me that the King of Ashantee, whom he hadvisited, possessed twenty-four houses full of gold, and that the Sultan ofHoussa had seventy thousand horses always standing saddled before hispalace, in order that he might take his choice, when he wished to rideout. By this he did not mean that the facts were precisely so, but onlythat the King was very rich, and the Sultan had a great many horses. Inorder to give the Shekh an idea of the great wealth and power of theAmerican Nation, I was obliged to adopt the same plan. I told him, therefore, that our country was two years' journey in extent, that theTreasury consisted of four thousand houses filled to the roof with gold, and that two hundred thousand soldiers on horseback kept continual guardaround Sultan Fillmore's palace. He received these tremendous statementswith the utmost serenity and satisfaction, carefully writing them in hisbook, together with the name of Sultan Fillmore, whose fame has ere thisreached the remote regions of Timbuctoo. The Shekh, moreover, had thedesire of visiting England, and wished me to give him a letter to theEnglish Sultan. This rather exceeded my powers, but I wrote a simplecertificate explaining who he was, and whence he came, which I sealed withan immense display of wax, and gave him. In return, he wrote his name inmy book, in the Mughrebbin character, adding the sentence: "There is noGod but God. "

This evening the forbidden subject of politics crept into our quietcommunity, and the result was an explosive contention which drowned eventhe braying of the agonizing trumpets outside. The gentlemanly Frenchmanis a sensible and consistent republican, the old _filateur_ a violentmonarchist, while Absalom, as I might have foreseen, is a Red, of theschools of Proudhon and Considerant. The first predicted a Republic inFrance, the second a Monarchy in America, and the last was in favor of ageneral and total demolition of all existing systems. Of course, with suchelements, anything like a serious discussion was impossible; and, as inmost French debates, it ended in a bewildering confusion of cries andgesticulations. In the midst of it, I was struck by the cordiality withwhich the Monarchist and the Socialist united in their denunciations ofEngland and the English laws. As they sat side by side, pouring outanathemas against "perfide Albion, " I could not help exclaiming: "_Voilà, comme les extrêmes se rencontrent_!" This turned the whole current oftheir wrath against me, and I was glad to make a hasty retreat. 

The physician again visited us to-night, to promise a release to-morrowmorning. He looked us all in the faces, to be certain that there were nosigns of pestilence, and politely regretted that he could not offer us hishand. The husband of the "married woman" also came, and relieved the othergentlemen from the charge of the "weeper. " He was a stout, ruddyProvençal, in a white blouse, and I commiserated him sincerely for havingsuch a disagreeable wife. 

To-day, being the last of our imprisonment, we have received many tokensof attention from dragomen, who have sent their papers through the grateto us, to be returned to-morrow after our liberation. They are not veryprepossessing specimens of their class, with the exception of Yusef Badra, who brings a recommendation from my friend, Ross Browne. Yusef is ahandsome, dashing fellow, with something of the dandy in his dress andair, but he has a fine, clear, sparkling eye, with just enough of thedevil in it to make him attractive. I think, however, that, the Greekdragoman, who has been our companion in Quarantine, will carry the day. Heis by birth a Boeotian, but now a citizen of Athens, and calls himselfFrançois Vitalis. He speaks French, German, and Italian, besides Arabicand Turkish, and as he has been for twelve or fifteen years vibratingbetween Europe and the East, he must by this time have amassed sufficientexperience to answer the needs of rough-and-tumble travellers likeourselves. He has not asked us for the place, which displays so muchpenetration on his part, that we shall end by offering it to him. Perhapshe is content to rest his claims upon the memory of our first Quarantinedinner. If so, the odors of the cutlets and larks--even of the raw onion, which we remember with tears--shall not plead his cause in vain. 

Beyrout (out of Quarantine), _Wednesday, May_ 21. 

The handsome Greek, Diamanti, one of the proprietors of the "Hotel deBelle Vue, " was on hand bright and early yesterday morning, to welcome usout of Quarantine. The gates were thrown wide, and forth we issued betweentwo files of soldiers, rejoicing in our purification. We walked throughmulberry orchards to the town, and through its steep and crooked streetsto the hotel, which stands beyond, near the extremity of the Cape, or RasBeyrout. The town is small, but has an active population, and a largercommerce than any other port in Syria. The anchorage, however, is an openroad, and in stormy weather it is impossible for a boat to land. There aretwo picturesque old castles on some rocks near the shore, but they werealmost destroyed by the English bombardment in 1841. I noticed two orthree granite columns, now used as the lintels of some of the arched waysin the streets, and other fragments of old masonry, the only remains ofthe ancient Berytus. 

Our time, since our release, has been occupied by preparations for thejourney to Jerusalem. We have taken François as dragoman, and our_mukkairee_, or muleteers, are engaged to be in readiness to-morrowmorning. I learn that the Druses are in revolt in Djebel Hauaran and partsof the Anti-Lebanon, which will prevent my forming any settled plan forthe tour through Palestine and Syria. Up to this time, the country hasbeen considered quite safe, the only robbery this winter having been thatof the party of Mr. Degen, of New York, which was plundered near Tiberias. Dr. Robinson left here two weeks ago for Jerusalem, in company with Dr. Eli Smith, of the American Mission at this place. 

Chapter II. 

The Coast of Palestine. 

 The Pilgrimage Commences--The Muleteers--The Mules--The Donkey--Journey to Sidon--The Foot of Lebanon--Pictures--The Ruins of Tyre--A Wild Morning--The Tyrian Surges--Climbing the Ladder of Tyre--Panorama of the Bay of Acre--The Plain of Esdraelon--Camp in a Garden--Acre--the Shore of the Bay--Haifa--Mount Carmel and its Monastery--A Deserted Coast--The Ruins of Cæsarea--The Scenery of Palestine--We become Robbers--El Haram--Wrecks--the Harbor and Town of Jaffa. 

 "Along the line of foam, the jewelled chain, The largesse of the ever-giving main. "

 R. H. Stoddard. 

Ramleh, _April_ 27, 1852. 

We left Beyrout on the morning of the 22d. Our caravan consisted of threehorses, three mules, and a donkey, in charge of two men--Dervish, anerect, black-bearded, and most impassive Mussulman, and Mustapha, who isthe very picture of patience and good-nature. He was born with a smile onhis face, and has never been able to change the expression. They are bothmasters of their art, and can load a mule with a speed and skill which Iwould defy any Santa Fé trader to excel. The animals are not lessinteresting than their masters. Our horses, to be sure, are slow, ploddingbeasts, with considerable endurance, but little spirit; but the twobaggage mules deserve gold medals from the Society for the Promotion ofIndustry. I can overlook any amount of waywardness in the creatures, inconsideration of the steady, persevering energy, the cheerfulness and evenenthusiasm with which they perform their duties. They seem to be consciousthat they are doing well, and to take a delight in the consciousness. Oneof them has a band of white shells around his neck, fastened with a tasseland two large blue beads; and you need but look at him to see that he isaware how becoming it is. He thinks it was given to him for good conduct, and is doing his best to merit another. The little donkey is a still moreoriginal animal. He is a practical humorist, full of perverse tricks, butall intended for effect, and without a particle of malice. He generallywalks behind, running off to one side or the other to crop a mouthful ofgrass, but no sooner does Dervish attempt to mount him, than he sets offat full gallop, and takes the lead of the caravan. After having performedone of his feats, he turns around with a droll glance at us, as much as tosay: "Did you see that?" If we had not been present, most assuredly hewould never have done it. I can imagine him, after his return to Beyrout, relating his adventures to a company of fellow-donkeys, who every now andthen burst into tremendous brays at some of his irresistible dry sayings. 

I persuaded Mr. Harrison to adopt the Oriental costume, which, from fivemonths' wear in Africa, I greatly preferred to the Frank. We thereforerode out of Beyrout as a pair of Syrian Beys, while François, with hisbelt, sabre, and pistols had much the aspect of a Greek brigand. The roadcrosses the hill behind the city, between the Forest of Pines and a longtract of red sand-hills next the sea. It was a lovely morning, not toobright and hot, for light, fleecy vapors hung along the sides of Lebanon. Beyond the mulberry orchards, we entered on wild, half-cultivated tracts, covered with a bewildering maze of blossoms. The hill-side and stonyshelves of soil overhanging the sea fairly blazed with the brilliant dotsof color which were rained upon them. The pink, the broom, the poppy, thespeedwell, the lupin, that beautiful variety of the cyclamen, called bythe Syrians "_deek e-djebel_" (cock o' the mountain), and a number ofunknown plants dazzled the eye with their profusion, and loaded the airwith fragrance as rare as it was unfailing. Here and there, clear, swiftrivulets came down from Lebanon, coursing their way between thickets ofblooming oleanders. Just before crossing the little river Damoor, Françoispointed out, on one of the distant heights, the residence of the late LadyHester Stanhope. During the afternoon we crossed several offshoots of theLebanon, by paths incredibly steep and stony, and towards evening reachedSaïda, the ancient Sidon, where we obtained permission to pitch our tentin a garden. The town is built on a narrow point of land, jutting out fromthe centre of a bay, or curve in the coast, and contains about fivethousand inhabitants. It is a quiet, sleepy sort of a place, and containsnothing of the old Sidon except a few stones and the fragments of a mole, extending into the sea. The fortress in the water, and the Citadel, areremnants of Venitian sway. The clouds gathered after nightfall, andoccasionally there was a dash of rain on our tent. But I heard it with thesame quiet happiness, as when, in boyhood, sleeping beneath the rafters, Ihave heard the rain beating all night upon the roof. I breathed the sweetbreath of the grasses whereon my carpet was spread, and old Mother Earth, welcoming me back to her bosom, cradled me into calm and refreshingsleep. There is no rest more grateful than that which we take on the turfor the sand, except the rest below it. 

We rose in a dark and cloudy morning, and continued our way between fieldsof barley, completely stained with the bloody hue of the poppy, andmeadows turned into golden mosaic by a brilliant yellow daisy. Until noonour road was over a region of alternate meadow land and gentle thoughstony elevations, making out from Lebanon. We met continually withindications of ancient power and prosperity. The ground was strewn withhewn blocks, and the foundations of buildings remain in many places. Broken sarcophagi lie half-buried in grass, and the gray rocks of thehills are pierced with tombs. The soil, though stony, appeared to benaturally fertile, and the crops of wheat, barley, and lentils were veryflourishing. After rounding the promontory which forms the southernboundary of the Gulf of Sidon, we rode for an hour or two over a plainnear the sea, and then came down to a valley which ran up among the hills, terminating in a natural amphitheatre. An ancient barrow, or tumulus, nobody knows of whom, stands near the sea. During the day I noticed twocharming little pictures. One, a fountain gushing into a broad squarebasin of masonry, shaded by three branching cypresses. Two Turks sat onits edge, eating their bread and curdled milk, while their horses drankout of the stone trough below. The other, an old Mahommedan, with a greenturban and white robe, seated at the foot of a majestic sycamore, over thehigh bank of a stream that tumbled down its bed of white marble rock tothe sea. 

The plain back of the narrow, sandy promontory on which the modern Sooris built, is a rich black loam, which a little proper culture would turninto a very garden. It helped me to account for the wealth of ancientTyre. The approach to the town, along a beach on which the surf broke witha continuous roar, with the wreck of a Greek vessel in the foreground, anda stormy sky behind, was very striking. It was a wild, bleak picture, thewhite minarets of the town standing out spectrally against the clouds. Werode up the sand-hills, back of the town, and selected a goodcamping-place among the ruins of Tyre. Near us there was an ancient squarebuilding, now used as a cistern, and filled with excellent fresh water. The surf roared tremendously on the rocks, on either hand, and the boom ofthe more distant breakers came to my ear like the wind in a pine forest. The remains of the ancient sea-wall are still to be traced for the entirecircuit of the city, and the heavy surf breaks upon piles of shatteredgranite columns. Along a sort of mole, protecting an inner harbor on thenorth side, are great numbers of these columns. I counted fifteen in onegroup, some of them fine red granite, and some of the marble of Lebanon. The remains of the pharos and the fortresses strengthening the sea-wall, were pointed out by the Syrian who accompanied us as a guide, but hisfaith was a little stronger than mine. He even showed us the ruins of thejetty built by Alexander, by means of which the ancient city, theninsulated by the sea, was taken. The remains of the causeway graduallyformed the promontory by which the place is now connected with the mainland. These are the principal indications of Tyre above ground, but theguide informed us that the Arabs, in digging among the sand-hills for thestones of the old buildings, which they quarry out and ship to Beyrout, come upon chambers, pillars, arches, and other objects. The Tyrian purpleis still furnished by a muscle found upon the coast, but Tyre is now onlynoted for its tobacco and mill-stones. I saw many of the latter lying inthe streets of the town, and an Arab was selling a quantity at auction inthe square, as we passed. They are cut out from a species of dark volcanicrock, by the Bedouins of the mountains. There were half a dozen smallcoasting vessels lying in the road, but the old harbors are entirelydestroyed. Isaiah's prophecy is literally fulfilled: "Howl, ye ships ofTarshish; for it is laid waste, so that there is no house, no enteringin. "

On returning from our ramble we passed the house of the Governor, DaoodAgha, who was dispensing justice in regard to a lawsuit then before him. He asked us to stop and take coffee, and received us with much grace anddignity. As we rose to leave, a slave brought me a large bunch of choiceflowers from his garden. 

We set out from Tyre at an early hour, and rode along the beach around thehead of the bay to the Ras-el-Abiad, the ancient Promontorium Album. Themorning was wild and cloudy, with gleams of sunshine that flashed out overthe dark violet gloom of the sea. The surf was magnificent, rolling up ingrand billows, which broke and formed again, till the last of the long, falling fringes of snow slid seething up the sand. Something of ancientpower was in their shock and roar, and every great wave that plunged anddrew back again, called in its solemn bass: "Where are the ships of Tyre?where are the ships of Tyre?" I looked back on the city, which stoodadvanced far into the sea, her feet bathed in thunderous spray. By and bythe clouds cleared away, the sun came out bold and bright, and our roadleft the beach for a meadowy plain, crossed by fresh streams, and sownwith an inexhaustible wealth of flowers. Through thickets of myrtle andmastic, around which the rue and lavender grew in dense clusters, wereached the foot of the mountain, and began ascending the celebratedLadder of Tyre. The road is so steep as to resemble a staircase, andclimbs along the side of the promontory, hanging over precipices of nakedwhite rock, in some places three hundred feet in height. The mountain is amass of magnesian limestone, with occasional beds of marble. The surf hasworn its foot into hollow caverns, into which the sea rushes with a dull, heavy boom, like distant thunder. The sides are covered with thickets ofbroom, myrtle, arbutus, ilex, mastic and laurel, overgrown with woodbine, and interspersed with patches of sage, lavender, hyssop, wild thyme, andrue. The whole mountain is a heap of balm; a bundle of sweet spices. 

Our horses' hoofs clattered up and down the rounds of the ladder, and welooked our last on Tyre, fading away behind the white hem of the breakers, as we turned the point of the promontory. Another cove of themountain-coast followed, terminated by the Cape of Nakhura, the northernpoint of the Bay of Acre. We rode along a stony way between fields ofwheat and barley, blotted almost out of sight by showers of scarletpoppies and yellow chrysanthemums. There were frequent ruins: fragments ofsarcophagi, foundations of houses, and about half way between the twocapes, the mounds of Alexandro-Schoenæ. We stopped at a khan, andbreakfasted under a magnificent olive tree, while two boys tended ourhorses to see that they ate only the edges of the wheat field. Below thehouse were two large cypresses, and on a little tongue of land the ruinsof one of those square towers of the corsairs, which line all this coast. The intense blue of the sea, seen close at hand over a broad field ofgoldening wheat, formed a dazzling and superb contrast of color. Early inthe afternoon we climbed the Ras Nakhura, not so bold and grand, thoughquite as flowery a steep as the Promontorium Album. We had been jogginghalf an hour over its uneven summit, when the side suddenly fell awaybelow us, and we saw the whole of the great gulf and plain of Acre, backedby the long ridge of Mount Carmel. Behind the sea, which makes a deepindentation in the line of the coast, extended the plain, bounded on theeast, at two leagues' distance, by a range of hills covered with luxuriantolive groves, and still higher, by the distant mountains of Galilee. Thefortifications of Acre were visible on a slight promontory near the middleof the Gulf. From our feet the line of foamy surf extended for miles alongthe red sand-beach, till it finally became like a chalk-mark on the edgeof the field of blue. 

We rode down the mountain and continued our journey over the plain ofEsdraelon--a picture of summer luxuriance and bloom. The waves of wheatand barley rolled away from our path to the distant olive orchards; herethe water gushed from a stone fountain and flowed into a turf-girdledpool, around which the Syrian women were washing their garments; there, agarden of orange, lemon, fig, and pomegranate trees in blossom, was aspring of sweet odors, which overflowed the whole land. We rode into someof these forests, for they were no less, and finally pitched our tent inone of them, belonging to the palace of the former Abdallah Pasha, withina mile of Acre. The old Saracen aqueduct, which still conveys water tothe town, overhung our tent. For an hour before reaching our destination, we had seen it on the left, crossing the hollows on light stone arches. Inone place I counted fifty-eight, and in another one hundred and three ofthese arches, some of which were fifty feet high. Our camp was a charmingplace: a nest of deep herbage, under two enormous fig-trees, andsurrounded by a balmy grove of orange and citron. It was doubly beautifulwhen the long line of the aqueduct was lit up by the moon, and the orangetrees became mounds of ambrosial darkness. 

In the morning we rode to Acre, the fortifications of which have beenrestored on the land-side. A ponderous double gateway of stone admitted usinto the city, through what was once, apparently, the court-yard of afortress. The streets of the town are narrow, terribly rough, and verydirty, but the bazaars are extensive and well stocked. The principalmosque, whose heavy dome is visible at some distance from the city, issurrounded with a garden, enclosed by a pillared corridor, paved withmarble. All the houses of the city are built in the most massive style, ofhard gray limestone or marble, and this circumstance alone prevented theircomplete destruction during the English bombardment in 1841. The marks ofthe shells are everywhere seen, and the upper parts of the lofty buildingsare completely riddled with cannon-balls, some of which remain embedded inthe stone. We made a rapid tour of the town on horseback, followed by thecurious glances of the people, who were in doubt whether to consider usTurks or Franks. There were a dozen vessels in the harbor, which isconsidered the best in Syria. 

The baggage-mules had gone on, so we galloped after them along the hardbeach, around the head of the bay. It was a brilliant morning; adelicious south-eastern breeze came to us over the flowery plain ofEsdraelon; the sea on our right shone blue, and purple, and violet-green, and black, as the shadows or sunshine crossed it, and only the long linesof roaring foam, for ever changing in form, did not vary in hue. Afisherman stood on the beach in a statuesque attitude, his handsome barelegs bathed in the frothy swells, a bag of fish hanging from his shoulder, and the large square net, with its sinkers of lead in his right hand, ready for a cast. He had good luck, for the waves brought up plenty oflarge fish, and cast them at our feet, leaving them to struggle back intothe treacherous brine. Between Acre and Haifa we passed six or eightwrecks, mostly of small trading vessels. Some were half buried in sand, some so old and mossy that they were fast rotting away, while a few hadbeen recently hurled there. As we rounded the deep curve of the bay, andapproached the line of palm-trees girding the foot of Mount Carmel, Haifa, with its wall and Saracenic town in ruin on the hill above, grew moreclear and bright in the sun, while Acre dipped into the blue of theMediterranean. The town of Haifa, the ancient Caiapha, is small, dirty, and beggarly looking; but it has some commerce, sharing the trade of Acrein the productions of Syria. It was Sunday, and all the Consular flagswere flying. It was an unexpected delight to find the American colors inthis little Syrian town, flying from one of the tallest poles. The peoplestared at us as we passed, and I noticed among them many bright Frankishfaces, with eyes too clear and gray for Syria. O ye kind brothers of themonastery of Carmel! forgive me if I look to you for an explanation ofthis phenomenon. 

We ascended to Mount Carmel. The path led through a grove of carob trees, from which the beans, known in Germany as St. John's bread, are produced. After this we came into an olive grove at the foot of the mountain, fromwhich long fields of wheat, giving forth a ripe summer smell, flowed downto the shore of the bay. The olive trees were of immense size, and I canwell believe, as Fra Carlo informed us, that they were probably planted bythe Roman colonists, established there by Titus. The gnarled, veteranboles still send forth vigorous and blossoming boughs. There were allmanner of lovely lights and shades chequered over the turf and the windingpath we rode. At last we reached the foot of an ascent, steeper than theLadder of Tyre. As our horses slowly climbed to the Convent of St. Elijah, whence we already saw the French flag floating over the shoulder of themountain, the view opened grandly to the north and east, revealing the bayand plain of Acre, and the coast as far as Ras Nakhura, from which wefirst saw Mount Carmel the day previous. The two views are very similar incharacter, one being the obverse of the other. We reached theConvent--Dayr Mar Elias, as the Arabs call it--at noon, just in time topartake of a bountiful dinner, to which the monks had treated themselves. Fra Carlo, the good Franciscan who receives strangers, showed us thebuilding, and the Grotto of Elijah, which is under the altar of theConvent Church, a small but very handsome structure of Italian marble. Thesanctity of the Grotto depends on tradition entirely, as there is nomention in the Bible of Elijah having resided on Carmel, though it wasfrom this mountain that he saw the cloud, "like a man's hand, " rising fromthe sea. The Convent, which is quite new--not yet completed, in fact--is alarge, massive building, and has the aspect of a fortress. 

As we were to sleep at Tantura, five hours distant, we were obliged tomake a short visit, in spite of the invitation of the hospitable Fra Carloto spend the night there. In the afternoon we passed the ruins of Athlit, a town of the Middle Ages, and the Castel Pellegrino of the Crusaders. Ourroad now followed the beach, nearly the whole distance to Jaffa, and wasin many places, for leagues in extent, a solid layer of white, brown, purple and rosy shells, which cracked and rattled under our horses' feet. Tantura is a poor Arab village, and we had some difficulty in procuringprovisions. The people lived in small huts of mud and stones, near thesea. The place had a thievish look, and we deemed it best to be careful inthe disposal of our baggage for the night. 

In the morning we took the coast again, riding over millions of shells. Aline of sandy hills, covered with thickets of myrtle and mastic, shut offthe view of the plain and meadows between the sea and the hills ofSamaria. After three hours' ride we saw the ruins of ancient Cæsarea, neara small promontory. The road turned away from the sea, and took the wildplain behind, which is completely overgrown with camomile, chrysanthemumand wild shrubs. The ruins of the town are visible at a considerabledistance along the coast. The principal remains consist of a massive wall, flanked with pyramidal bastions at regular intervals, and with the tracesof gateways, draw-bridges and towers. It was formerly surrounded by a deepmoat. Within this space, which may be a quarter of a mile square, are afew fragments of buildings, and toward the sea, some high arches andmasses of masonry. The plain around abounds with traces of houses, streets, and court-yards. Cæsarea was one of the Roman colonies, but owedits prosperity principally to Herod. St. Paul passed through it on hisway from Macedon to Jerusalem, by the very road we were travelling. 

During the day the path struck inland over a vast rolling plain, coveredwith sage, lavender and other sweet-smelling shrubs, and tenanted by herdsof gazelles and flocks of large storks. As we advanced further, thelandscape became singularly beautiful. It was a broad, shallow valley, swelling away towards the east into low, rolling hills, far back of whichrose the blue line of the mountains--the hill-country of Judea. The soil, where it was ploughed, was the richest vegetable loam. Where it lay fallowit was entirely hidden by a bed of grass and camomile. Here and theregreat herds of sheep and goats browsed on the herbage. There was a quietpastoral air about the landscape, a soft serenity in its forms and colors, as if the Hebrew patriarchs still made it their abode. The district isfamous for robbers, and we kept our arms in readiness, never suffering thebaggage to be out of our sight. 

Towards evening, as Mr. H. And myself, with François, were riding inadvance of the baggage mules, the former with his gun in his hand, I witha pair of pistols thrust through the folds of my shawl, and François withhis long Turkish sabre, we came suddenly upon a lonely Englishman, whosecompanions were somewhere in the rear. He appeared to be struck withterror on seeing us making towards him, and, turning his horse's head, made an attempt to fly. The animal, however, was restive, and, after a fewplunges, refused to move. The traveller gave himself up for lost; his armsdropped by his side; he stared wildly at us, with pale face and eyesopened wide with a look of helpless fright. Restraining with difficulty ashout of laughter, I said to him: "Did you leave Jaffa to-day?" but socompletely was his ear the fool of his imagination, that he thought I wasspeaking Arabic, and made a faint attempt to get out the only word or twoof that language which he knew. I then repeated, with as much distinctnessas I could command: "Did--you--leave--Jaffa--to-day?" He stammeredmechanically, through his chattering teeth, "Y-y-yes!" and we immediatelydashed off at a gallop through the bushes. When we last saw him, he wasstanding as we left him, apparently not yet recovered from the shock. 

At the little village of El Haram, where we spent the night, I visited thetomb of Sultan Ali ebn-Aleym, who is now revered as a saint. It isenclosed in a mosque, crowning the top of a hill. I was admitted into thecourt-yard without hesitation, though, from the porter styling me"Effendi, " he probably took me for a Turk. At the entrance to the innercourt, I took off my slippers and walked to the tomb of the Sultan--asquare heap of white marble, in a small marble enclosure. In one of theniches in the wall, near the tomb, there is a very old iron box, with aslit in the top. The porter informed me that it contained a charm, belonging to Sultan Ali, which was of great use in producing rain in timesof drouth. 

In the morning we sent our baggage by a short road across the country tothis place, and then rode down the beach towards Jaffa. The sun came outbright and hot as we paced along the line of spray, our horses' feetsinking above the fetlocks in pink and purple shells, while the drollsea-crabs scampered away from our path, and the blue gelatinoussea-nettles were tossed before us by the surge. Our view was confined tothe sand-hills--sometimes covered with a flood of scarlet poppies--on onehand; and to the blue, surf-fringed sea on the other. The terrible coastwas still lined with wrecks, and just before reaching the town, we passeda vessel of some two hundred tons, recently cast ashore, with her stronghull still unbroken. We forded the rapid stream of El Anjeh, which comesdown from the Plain of Sharon, the water rising to our saddles. The lowpromontory in front now broke into towers and white domes, and greatmasses of heavy walls. The aspect of Jaffa is exceedingly picturesque. Itis built on a hill, and the land for many miles around it being low andflat, its topmost houses overlook all the fields of Sharon. The oldharbor, protected by a reef of rocks, is on the north side of the town, but is now so sanded up that large vessels cannot enter. A number of smallcraft were lying close to the shore. The port presented a different scenewhen the ships of Hiram, King of Tyre, came in with the materials for theTemple of Solomon. There is but one gate on the land side, which is ratherstrongly fortified. Outside of this there is an open space, which we foundfilled with venders of oranges and vegetables, camel-men and the like, some vociferating in loud dispute, some given up to silence and smoke, under the shade of the sycamores. 

We rode under the heavily arched and towered gateway, and entered thebazaar. The street was crowded, and there was such a confusion of camels, donkeys, and men, that we made our way with difficulty along the onlypracticable street in the city, to the sea-side, where François pointedout a hole in the wall as the veritable spot where Jonah was cast ashoreby the whale. This part of the harbor is the receptacle of all the offalof the town; and I do not wonder that the whale's stomach should haveturned on approaching it. The sea-street was filled with merchants andtraders, and we were obliged to pick our way between bars of iron, skinsof oil, heaps of oranges, and piles of building timber. At last we reachedthe end, and, as there was no other thoroughfare, returned the same way wewent, passed out the gate, and took the road to Ramleh and Jerusalem. 

But I hear the voice of François, announcing, "_Messieurs, le diner estprêt. _" We are encamped just beside the pool of Ramleh, and the mongrelchildren of the town are making a great noise in the meadow below it. Ourhorses are enjoying their barley; and Mustapha stands at the tent-doortying up his sacks. Dogs are barking and donkeys braying all along theborders of the town, whose filth and dilapidation are happily concealed bythe fig and olive gardens which surround it. I have not curiosity enoughto visit the Greek and Latin Convents embedded in its foul purlieus, butcontent myself with gazing from my door upon the blue hills of Palestine, which we must cross to-morrow, on our way to Jerusalem. 

Chapter III. 

From Jaffa to Jerusalem. 

 The Garden of Jaffa--Breakfast at a Fountain--The Plain of Sharon--The Ruined Mosque of Ramleh--A Judean Landscape--The Streets of Ramleh--Am I in Palestine?--A Heavenly Morning--The Land of Milk and Honey--Entering the Hill-Country--The Pilgrim's Breakfast--The Father of Lies--A Church of the Crusaders--The Agriculture of the Hills--The Valley of Elah--Day-Dreams--The Wilderness--The Approach--We see the Holy City. 

 --"Through the air sublime, Over the wilderness and o'er the plain; Till underneath them fair Jerusalem, The Holy City, lifted high her towers. "

 Paradise Regained. 

Jerusalem, _Thursday, April_ 29, 1852. 

Leaving the gate of Jaffa, we rode eastward between delightful gardens offig, citron, orange, pomegranate and palm. The country for several milesaround the city is a complete level--part of the great plain ofSharon--and the gray mass of building crowning the little promontory, isthe only landmark seen above the green garden-land, on looking towards thesea. The road was lined with hedges of giant cactus, now in blossom, andshaded occasionally with broad-armed sycamores. The orange trees were inbloom, and at the same time laden down with ripe fruit. The oranges ofJaffa are the finest in Syria, and great numbers of them are sent toBeyrout and other ports further north. The dark foliage of thepomegranate fairly blazed with its heavy scarlet blossoms, and here andthere a cluster of roses made good the Scriptural renown of those ofSharon. The road was filled with people, passing to and fro, and severalfamilies of Jaffa Jews were having a sort of pic-nic in the choice shadyspots. 

Ere long we came to a fountain, at a point where two roads met. It was alarge square structure of limestone and marble, with a stone trough infront, and a delightful open chamber at the side. The space in front wasshaded with immense sycamore trees, to which we tied our horses, and thentook our seats in the window above the fountain, where the Greek broughtus our breakfast. The water was cool and delicious, as were our Jaffaoranges. It was a charming spot, for as we sat we could look under theboughs of the great trees, and down between the gardens to Jaffa and theMediterranean. After leaving the gardens, we came upon the great plain ofSharon, on which we could see the husbandmen at work far and near, ploughing and sowing their grain. In some instances, the two operationswere made simultaneously, by having a sort of funnel attached to theplough-handle, running into a tube which entered the earth just behind theshare. The man held the plough with one hand, while with the other hedropped the requisite quantity of seed through the tube into the furrow. The people are ploughing now for their summer crops, and the wheat andbarley which they sowed last winter are already in full head. On otherparts of the plain, there were large flocks of sheep and goats, with theirattendant shepherds. So ran the rich landscape, broken only by belts ofolive trees, to the far hills of Judea. 

Riding on over the long, low swells, fragrant with wild thyme andcamomile, we saw at last the tower of Ramleh, and down the valley, anhour's ride to the north-east, the minaret of Ludd, the ancient Lydda. Still further, I could see the houses of the village of Sharon, emboweredin olives. Ramleh is built along the crest and on the eastern slope of alow hill, and at a distance appears like a stately place, but thisimpression is immediately dissipated on entering it. West of the town is alarge square tower, between eighty and ninety feet in height. We rode upto it through an orchard of ancient olive trees, and over a field ofbeans. The tower is evidently a minaret, as it is built in the purestSaracenic style, and is surrounded by the ruins of a mosque. I have rarelyseen anything more graceful than the ornamental arches of the upperportions. Over the door is a lintel of white marble, with an Arabicinscription. The mosque to which the tower is attached is almost entirelydestroyed, and only part of the arches of a corridor around three sides ofa court-yard, with the fountain in the centre, still remain. Thesubterranean cisterns, under the court-yard, amazed me with their extentand magnitude. They are no less than twenty-four feet deep, and covered bytwenty-four vaulted ceilings, each twelve feet square, and resting onmassive pillars. The mosque, when entire, must have been one of the finestin Syria. 

We clambered over the broken stones cumbering the entrance, and mountedthe steps to the very summit. The view reached from Jaffa and the sea tothe mountains near Jerusalem, and southward to the plain of Ascalon--agreat expanse of grain and grazing land, all blossoming as the rose, anddotted, especially near the mountains, with dark, luxuriant olive-groves. The landscape had something of the green, pastoral beauty of England, except the mountains, which were wholly of Palestine. The shadows offleecy clouds, drifting slowly from east to west, moved across thelandscape, which became every moment softer and fairer in the light of thedeclining sun. 

I did not tarry in Ramleh. The streets are narrow, crooked, and filthy asonly an Oriental town can be. The houses have either flat roofs or domes, out of the crevices in which springs a plentiful crop of weeds. Someyellow dogs barked at us as we passed, children in tattered garmentsstared, and old turbaned heads were raised from the pipe, to guess who thetwo brown individuals might be, and why they were attended by such afierce _cawass_. Passing through the eastern gate, we were gladdened bythe sight of our tents, already pitched in the meadow beside the cistern. Dervish had arrived an hour before us, and had everything ready for thesweet lounge of an hour, to which we treat ourselves after a day's ride. Iwatched the evening fade away over the blue hills before us, and tried toconvince myself that I should reach Jerusalem on the morrow. Reason said:"You certainly will!"---but to Faith the Holy City was as far off as ever. Was it possible that I was in Judea? Was this the Holy Land of theCrusades, the soil hallowed by the feet of Christ and his Apostles? I mustbelieve it. Yet it seemed once that if I ever trod that earth, thenbeneath my feet, there would be thenceforth a consecration in my life, aholy essence, a purer inspiration on the lips, a surer faith in the heart. And because I was not other than I had been, I half doubted whether it wasthe Palestine of my dreams. 

A number of Arab cameleers, who had come with travellers across theDesert from Egypt, were encamped near us. François was suspicious of someof them, and therefore divided the night into three watches, which werekept by himself and our two men. Mustapha was the last, and kept not onlyhimself, but myself, wide awake by his dolorous chants of love andreligion. I fell sound asleep at dawn, but was roused before sunrise byFrançois, who wished to start betimes, on account of the rugged road wehad to travel. The morning was mild, clear, and balmy, and we were soonpacked and in motion. Leaving the baggage to follow, we rode ahead overthe fertile fields. The wheat and poppies were glistening with dew, birdssang among the fig-trees, a cool breeze came down from the hollows of thehills, and my blood leaped as nimbly and joyously as a young hart on themountains of Bether. 

Between Ramleh and the hill-country, a distance of about eight miles, isthe rolling plain of Arimathea, and this, as well as the greater part ofthe plain of Sharon, is one of the richest districts in the world. Thesoil is a dark-brown loam, and, without manure, produces annually superbcrops of wheat and barley. We rode for miles through a sea of wheat, waving far and wide over the swells of land. The tobacco in the fieldsabout Ramleh was the most luxuriant I ever saw, and the olive and figattain a size and lusty strength wholly unknown in Italy. Judea cursed ofGod! what a misconception, not only of God's mercy and beneficence, but ofthe actual fact! Give Palestine into Christian hands, and it will againflow with milk and honey. Except some parts of Asia Minor, no portion ofthe Levant is capable of yielding such a harvest of grain, silk, wool, fruits, oil, and wine. The great disadvantage under which the countrylabors, is its frequent drouths, but were the soil more generallycultivated, and the old orchards replanted, these would neither be sofrequent nor so severe. 

We gradually ascended the hills, passing one or two villages, imbedded ingroves of olives. In the little valleys, slanting down to the plains, theArabs were still ploughing and sowing, singing the while an old love-song, with its chorus of "_ya, ghazalee! ya, ghazalee!_" (oh, gazelle! oh, gazelle!) The valley narrowed, the lowlands behind us spread out broader, and in half an hour more we were threading a narrow pass, between stonyhills, overgrown with ilex, myrtle, and dwarf oak. The wild purple rose ofPalestine blossomed on all sides, and a fragrant white honeysuckle in someplaces hung from the rocks. The path was terribly rough, and barely wideenough for two persons on horseback to pass each other. We met a fewpilgrims returning from Jerusalem, and a straggling company of armedTurks, who had such a piratical air, that without the solemn asseverationof François that the road was quite safe, I should have felt uneasy aboutour baggage. Most of the persons we passed were Mussulmen, few of whomgave the customary "Peace be with you!" but once a Syrian Christiansaluted me with, "God go with you, O Pilgrim!" For two hours afterentering the mountains, there was scarcely a sign of cultivation. The rockwas limestone, or marble, lying in horizontal strata, the broken edges ofwhich rose like terraces to the summits. These shelves were so coveredwith wild shrubs--in some places even with rows of olive trees---that tome they had not the least appearance of that desolation so generallyascribed to them. 

In a little dell among the hills there is a small ruined mosque, orchapel (I could not decide which), shaded by a group of magnificentterebinth trees. Several Arabs were resting in its shade, and we hoped tofind there the water we were looking for, in order to make breakfast. Butit was not to be found, and we climbed nearly to the summit of the firstchain of hills, where in a small olive orchard, there was a cistern, filled by the late rains. It belonged to two ragged boys, who brought usan earthen vessel of the water, and then asked, "Shall we bring you milk, O Pilgrims!" I assented, and received a small jug of thick buttermilk, notremarkably clean, but very refreshing. My companion, who had not recoveredfrom his horror at finding that the inhabitants of Ramleh washedthemselves in the pool which supplied us and them, refused to touch it. Wemade but a short rest, for it was now nearly noon, and there were yet manyrough miles between us and Jerusalem. We crossed the first chain ofmountains, rode a short distance over a stony upland, and then descendedinto a long cultivated valley, running to the eastward. At the end nearestus appeared the village of Aboo 'l Ghosh (the Father of Lies), which takesits name from a noted Bedouin shekh, who distinguished himself a few yearsago by levying contributions on travellers. He obtained a large sum ofmoney in this way, but as he added murder to robbery, and fell upon Turksas well as Christians, he was finally captured, and is now expiating hisoffences in some mine on the coast of the Black Sea. 

Near the bottom of the village there is a large ruined building, now usedas a stable by the inhabitants. The interior is divided into a nave andtwo side-aisles by rows of square pillars, from which spring pointedarches. The door-way is at the side, and is Gothic, with a dash ofSaracenic in the ornamental mouldings above it. The large window at theextremity of the nave is remarkable for having round arches, whichcircumstance, together with the traces of arabesque painted ornaments onthe columns, led me to think it might have been a mosque; but Dr. Robinson, who is now here, considers it a Christian church, of the time ofthe Crusaders. The village of Aboo 'l Ghosh is said to be the site of thebirth-place of the Prophet Jeremiah, and I can well imagine it to havebeen the case. The aspect of the mountain-country to the east andnorth-east would explain the savage dreariness of his lamentations. Thewhole valley in which the village stands, as well as another which joinsit on the east, is most assiduously cultivated. The stony mountain sidesare wrought into terraces, where, in spite of soil which resembles anAmerican turnpike, patches of wheat are growing luxuriantly, and olivetrees, centuries old, hold on to the rocks with a clutch as hard and bonyas the hand of Death. In the bed of the valley the fig tree thrives, andsometimes the vine and fig grow together, forming the patriarchal arbor ofshade familiar to us all. The shoots of the tree are still young andgreen, but the blossoms of the grape do not yet give forth their goodlysavor. I did not hear the voice of the turtle, but a nightingale sang inthe briery thickets by the brook side, as we passed along. 

Climbing out of this valley, we descended by a stony staircase, as ruggedas the Ladder of Tyre, into the Wady Beit-Hanineh. Here were gardens oforanges in blossom, with orchards of quince and apple, overgrown withvines, and the fragrant hawthorn tree, snowy with its bloom. A stonebridge, the only one on the road, crosses the dry bed of a winter stream, and, looking up the glen, I saw the Arab village of Kulonieh, at theentrance of the valley of Elah, glorious with the memories of theshepherd-boy, David. Our road turned off to the right, and commencedascending a long, dry glen between mountains which grew more sterile thefurther we went. It was nearly two hours past noon, the sun fiercely hot, and our horses were nigh jaded out with the rough road and our impatientspurring. I began to fancy we could see Jerusalem from the top of thepass, and tried to think of the ancient days of Judea. But it was in vain. A newer picture shut them out, and banished even the diviner images of OurSaviour and His Disciples. Heathen that I was, I could only think ofGodfrey and the Crusaders, toiling up the same path, and the ringing linesof Tasso vibrated constantly in my ear:

 "Ecco apparir Gierusalemm' si vede; Ecco additar Gierusalemm' si scorge; Ecco da mille voci unitamente, Gierusalemme salutar si sente!"

The Palestine of the Bible--the Land of Promise to the Israelites, theland of Miracle and Sacrifice to the Apostles and their followers--stillslept in the unattainable distance, under a sky of bluer and more tranquilloveliness than that to whose cloudless vault I looked up. It lay as farand beautiful as it once seemed to the eye of childhood, and the swords ofSeraphim kept profane feet from its sacred hills. But these rough rocksaround me, these dry, fiery hollows, these thickets of ancient oak andilex, had heard the trumpets of the Middle Ages, and the clang andclatter of European armor--I could feel and believe that. I entered theranks; I followed the trumpets and the holy hymns, and waited breathlesslyfor the moment when every mailed knee should drop in the dust, and everybearded and sunburned cheek be wet with devotional tears. 

But when I climbed the last ridge, and looked ahead with a sort of painfulsuspense, Jerusalem did not appear. We were two thousand feet above theMediterranean, whose blue we could dimly see far to the west, throughnotches in the chain of hills. To the north, the mountains were gray, desolate, and awful. Not a shrub or a tree relieved their frightfulbarrenness. An upland tract, covered with white volcanic rock, lay beforeus. We met peasants with asses, who looked (to my eyes) as if they hadjust left Jerusalem. Still forward we urged our horses, and reached aruined garden, surrounded with hedges of cactus, over which I saw domesand walls in the distance. I drew a long breath and looked at François. Hewas jogging along without turning his head; he could not have been soindifferent if that was really the city. Presently, we reached anotherslight rise in the rocky plain. He began to urge his panting horse, and atthe same instant we both lashed the spirit into ours, dashed on at abreak-neck gallop, round the corner of an old wall on the top of the hill, and lo! the Holy City! Our Greek jerked both pistols from his holsters, and fired them into the air, as we reined up on the steep. 

From the descriptions of travellers, I had expected to see in Jerusalem anordinary modern Turkish town; but that before me, with its walls, fortresses, and domes, was it not still the City of David? I saw theJerusalem of the New Testament, as I had imagined it. Long lines of wallscrowned with a notched parapet and strengthened by towers; a few domes andspires above them; clusters of cypress here and there; this was all thatwas visible of the city. On either side the hill sloped down to the twodeep valleys over which it hangs. On the east, the Mount of Olives, crowned with a chapel and mosque, rose high and steep, but in front, theeye passed directly over the city, to rest far away upon the loftymountains of Moab, beyond the Dead Sea. The scene was grand in itssimplicity. The prominent colors were the purple of those distantmountains, and the hoary gray of the nearer hills. The walls were of thedull yellow of weather-stained marble, and the only trees, the darkcypress and moonlit olive. Now, indeed, for one brief moment, I knew thatI was in Palestine; that I saw Mount Olivet and Mount Zion; and--I knownot how it was--my sight grew weak, and all objects trembled and waveredin a watery film. Since we arrived, I have looked down upon the city fromthe Mount of Olives, and up to it from the Valley of Jehosaphat; but Icannot restore the illusion of that first view. 

We allowed our horses to walk slowly down the remaining half-mile to theJaffa gate. An Englishman, with a red silk shawl over his head, wassketching the city, while an Arab held an umbrella over him. Inside thegate we stumbled upon an Italian shop with an Italian sign, and afterthreading a number of intricate passages under dark archways, and beingturned off from one hotel, which was full of travellers, reached another, kept by a converted German Jew, where we found Dr. Robinson and Dr. ElySmith, who both arrived yesterday. It sounds strange to talk of a hotelin Jerusalem, but the world is progressing, and there are already three. Ileave to-morrow for Jericho, the Jordan, and the Dead Sea, and shall havemore to say of Jerusalem on my return. 

Chapter IV. 

The Dead Sea and the Jordan River. 

 Bargaining for a Guard--Departure from Jerusalem--The Hill of Offence--Bethany--The Grotto of Lazarus--The Valley of Fire--Scenery of the Wilderness--The Hills of Engaddi--The shore of the Dead Sea--A Bituminous Bath--Gallop to the Jordan--A watch for Robbers--The Jordan--Baptism--The Plains of Jericho--The Fountain of Elisha--The Mount of Temptation--Return to Jerusalem. 

 "And the spoiler shall come upon every city, and no city shall escape; the valley also shall perish and the plain shall be destroyed, as the Lord hath spoken. "

 --Jeremiah, xlviii. 8. 

Jerusalem, _May_ 1, 1852. 

I returned this after noon from an excursion to the Dead Sea, the RiverJordan, and the site of Jericho. Owing to the approaching heats, an earlyvisit was deemed desirable, and the shekhs, who have charge of the road, were summoned to meet us on the day after we arrived. There are two ofthese gentlemen, the Shekh el-Aràb (of the Bedouins), and the Shekhel-Fellaheen (of the peasants, or husbandmen), to whom each traveller isobliged to pay one hundred piastres for an escort. It is, in fact, a sortof compromise, by which the shekhs agree not to rob the traveller, and toprotect him against other shekhs. If the road is not actually safe, theTurkish garrison here is a mere farce, but the arrangement is winked at bythe Pasha, who, of course, gets his share of the 100, 000 piastres whichthe two scamps yearly levy upon travellers. The shekhs came to our rooms, and after trying to postpone our departure, in order to attach othertourists to the same escort, and thus save a little expense, took half thepay and agreed to be ready the next morning. Unfortunately for my originalplan, the Convent of San Saba has been closed within two or three weeks, and no stranger is now admitted. This unusual step was caused by thedisorderly conduct of some Frenchmen who visited San Saba. We sent to theBishop of the Greek Church, asking a simple permission to view theinterior of the Convent; but without effect. 

We left the city yesterday morning by St. Stephen's Gate, descended to theValley of Jehosaphat, rode under the stone wall which encloses thesupposed Gethsemane, and took a path leading along the Mount of Olives, towards the Hill of Offence, which stands over against the southern end ofthe city, opposite the mouth of the Vale of Hinnon. Neither of the shekhsmade his appearance, but sent in their stead three Arabs, two of whom weremounted and armed with sabres and long guns. Our man, Mustapha, had chargeof the baggage-mule, carrying our tent and the provisions for the trip. Itwas a dull, sultry morning; a dark, leaden haze hung over Jerusalem, andthe _khamseen_, or sirocco-wind, came from the south-west, out of theArabian Desert. We had again resumed the Oriental costume, but in spite ofan ample turban, my face soon began to scorch in the dry heat. From thecrest of the Hill of Offence there is a wide view over the heights on bothsides of the valley of the Brook Kedron. Their sides are worked intoterraces, now green with springing grain, and near the bottom planted witholive and fig trees. The upland ridge or watershed of Palestine iscultivated for a considerable distance around Jerusalem. The soil is lightand stony, yet appears to yield a good return for the little laborbestowed upon it. 

Crossing the southern flank of Mount Olivet, in half an hour we reachedthe village of Bethany, hanging on the side of the hill. It is a miserablecluster of Arab huts, with not a building which appears to be more than acentury old. The Grotto of Lazarus is here shown, and, of course, westopped to see it. It belongs to an old Mussulman, who came out of hishouse with a piece of waxed rope, to light us down. An aperture opens fromthe roadside into the hill, and there is barely room enough for a personto enter. Descending about twenty steps at a sharp angle, we landed in asmall, damp vault, with an opening in the floor, communicating with ashort passage below. The vault was undoubtedly excavated for sepulchralpurposes, and the bodies were probably deposited (as in many Egyptiantombs) in the pit under it. Our guide, however, pointed to a square massof masonry in one corner as the tomb of Lazarus, whose body, he informedus, was still walled up there. There was an arch in the side of the vault, once leading to other chambers, but now closed up, and the guide statedthat seventy-four Prophets were interred therein. There seems to be nodoubt that the present Arab village occupies the site of Bethany; and ifit could be proved that this pit existed at the beginning of the ChristianEra, and there never had been any other, we might accept it as the tomb ofLazarus. On the crest of a high hill, over against Bethany, is an Arabvillage on the site of Bethpage. 

We descended into the valley of a winter stream, now filled with patchesof sparse wheat, just beginning to ripen. The mountains grew more bleakand desolate as we advanced, and as there is a regular descent in theseveral ranges over which one must pass, the distant hills of the lands ofMoab and Ammon were always in sight, rising like a high, blue wall againstthe sky. The Dead Sea is 4, 000 feet below Jerusalem, but the general slopeof the intervening district is so regular that from the spires of thecity, and the Mount of Olives, one can look down directly upon its waters. This deceived me as to the actual distance, and I could scarcely creditthe assertion of our Arab escort, that it would require six hours to reachit. After we had ridden nearly two hours, we left the Jericho road, sending Mustapha and a staunch old Arab direct to our resting-place forthe night, in the Valley of the Jordan. The two mounted Bedouinsaccompanied us across the rugged mountains lying between us and the DeadSea. 

At first, we took the way to the Convent of Mar Saba, following the courseof the Brook Kedron down the Wady en-Nar (Valley of Fire). In half an hourmore we reached two large tanks, hewn out under the base of a limestonecliff, and nearly filled with rain. The surface was covered with agreenish vegetable scum, and three wild and dirty Arabs of the hills werewashing themselves in the principal one. Our Bedouins immediatelydismounted and followed their example, and after we had taken somerefreshment, we had the satisfaction of filling our water-jug from thesame sweet pool. After this, we left the San Saba road, and mounted theheight east of the valley. From that point, all signs of cultivation andhabitation disappeared. The mountains were grim, bare, and frightfullyrugged. The scanty grass, coaxed into life by the winter rains, wasalready scorched out of all greenness; some bunches of wild sage, gnaphalium, and other hardy aromatic herbs spotted the yellow soil, and insheltered places the scarlet poppies burned like coals of fire among therifts of the gray limestone rock. Our track kept along the higher ridgesand crests of the hills, between the glens and gorges which sank on eitherhand to a dizzy depth below, and were so steep as to be almostinaccessible. The region is so scarred, gashed and torn, that no work ofman's hand can save it from perpetual desolation. It is a wilderness morehopeless than the Desert. If I were left alone in the midst of it, Ishould lie down and await death, without thought or hope of rescue. 

The character of the day was peculiarly suited to enhance the impressionof such scenery. Though there were no clouds, the sun was invisible: asfar as we could see, beyond the Jordan, and away southward to themountains of Moab and the cliffs of Engaddi, the whole country was coveredas with the smoke of a furnace; and the furious sirocco, that threatenedto topple us down the gulfs yawning on either hand, had no coolness on itswings. The horses were sure-footed, but now and then a gust would comethat made them and us strain against it, to avoid being dashed against therock on one side, or hurled off the brink on the other. The atmosphere waspainfully oppressive, and by and by a dogged silence took possession ofour party. After passing a lofty peak which François called Djebel Nuttar, the Mountain of Rain, we came to a large Moslem building, situated on ableak eminence, overlooking part of the valley of the Jordan. This is thetomb called Nebbee Moussa by the Arabs, and believed by them to standupon the spot where Moses died. We halted at the gate, but no one came toadmit us, though my companion thought he saw a man's head at one of theapertures in the wall. Arab tradition here is as much at fault asChristian tradition in many other places. The true Nebo is somewhere inthe chain of Pisgah; and though, probably, I saw it, and all see it who godown to the Jordan, yet "no man knoweth its place unto this day. "

Beyond Nebbee Moussa, we came out upon the last heights overlooking theDead Sea, though several miles of low hills remained to be passed. Thehead of the sea was visible as far as the Ras-el-Feshka on the west; andthe hot fountains of Callirhoë on the eastern shore. Farther than this, all was vapor and darkness. The water was a soft, deep purple hue, brightening into blue. Our road led down what seemed a vast slopingcauseway from the mountains, between two ravines, walled by cliffs severalhundred feet in height. It gradually flattened into a plain, covered witha white, saline incrustation, and grown with clumps of sour willow, tamarisk, and other shrubs, among which I looked in vain for the osher, orDead Sea apple. The plants appeared as if smitten with leprosy; but therewere some flowers growing almost to the margin of the sea. We reached theshore about 2 P. M. The heat by this time was most severe, and the air sodense as to occasion pains in my ears. The Dead Sea is 1, 300 feet belowthe Mediterranean, and without doubt the lowest part of the earth'ssurface. I attribute the oppression I felt to this fact and to thesultriness of the day, rather than to any exhalation from the sea itself. François remarked, however, that had the wind--which by this time wasveering round to the north-east--blown from the south, we could scarcelyhave endured it. The sea resembles a great cauldron, sunk betweenmountains from three to four thousand feet in height; and probably we didnot experience more than a tithe of the summer heat. 

I proposed a bath, for the sake of experiment, but François endeavored todissuade us. He had tried it, and nothing could be more disagreeable; werisked getting a fever, and, besides, there were four hours of dangeroustravel yet before us. But by this time we were half undressed, and soonwere floating on the clear bituminous waves. The beach was fine gravel andshelved gradually down. I kept my turban on my head, and was careful toavoid touching the water with my face. The sea was moderately warm andgratefully soft and soothing to the skin. It was impossible to sink; andeven while swimming, the body rose half out of the water. I should thinkit possible to dive for a short distance, but prefer that some one elsewould try the experiment. With a log of wood for a pillow, one might sleepas on one of the patent mattresses. The taste of the water is salty andpungent, and stings the tongue like saltpetre. We were obliged to dress inall haste, without even wiping off the detestable liquid; yet Iexperienced very little of that discomfort which most travellers haveremarked. Where the skin had been previously bruised, there was a slightsmarting sensation, and my body felt clammy and glutinous, but the bathwas rather refreshing than otherwise. 

We turned our horses' heads towards the Jordan, and rode on over a dry, barren plain. The two Bedouins at first dashed ahead at full gallop, uttering cries, and whirling their long guns in the air. The dust theyraised was blown in our faces, and contained so much salt that my eyesbegan to smart painfully. Thereupon I followed them at an equal rate ofspeed, and we left a long cloud of the accursed soil whirling behind us. Presently, however, they fell to the rear, and continued to keep at somedistance from us. The reason of this was soon explained. The path turnedeastward, and we already saw a line of dusky green winding through thewilderness. This was the Jordan, and the mountains beyond, the home ofrobber Arabs, were close at hand. Those robbers frequently cross the riverand conceal themselves behind the sand-hills on this side. Our braveescort was, therefore, inclined to put us forward as a forlorn-hope, andsecure their own retreat in case of an attack. But as we were all wellarmed, and had never considered their attendance as anything more than agenteel way of buying them off from robbing us, we allowed them to lag asmuch as they chose. Finally, as we approached the Pilgrims' Ford, one ofthem took his station at some distance from the river, on the top of amound, while the other got behind some trees near at hand; in order, asthey said, to watch the opposite hills, and alarm us whenever they shouldsee any of the Beni Sukrs, or the Beni Adwams, or the Tyakh, coming downupon us. 

The Jordan at this point will not average more than ten yards in breadth. It flows at the bottom of a gully about fifteen feet deep, which traversesthe broad valley in a most tortuous course. The water has a white, clayeyhue, and is very swift. The changes of the current have formed islands andbeds of soil here and there, which are covered with a dense growth of ash, poplar, willow, and tamarisk trees. The banks of the river are borderedwith thickets, now overgrown with wild vines, and fragrant with floweringplants. Birds sing continually in the cool, dark coverts of the trees. Ifound a singular charm in the wild, lonely, luxuriant banks, the tangledundergrowth, and the rapid, brawling course of the sacred stream, as itslipped in sight and out of sight among the trees. It is almost impossibleto reach the water at any other point than the Ford of the Pilgrims, thesupposed locality of the passage of the Israelites and the baptism ofChrist. The plain near it is still blackened by the camp-fires of the tenthousand pilgrims who went down from Jerusalem three weeks ago, to bathe. We tied our horses to the trees, and prepared to follow their example, which was necessary, if only to wash off the iniquitous slime of the DeadSea. François, in the meantime, filled two tin flasks from the stream andstowed them in the saddle-bags. The current was so swift, that one couldnot venture far without the risk of being carried away; but I succeeded inobtaining a complete and most refreshing immersion. The taint of Gomorrahwas not entirely washed away, but I rode off with as great a sense ofrelief as if the baptism had been a moral one, as well, and had purifiedme from sin. 

We rode for nearly two hours, in a north-west direction, to the Bedouinvillage of Rihah, near the site of ancient Jericho. Before reaching it, the gray salt waste vanishes, and the soil is covered with grass andherbs. The barren character of the first region is evidently owing todeposits from the vapors of the Dead Sea, as they are blown over the plainby the south wind. The channels of streams around Jericho are filled withnebbuk trees, the fruit of which is just ripening. It is apparentlyindigenous, and grows more luxuriantly than on the White Nile. It is avariety of the _rhamnus_, and is set down by botanists as the SpinaChristi, of which the Saviour's mock crown of thorns was made. I see noreason to doubt this, as the twigs are long and pliant, and armed withsmall, though most cruel, thorns. I had to pay for gathering some of thefruit, with a torn dress and bleeding fingers. The little apples which itbears are slightly acid and excellent for alleviating thirst. I alsonoticed on the plain a variety of the nightshade with large berries of agolden color. The spring flowers, so plentiful now in all other parts ofPalestine, have already disappeared from the Valley of the Jordan. 

Rihah is a vile little village of tents and mud-huts, and the only relicof antiquity near it is a square tower, which may possibly be of the timeof Herod. There are a few gardens in the place, and a grove of superbfig-trees. We found our tent already pitched beside a rill which issuesfrom the Fountain of Elisha. The evening was very sultry, and themusquitoes gave us no rest. We purchased some milk from an old man whocame to the tent, but such was his mistrust of us that he refused to letus keep the earthen vessel containing it until morning. As we had alreadypaid the money to his son, we would not let him take the milk away untilhe had brought the money back. He then took a dagger from his waist andthrew it before us as security, while he carried off the vessel andreturned the price. I have frequently seen the same mistrustful spiritexhibited in Egypt. Our two Bedouins, to whom I gave some tobacco in theevening, manifested their gratitude by stealing the remainder of our stockduring the night. 

This morning we followed the stream to its source, the Fountain ofElisha, so called as being probably that healed by the Prophet. If so, thehealing was scarcely complete. The water, which gushes up strong and freeat the foot of a rocky mound, is warm and slightly brackish. It spreadsinto a shallow pool, shaded by a fine sycamore tree. Just below, there aresome remains of old walls on both sides, and the stream goes roaring awaythrough a rank jungle of canes fifteen feet in height. The precise site ofJericho, I believe, has not been fixed, but "the city of the palm trees, "as it was called, was probably on the plain, near some mounds which risebehind the Fountain. Here there are occasional traces of foundation walls, but so ruined as to give no clue to the date of their erection. Furthertowards the mountain there are some arches, which appear to be Saracenic. As we ascended again into the hill-country, I observed several traces ofcisterns in the bottoms of ravines, which collect the rains. Herod, as iswell known, built many such cisterns near Jericho, where he had a palace. On the first crest, to which we climbed, there is part of a Roman toweryet standing. The view, looking back over the valley of Jordan, ismagnificent, extending from the Dead Sea to the mountains of Gilead, beyond the country of Ammon. I thought I could trace the point where theRiver Yabbok comes down from Mizpeh of Gilead to join the Jordan. 

The wilderness we now entered was fully as barren, but less rugged thanthat through which we passed yesterday. The path ascended along the brinkof a deep gorge, at the bottom of which a little stream foamed over therocks. The high, bleak summits towards which we were climbing, areconsidered by some Biblical geographers to be Mount Quarantana, the sceneof Christ's fasting and temptation. After two hours we reached the ruinsof a large khan or hostlery, under one of the peaks, which François statedto be the veritable "high mountain" whence the Devil pointed out all thekingdoms of the earth. There is a cave in the rock beside the road, whichthe superstitious look upon as the orifice out of which his SatanicMajesty issued. We met large numbers of Arab families, with their flocks, descending from the mountains to take up their summer residence near theJordan. They were all on foot, except the young children and goats, whichwere stowed together on the backs of donkeys. The men were armed, andappeared to be of the same tribe as our escort, with whom they had a goodunderstanding. 

The morning was cold and cloudy, and we hurried on over the hills to afountain in the valley of the Brook Kedron, where we breakfasted. Beforewe had reached Bethany a rain came down, and the sky hung dark andlowering over Jerusalem, as we passed the crest of Mount Olivet. It stillrains, and the filthy condition of the city exceeds anything I have seen, even in the Orient. 

Chapter V. 

The City of Christ. 

 Modern Jerusalem--The Site of the City--Mount Zion--Mount Moriah--The Temple--the Valley of Jehosaphat--The Olives of Gethsemane--The Mount of Olives--Moslem Tradition--Panorama from the Summit--The Interior of the City--The Population--Missions and Missionaries--Christianity in Jerusalem--Intolerance--The Jews of Jerusalem--The Face of Christ--The Church of the Holy Sepulchre--The Holy of Holies--The Sacred Localities--Visions of Christ--The Mosque of Omar--The Holy Man of Timbuctoo--Preparations for Departure. 

 "Cut off thy hair, O Jerusalem, and cast it away, and take up a lamentation in high places; for the Lord hath rejected and forsaken the generation of his wrath. "--Jeremiah vii. 29. 

 "Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven. "

 Milton. 

Jerusalem, _Monday, May_ 3, 1852. 

Since travel is becoming a necessary part of education, and a journeythrough the East is no longer attended with personal risk, Jerusalem willsoon be as familiar a station on the grand tour as Paris or Naples. Thetask of describing it is already next to superfluous, so thoroughly hasthe topography of the city been laid down by the surveys of Robinson andthe drawings of Roberts. There is little more left for Biblical research. The few places which can be authenticated are now generally accepted, andthe many doubtful ones must always be the subjects of speculation andconjecture. There is no new light which can remove the cloud ofuncertainties wherein one continually wanders. Yet, even rejecting allthese with the most skeptical spirit, there still remains enough to makethe place sacred in the eyes of every follower of Christ. The city standson the ancient site; the Mount of Olives looks down upon it; thefoundations of the Temple of Solomon are on Mount Moriah; the Pool ofSiloam has still a cup of water for those who at noontide go down to theValley of Jehosaphat; the ancient gate yet looketh towards Damascus, andof the Palace of Herod, there is a tower which Time and Turk and Crusaderhave spared. 

Jerusalem is built on the summit ridge of the hill-country of Palestine, just where it begins to slope eastward. Not half a mile from the JaffaGate, the waters run towards the Mediterranean. It is about 2, 700 feetabove the latter, and 4, 000 feet above the Dead Sea, to which the descentis much more abrupt. The hill, or rather group of small mounts, on whichJerusalem stands, slants eastward to the brink of the Valley ofJehosaphat, and the Mount of Olives rises opposite, from the sides andsummit of which, one sees the entire city spread out like a map beforehim. The Valley of Hinnon, the bed of which is on a much higher level thanthat of Jehosaphat, skirts the south-western and southern part of thewalls, and drops into the latter valley at the foot of Mount Zion, themost southern of the mounts. The steep slope at the junction of the twovalleys is the site of the city of the Jebusites, the most ancient part ofJerusalem. It is now covered with garden-terraces, the present wallcrossing from Mount Zion on the south to Mount Moriah on the east. Alittle glen, anciently called the Tyropeon, divides the mounts, and windsthrough to the Damascus Gate, on the north, though from the height of thewalls and the position of the city, the depression which it causes in themass of buildings is not very perceptible, except from the latter point, Moriah is the lowest of the mounts, and hangs directly over the Valley ofJehosaphat. Its summit was built up by Solomon so as to form aquadrangular terrace, five hundred by three hundred yards in dimension. The lower courses of the grand wall, composed of huge blocks of grayconglomerate limestone, still remain, and there seems to be no doubt thatthey are of the time of Solomon. Some of the stones are of enormous size;I noticed several which were fifteen, and one twenty-two feet in length. The upper part of the wall was restored by Sultan Selim, the conqueror ofEgypt, and the level of the terrace now supports the great Mosque of Omar, which stands on the very site of the temple. Except these foundationwalls, the Damascus Gate and the Tower of Hippicus, there is nothing leftof the ancient city. The length of the present wall of circumference isabout two miles, but the circuit of Jerusalem, in the time of Herod, wasprobably double that distance. 

The best views of the city are from the Mount of Olives, and the hillnorth of it, whence Titus directed the siege which resulted in its totaldestruction. The Crusaders under Godfrey of Bouillon encamped on the samehill. My first walk after reaching here, was to the summit of the Mount ofOlives. Not far from the hotel we came upon the Via Dolorosa, up which, according to Catholic tradition, Christ toiled with the cross upon hisshoulders. I found it utterly impossible to imagine that I was walking inthe same path, and preferred doubting the tradition. An arch is builtacross the street at the spot where they say he was shown to the populace. (_Ecce Homo_. ) The passage is steep and rough, descending to St. Stephen'sGate by the Governor's Palace, which stands on the site of the house ofPontius Pilate. Here, in the wall forming the northern part of thefoundation of the temple, there are some very fine remains of ancientworkmanship. From the city wall, the ground descends abruptly to theValley of Jehosaphat. The Turkish residents have their tombs on the cityside, just under the terrace of the mosque, while thousands of Jews find apeculiar beatitude in having themselves interred on the opposite slope ofthe Mount of Olives, which is in some places quite covered with theircrumbling tombstones. The bed of the Brook Kedron is now dry and stony. Asort of chapel, built in the bottom of the valley, is supposed by theGreeks to cover the tomb of the Virgin--a claim which the Latins considerabsurd. Near this, at the very foot of the Mount of Olives, the lattersect have lately built a high stone wall around the Garden of Gethsemane, for the purpose, apparently, of protecting the five aged olives. I amignorant of the grounds wherefore Gethsemane is placed here. Mosttravellers have given their faith to the spot, but Dr. Robinson, who ismore reliable than any amount of mere tradition, does not coincide withthem. The trees do not appear as ancient as some of those at the foot ofMount Carmel, which are supposed to date from the Roman colony establishedby Titus. Moreover, it is well known that at the time of the taking ofJerusalem by that Emperor, all the trees, for many miles around, weredestroyed. The olive-trees, therefore, cannot be those under which Christrested, even supposing this to be the true site of Gethseniane. 

The Mount of Olives is a steep and rugged hill, dominating over the cityand the surrounding heights. It is still covered with olive orchards, andplanted with patches of grain, which do not thrive well on the stony soil. On the summit is a mosque, with a minaret attached, which affords a grandpanoramic view. As we reached it, the Chief of the College of Dervishes, in the court of the Mosque of Omar, came out with a number of attendants. He saluted us courteously, which would not have been the case had he beenthe Superior of the Latin Convent, and we Greek Monks. There were someTurkish ladies in the interior of the mosque, so that we could not gainadmittance, and therefore did not see the rock containing the foot-printsof Christ, who, according to Moslem tradition, ascended to heaven fromthis spot. The Mohammedans, it may not be generally known, accept thehistory of Christ, except his crucifixion, believing that he passed toheaven without death, another person being crucified in his stead. Theycall him the _Roh-Allah, _ or Spirit of God, and consider him, afterMahomet, as the holiest of the Prophets. 

We ascended to the gallery of the minaret. The city lay opposite, sofairly spread out to our view that almost every house might be separatelydistinguished. It is a mass of gray buildings, with dome-roofs, and butfor the mosques of Omar and El Aksa, with the courts and galleries aroundthem, would be exceedingly tame in appearance. The only other prominentpoints are the towers of the Holy Sepulchre, the citadel, enclosingHerod's Tower, and the mosque on mount Zion. The Turkish wall, with itssharp angles, its square bastions, and the long, embrasured lines of itsparapet, is the most striking feature of the view. Stony hills stretchaway from the city on all sides, at present cheered with tracts ofspringing wheat, but later in the season, brown and desolate. In thesouth, the convent of St. Elias is visible, and part of the little town ofBethlehem. I passed to the eastern side of the gallery, and lookingthence, deep down among the sterile mountains, beheld a long sheet of bluewater, its southern extremity vanishing in a hot, sulphury haze. Themountains of Ammon and Moab, which formed the background of my first viewof Jerusalem, leaned like a vast wall against the sky, beyond themysterious sea and the broad valley of the Jordan. The great depression ofthis valley below the level of the Mediterranean gives it a mostremarkable character. It appears even deeper than is actually the case, and resembles an enormous chasm or moat, separating two different regionsof the earth. The _khamseen_ was blowing from the south, from out thedeserts of Edom, and threw its veil of fiery vapor over the landscape. Themuezzin pointed out to me the location of Jericho, of Kerak in Moab, andEs-Salt in the country of Ammon. Ere long the shadow of the minaretdenoted noon, and, placing his hands on both sides of his mouth, he criedout, first on the South side, towards Mecca, and then to the West, andNorth, and East: "God is great: there is no God but God, and Mohammed isHis Prophet! Let us prostrate ourselves before Him: and to Him alone bethe glory!"

Jerusalem, internally, gives no impression but that of filth, ruin, poverty, and degradation. There are two or three streets in the western orhigher portion of the city which are tolerably clean, but all the others, to the very gates of the Holy Sepulchre, are channels of pestilence. TheJewish Quarter, which is the largest, so sickened and disgusted me, that Ishould rather go the whole round of the city walls than pass through it asecond time. The bazaars are poor, compared with those of other Orientalcities of the same size, and the principal trade seems to be in rosaries, both Turkish and Christian, crosses, seals, amulets, and pieces of theHoly Sepulchre. The population, which may possibly reach 20, 000, isapparently Jewish, for the most part; at least, I have been principallystruck with the Hebrew face, in my walks. The number of Jews has increasedconsiderably within a few years, and there is also quite a number who, having been converted to Protestantism, were brought hither at the expenseof English missionary societies for the purpose of forming a Protestantcommunity. Two of the hotels are kept by families of this class. It isestimated that each member of the community has cost the Mission about£4, 500: a sum which would have Christianized tenfold the number of Englishheathen. The Mission, however, is kept up by its patrons, as a sort ofreligious luxury. The English have lately built a very handsome churchwithin the walls, and the Rev. Dr. Gobat, well known by his missionarylabors in Abyssinia, now has the title of Bishop of Jerusalem. A friend ofhis in Central Africa gave me a letter of introduction for him, and I amquite disappointed in finding him absent. Dr. Barclay, of Virginia, a mostworthy man in every respect, is at the head of the American Mission here. There is, besides, what is called the "American Colony, " at the village ofArtos, near Bethlehem: a little community of religious enthusiasts, whoseexperiments in cultivation have met with remarkable success, and are muchspoken of at present. 

Whatever good the various missions here may, in time, accomplish (atpresent, it does not amount to much), Jerusalem is the last place in theworld where an intelligent heathen would be converted to Christianity. Were I cast here, ignorant of any religion, and were I to compare thelives and practices of the different sects as the means of making mychoice--in short, to judge of each faith by the conduct of itsprofessors--I should at once turn Mussulman. When you consider that in theHoly Sepulchre there are _nineteen_ chapels, each belonging to a differentsect, calling itself Christian, and that a Turkish police is alwaysstationed there to prevent the bloody quarrels which often ensue betweenthem, you may judge how those who call themselves followers of the Princeof Peace practice the pure faith he sought to establish. Between the Greekand Latin churches, especially, there is a deadly feud, and theircontentions are a scandal, not only to the few Christians here, but to theMoslems themselves. I believe there is a sort of truce at present, owingto the settlement of some of the disputes--as, for instance, therestoration of the silver star, which the Greeks stole from the shrine ofthe Nativity, at Bethlehem. The Latins, however, not long since, demolished, _vi et armis_, a chapel which the Greeks commenced building onMount Zion. But, if the employment of material weapons has been abandonedfor the time, there is none the less a war of words and of sounds stillgoing on. Go into the Holy Sepulchre, when mass is being celebrated, andyou can scarcely endure the din. No sooner does the Greek choir begin itsshrill chant, than the Latins fly to the assault. They have an organ, andterribly does that organ strain its bellows and labor its pipes to drownthe rival singing. You think the Latins will carry the day, when suddenlythe cymbals of the Abyssinians strike in with harsh brazen clang, and, forthe moment, triumph. Then there are Copts, and Maronites, and Armenians, and I know not how many other sects, who must have their share; and theservice that should be a many-toned harmony pervaded by one grand spiritof devotion, becomes a discordant orgie, befitting the rites of Belial. 

A long time ago--I do not know the precise number of years--the Sultangranted a firman, in answer to the application of both Jews andChristians, allowing the members of each sect to put to death any personbelonging to the other sect, who should be found inside of their churchesor synagogues. The firman has never been recalled, though in every placebut Jerusalem it remains a dead letter. Here, although the Jews freelypermit Christians to enter their synagogue, a Jew who should enter theHoly Sepulchre would be lucky if he escaped with his life. Not long since, an English gentleman, who was taken by the monks for a Jew, was soseverely beaten that he was confined to his bed for two months. What worsethan scandal, what abomination, that the spot looked upon by so manyChristians as the most awfully sacred on earth, should be the scene ofsuch brutish intolerance! I never pass the group of Turkish officers, quietly smoking their long pipes and sipping their coffee within thevestibule of the Church, without a feeling of humiliation. Worse than themoney-changers whom Christ scourged out of the Temple, the guardians ofthis edifice make use of His crucifixion and resurrection as a means ofgain. You may buy a piece of the stone covering the Holy Sepulchre, dulycertified by the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem, for about $7. At Bethlehem, which I visited this morning, the Latin monk who showed us the manger, thepit where 12, 000 innocents were buried, and other things, had much less tosay of the sacredness or authenticity of the place, than of the injusticeof allowing the Greeks a share in its possession. 

The native Jewish families in Jerusalem, as well as those in other partsof Palestine, present a marked difference to the Jews of Europe andAmerica. They possess the same physical characteristics--the dark, oblongeye, the prominent nose, the strongly-marked cheek and jaw--but in thelatter, these traits have become harsh and coarse. Centuries devoted tothe lowest and most debasing forms of traffic, with the endurance ofpersecution and contumely, have greatly changed and vulgarized theappearance of the race. But the Jews of the Holy City still retain a noblebeauty, which proved to my mind their descent from the ancient princelyhouses of Israel The forehead is loftier, the eye larger and more frank inits expression, the nose more delicate in its prominence, and the face apurer oval. I have remarked the same distinction in the countenances ofthose Jewish families of Europe, whose members have devoted themselves toArt or Literature. Mendelssohn's was a face that might have belonged tothe House of David. 

On the evening of my arrival in the city, as I set out to walk through thebazaars, I encountered a native Jew, whose face will haunt me for the restof my life. I was sauntering slowly along, asking myself "Is thisJerusalem?" when, lifting my eyes, they met those of Christ! It was thevery face which Raphael has painted--the traditional features of theSaviour, as they are recognised and accepted by all Christendom. Thewaving brown hair, partly hidden by a Jewish cap, fell clustering aboutthe ears; the face was the most perfect oval, and almost feminine in thepurity of its outline; the serene, child-like mouth was shaded with alight moustache, and a silky brown beard clothed the chin; but theeyes--shall I ever look into such orbs again? Large, dark, unfathomable, they beamed with an expression of divine love and divine sorrow, such as Inever before saw in human face. The man had just emerged from a darkarchway, and the golden glow of the sunset, reflected from a white wallabove, fell upon his face. Perhaps it was this transfiguration which madehis beauty so unearthly; but, during the moment that I saw him, he was tome a revelation of the Saviour. There are still miracles in the Land ofJudah. As the dusk gathered in the deep streets, I could see nothing butthe ineffable sweetness and benignity of that countenance, and my friendwas not a little astonished, if not shocked, when I said to him, with theearnestness of belief, on my return: "I have just seen Christ. "

I made the round of the Holy Sepulchre on Sunday, while the monks werecelebrating the festival of the Invention of the Cross, in the chapel ofthe Empress Helena. As the finding of the cross by the Empress is almostthe only authority for the places inclosed within the Holy Sepulchre, Iwent there inclined to doubt their authenticity, and came away with mydoubt vastly strengthened. The building is a confused labyrinth ofchapels, choirs, shrines, staircases, and vaults--without any definiteplan or any architectural beauty, though very rich in parts and full ofpicturesque effects. Golden lamps continually burn before the sacredplaces, and you rarely visit the church without seeing some procession ofmonks, with crosses, censers, and tapers, threading the shadowy passages, from shrine to shrine It is astonishing how many localities are assembledunder one roof. At first, you are shown, the stone on which Christ restedfrom the burden of the cross; then, the place where the soldiers cast lotsfor His garments, both of them adjoining the Sepulchre. After seeing this, you are taken to the Pillar of Flagellation; the stocks; the place ofcrowning with thorns; the spot where He met His mother; the cave where theEmpress Helena found the cross; and, lastly, the summit of Mount Calvary. The Sepulchre is a small marble building in the centre of the church. Weremoved our shoes at the entrance, and were taken by a Greek monk, firstinto a sort of ante-chamber, lighted with golden lamps, and having in thecentre, inclosed in a case of marble, the stone on which the angel sat. Stooping through a low door, we entered the Sepulchre itself. Forty lampsof gold burn unceasingly above the white marble slab, which, as the monkssay, protects the stone whereon the body of Christ was laid. As we againemerged, our guide led us up a flight of steps to a second story, in whichstood a shrine, literally blazing with gold. Kneeling on the marble floor, he removed a golden shield, and showed us the hole in the rock of Calvary, where the cross was planted. Close beside it was the fissure produced bythe earthquake which followed the Crucifixion. But, to my eyes, aided bythe light of the dim wax taper, it was no violent rupture, such as anearthquake would produce, and the rock did not appear to be the same asthat of which Jerusalem is built. As we turned to leave, a monk appearedwith a bowl of sacred rose-water, which he sprinkled on our hands, bestowing a double portion on a rosary of sandal-wood which I carried Butit was a Mohammedan rosary, brought from Mecca, and containing the sacrednumber of ninety-nine beads. 

I have not space here to state all the arguments for and against thelocalities in the Holy Sepulchre, I came to the conclusion that none ofthem were authentic, and am glad to have the concurrence of suchdistinguished authority as Dr. Robinson. So far from this being a matterof regret, I, for one, rejoice that those sacred spots are lost to theworld. Christianity does not need them, and they are spared a dailyprofanation in the name of religion. We know that Christ has walked on theMount of Olives, and gone down to the Pool of Siloam, and tarried inBethany; we know that here, within the circuit of our vision, He hassuffered agony and death, and that from this little point went out all thelight that has made the world greater and happier and better in its laterthan in its earlier days. 

Yet, I must frankly confess, in wandering through this city--reveredalike by Christians, Jews and Turks as one of the holiest in the world--Ihave been reminded of Christ, the Man, rather, than of Christ, the God. Inthe glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions whichnever come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites. As Itoiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, pantingwith the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible toconceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me. Andeven at night, as I walk on the terraced roof, while the moon, "the balmymoon of blessed Israel, " restores the Jerusalem of olden days to myimagination, the Saviour who then haunts my thoughts is the Man Jesus, inthose moments of trial when He felt the weaknesses of our common humanity;in that agony of struggle in the garden of Gethsemane, in that still morebitter cry of human doubt and human appeal from the cross: "My God, myGod, why hast Thou forsaken me!" Yet there is no reproach for thisconception of the character of Christ. Better the divinely-inspired Man, the purest and most perfect of His race, the pattern and type of all thatis good and holy in Humanity, than the Deity for whose intercession wepray, while we trample His teachings under our feet. It would be well formany Christian sects, did they keep more constantly before their eyes thesublime humanity of Christ. How much bitter intolerance and persecutionmight be spared the world, if, instead of simply adoring Him as a DivineMediator, they would strive to walk the ways He trod on earth. ButChristianity is still undeveloped, and there is yet no sect whichrepresents its fall and perfect spirit. 

It is my misfortune if I give offence by these remarks. I cannot assumeemotions I do not feel, and must describe Jerusalem as I found it. Sincebeing here, I have read the accounts of several travellers, and in manycases the devotional rhapsodies--the ecstacies of awe and reverence--inwhich they indulge, strike me as forced and affected. The pious writershave described what was expected of them, not what they found. It waspartly from reading such accounts that my anticipations were raised toohigh, for the view of the city from the Jaffa road and the panorama fromthe Mount of Olives are the only things wherein I have been pleasantlydisappointed. 

By far the most interesting relic left to the city is the foundation wallof Solomon's Temple. The Mosque of Omar, according to the accounts of theTurks, and Mr. Gather wood's examination, rests on immense vaults, whichare believed to be the substructions of the Temple itself. Under the domeof the mosque there is a large mass of natural rock, revered by theMoslems as that from which Mahomet mounted the beast Borak when he visitedthe Seven Heavens, and believed by Mr. Catherwood to have served as partof the foundation of the Holy of Holies. No Christian is allowed to enterthe mosque, or even its enclosure, on penalty of death, and even thefirman of the Sultan has failed to obtain admission for a Frank. I havebeen strongly tempted to make the attempt in my Egyptian dress, whichhappens to resemble that of a mollah or Moslem priest, but the Dervishesin the adjoining college have sharp eyes, and my pronunciation of Arabicwould betray me in case I was accosted. I even went so far as to buy astring of the large beads usually carried by a mollah, but unluckily I donot know the Moslem form of prayer, or I might carry out the plan underthe guise of religious abstraction. This morning we succeeded in getting anearer view of the mosque from the roof of the Governor's palace. François, by assuming the character of a Turkish _cawass, _ gained usadmission. The roof overlooks the entire enclosure of the Haram, and givesa complete view of the exterior of the mosque and the paved courtsurrounding it. There is no regularity in the style of the buildings inthe enclosure, but the general effect is highly picturesque. The greatdome of the mosque is the grandest in all the Orient, but the body of theedifice, made to resemble an octagonal tent, and covered with blue andwhite tiles, is not high enough to do it justice. The first court is pavedwith marble, and has four porticoes, each of five light Saracenic arches, opening into the green park, which occupies the rest of the terrace. Thispark is studded with cypress and fig trees, and dotted all over with thetombs of shekhs. As we were looking down on the spacious area, behold! whoshould come along but Shekh Mohammed Senoosee, the holy man of Timbuctoo, who had laid off his scarlet robe and donned a green one. I called down tohim, whereupon he looked up and recognised us. For this reason I regretour departure from Jerusalem, as I am sure a little persuasion wouldinduce the holy man to accompany me within the mosque. 

We leave to-morrow for Damascus, by way of Nazareth and Tiberius. Myoriginal plan was to have gone to Djerash, the ancient Geraza, in the landof Gilead, and thence to Bozrah, in Djebel Hauaran. But Djebel Adjeloun, as the country about Djerash is called, is under a powerful Bedouin shekh, named Abd-el Azeez, and without an escort from him, which involvesconsiderable delay and a fee of $150, it would be impossible to make thejourney. We are therefore restricted to the ordinary route, and in case weshould meet with any difficulty by the way, Mr. Smith, the AmericanConsul, who is now here, has kindly procured us a firman from the Pasha ofJerusalem. All the travellers here are making preparations to leave, butthere are still two parties in the Desert. 

Chapter VI. 

The Hill-Country of Palestine. 

 Leaving Jerusalem--The Tombs of the Kings--El Bireh--The Hill-Country--First View of Mount Hermon--The Tomb of Joseph--Ebal and Gerizim--The Gardens of Nablous--The Samaritans--The Sacred Book--A Scene in the Synagogue--Mentoi and Telemachus--Ride to Samaria--The Ruins of Sebaste--Scriptural Landscapes--Halt at Genin--The Plain of Esdraelon--Palestine and California--The Hills of Nazareth--Accident--Fra Joachim--The Church of the Virgin--The Shrine of the Annunciation--The Holy Places. 

 "Blest land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song, Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng: In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee!"

 J. G. Whittier. 

Latin Convent, Nazareth, _Friday May_ 7, 1852. 

We left Jerusalem by the Jaffa Gate, because within a few months neithertravellers nor baggage are allowed to pass the Damascus Gate, on accountof smuggling operations having been carried on there. Not far from thecity wall there is a superb terebinth tree, now in the full glory of itsshining green leaves. It appears to be bathed in a perpetual dew; therounded masses of foliage sparkle and glitter in the light, and the greatspreading boughs flood the turf below with a deluge of delicious shade. Anumber of persons were reclining on the grass under it, and one of them, avery handsome Christian boy, spoke to us in Italian and English. Iscarcely remember a brighter and purer day than that of our departure. The sky was a sheet of spotless blue; every rift and scar of the distanthills was retouched with a firmer pencil, and all the outlines, blurredaway by the haze of the previous few days, were restored with wonderfuldistinctness. The temperature was hot, but not sultry, and the air webreathed was an elixir of immortality. 

Through a luxuriant olive grove we reached the Tombs of the Kings, situated in a small valley to the north of the city. Part of the valley, if not the whole of it, has been formed by quarrying away the crags ofmarble and conglomerate limestone for building the city. Near the edge ofthe low cliffs overhanging it, there are some illustrations of the ancientmode of cutting stone, which, as well as the custom of excavating tombs inthe rock, was evidently borrowed from Egypt. The upper surface of therocks, was first made smooth, after which the blocks were mapped out andcut apart by grooves chiselled between them. I visited four or five tombs, each of which had a sort of vestibule or open portico in front. The doorwas low, and the chambers which I entered, small and black, withoutsculptures of any kind. The tombs bear some resemblance in their generalplan to those of Thebes, except that they are without ornaments, eithersculptured or painted. There are fragments of sarcophagi in some of them. On the southern side of the valley is a large quarry, evidently worked formarble, as the blocks have been cut out from below, leaving a largeoverhanging mass, part of which has broken off and fallen down. Somepieces which I picked up were of a very fine white marble, somewhatresembling that of Carrara. The opening of the quarry made a strikingpicture, the soft pink hue of the weather-stained rock contrastingexquisitely with the vivid green of the vines festooning the entrance. 

From the long hill beyond the Tombs, we took our last view of Jerusalem, far beyond whose walls I saw the Church of the Nativity, at Bethlehem. TheJewish synagogue on the top of the mountain called Nebbee Samwil, thehighest peak in Palestine, was visible at some distance to the west. Notwithstanding its sanctity, I felt little regret at leaving Jerusalem, and cheerfully took the rough road northward, over the stony hills. Therewere few habitations in sight, yet the hill-sides were cultivated, wherever it was possible for anything to grow. The wheat was just cominginto head, and the people were at work, planting maize. After four hours'ride, we reached El Bireh, a little village on a hill, with the ruins of aconvent and a large khan. The place takes its name from a fountain ofexcellent water, beside which we found our tents already pitched. In theevening, two Englishmen, an ancient Mentor, with a wild young Telemachusin charge, arrived, and camped near us. The night was calm and cool, andthe full moon poured a flood of light over the bare and silent hills. 

We rose long before sunrise, and rode off in the brilliant morning--thesky unstained by a speck of vapor. In the valley, beyond El Bireh, thehusbandmen were already at their ploughs, and the village boys were ontheir way to the uncultured parts of the hills, with their flocks of sheepand goats. The valley terminated in a deep gorge, with perpendicular wallsof rock on either side. Our road mounted the hill on the eastern side, andfollowed the brink of the precipice through the pass, where an enchantinglandscape opened upon us. The village of Yebrood crowned a hill which roseopposite, and the mountain slopes leaning towards it on all sides werecovered with orchards of fig trees; and either rustling with wheat orcleanly ploughed for maize. The soil was a dark brown loam, and very rich. The stones have been laboriously built into terraces; and, even whereheavy rocky boulders almost hid the soil, young fig and olive trees wereplanted in the crevices between them. I have never seen more thorough andpatient cultivation. In the crystal of the morning air, the very hillslaughed with plenty, and the whole landscape beamed with the signs ofgladness on its countenance. 

The site of ancient Bethel was not far to the right of our road. Overhills laden with the olive, fig, and vine, we passed to Ain el-Haramiyeh, or the Fountain of the Bobbers. Here there are tombs cut in the rock onboth sides of the valley. Over another ridge, we descended to a large, bowl-shaped valley, entirely covered with wheat, and opening eastwardtowards the Jordan. Thence to Nablous (the Shechem of the Old and Sycharof the New Testament) is four hours through a winding dell of the richestharvest land; On the way, we first caught sight of the snowy top of MountHermon, distant at least eighty miles in a straight line. Before reachingNablous, I stopped to drink at a fountain of clear and sweet water, besidea square pile of masonry, upon which sat two Moslem dervishes. This, wewere told, was the Tomb of Joseph, whose body, after having accompaniedthe Israelites in all their wanderings, was at last deposited nearShechem. There is less reason to doubt this spot than most of the sacredplaces of Palestine, for the reason that it rests, not on Christian, buton Jewish tradition. The wonderful tenacity with which the Jews cling toevery record or memento of their early history, and the fact that fromthe time of Joseph a portion of them have always lingered near the spot, render it highly probable that the locality of a spot so sacred shouldhave been preserved from generation to generation to the present time. Ithas been recently proposed to open this tomb, by digging under it from theside. If the body of Joseph was actually deposited here, there are, nodoubt, some traces of it remaining. It must have been embalmed, accordingto the Egyptian custom, and placed in a coffin of the Indian sycamore, thewood of which is so nearly incorruptible, that thirty-five centuries wouldnot suffice for its decomposition. The singular interest of such adiscovery would certainly justify the experiment. Not far from the tomb isJacob's Well, where Christ met the Woman of Samaria. This place is alsoconsidered as authentic, for the same reasons. If not wholly convincing toall, there is, at least, so much probability in them that one is freedfrom that painful coldness and incredulity with which he beholds thesacred shows of Jerusalem. 

Leaving the Tomb of Joseph, the road turned to the west, and entered thenarrow pass between Mounts Ebal and Gerizim. The former is a steep, barrenpeak, clothed with terraces of cactus, standing on the northern side ofthe pass. Mount Gerizim is cultivated nearly to the top, and is truly amountain of blessing, compared with its neighbor. Through an orchard ofgrand old olive-trees, we reached Nablous, which presented a charmingpicture, with its long mass of white, dome-topped stone houses, stretchingalong the foot of Gerizim through a sea of bowery orchards. The bottom ofthe valley resembles some old garden run to waste. Abundant streams, poured from the generous heart of the Mount of Blessing, leap and gurglewith pleasant noises through thickets of orange, fig, and pomegranate, through bowers of roses and tangled masses of briars and wild vines. Wehalted in a grove of olives, and, after our tent was pitched, walkedupward through the orchards to the Ras-el-Ain (Promontory of theFountain), on the side of Mount Gerizim. A multitude of beggars sat at thecity gate; and, as they continued to clamor after I had given sufficientalms, I paid them with "_Allah deelek_!"--(God give it to you!)--theMoslem's reply to such importunity--and they ceased in an instant. Thisexclamation, it seems, takes away from them the power of demanding asecond time. 

From under the Ras-el-Ain gushes forth the Fountain of Honey, so calledfrom the sweetness and purity of the water. We drank of it, and I foundthe taste very agreeable, but my companion declared that it had anunpleasant woolly flavor. When we climbed a little higher, we found thatthe true source from which the fountain is supplied was above, and that anArab was washing a flock of sheep in it! We continued our walk along theside of the mountain to the other end of the city, through gardens ofalmond, apricot, prune, and walnut-trees, bound each to each by greatvines, whose heavy arms they seemed barely able to support. The interiorof the town is dark and filthy; but it has a long, busy bazaar extendingits whole length, and a café, where we procured the best coffee in Syria. 

Nablous is noted for the existence of a small remnant of the ancientSamaritans. The stock has gradually dwindled away, and amounts to onlyforty families, containing little more than a hundred and fiftyindividuals. They live in a particular quarter of the city, and areeasily distinguished from the other inhabitants by the cast of theirfeatures. After our guide, a native of Nablous, had pointed out three orfour, I had no difficulty in recognising all the others we met. They havelong, but not prominent noses, like the Jews; small, oblong eyes, narrowlips, and fair complexions, most of them having brown hair. They appear tobe held in considerable obloquy by the Moslems. Our attendant, who was ofthe low class of Arabs, took the boys we met very unceremoniously by thehead, calling out: "Here is another Samaritan!" He then conducted us totheir synagogue, to see the celebrated Pentateuch, which is therepreserved. We were taken to a small, open court, shaded by anapricot-tree, where the priest, an old man in a green robe and whiteturban, was seated in meditation. He had a long grey beard, and blackeyes, that lighted up with a sudden expression of eager greed when wepromised him backsheesh for a sight of the sacred book. He arose and tookus into a sort of chapel, followed by a number of Samaritan boys. Kneelingdown at a niche in the wall, he produced from behind a wooden case a pieceof ragged parchment, written with Hebrew characters. But the guide wasfamiliar with this deception, and rated him so soundly that, after alittle hesitation, he laid the fragment away, and produced a large tincylinder, covered with a piece of green satin embroidered in gold. Theboys stooped down and reverently kissed the blazoned cover, before it wasremoved. The cylinder, sliding open by two rows of hinges, opened at thesame time the parchment scroll, which was rolled at both ends. It was, indeed, a very ancient manuscript, and in remarkable preservation. Therents have been carefully repaired and the scroll neatly stitched uponanother piece of parchment, covered on the outside with violet satin. Thepriest informed me that it was written by the son of Aaron; but this doesnot coincide with the fact that the Samaritan Pentateuch is different fromthat of the Jews. It is, however, no doubt one of the oldest parchmentrecords in the world, and the Samaritans look upon it with unbounded faithand reverence. The Pentateuch, according to their version, contains theironly form of religion. They reject everything else which the Old Testamentcontains. Three or four days ago was their grand feast of sacrifice, whenthey made a burnt offering of a lamb, on the top of Mount Gerizim. Withina short time, it is said they have shown some curiosity to becomeacquainted with the New Testament, and the High Priest sent to Jerusalemto procure Arabic copies. 

I asked one of the wild-eyed boys whether he could read the sacred book. "Oh, yes, " said the priest, "all these boys can read it;" and the one Iaddressed immediately pulled a volume from his breast, and commencedreading in fluent Hebrew. It appeared to be a part of their churchservice, for both the priest and _boab_, or door-keeper, kept up a runningseries of responses, and occasionally the whole crowd shouted out somedeep-mouthed word in chorus. The old man leaned forward with an expressionas fixed and intense as if the text had become incarnate in him, followingwith his lips the sound of the boy's voice. It was a strange picture ofreligious enthusiasm, and was of itself sufficient to convince me of thelegitimacy of the Samaritan's descent. When I rose to leave I gave him thepromised fee, and a smaller one to the boy who read the service. This wasthe signal for a general attack from the door-keeper and all the boys whowere present. They surrounded me with eyes sparkling with the desire ofgain, kissed the border of my jacket, stroked my beard coaxingly withtheir hands, which they then kissed, and, crowding up with a boisterousshow of affection, were about to fall on my neck in a heap, after the oldHebrew fashion. The priest, clamorous for more, followed with glowingface, and the whole group had a riotous and bacchanalian character, whichI should never have imagined could spring from such a passion as avarice. 

On returning to our camp, we found Mentor and Telemachus arrived, but noton such friendly terms as their Greek prototypes. We were kept awake for along time that night by their high words, and the first sound I heard thenext morning came from their tent. Telemachus, I suspect, had found someisland of Calypso, and did not relish the cold shock of the plunge intothe sea, by which Mentor had forced him away. He insisted on returning toJerusalem, but as Mentor would not allow him a horse, he had not thecourage to try it on foot. After a series of altercations, in which hetook a pistol to shoot the dragoman, and applied very profane terms toeverybody in the company, his wrath dissolved into tears, and when weleft, Mentor had decided to rest a day at Nablous, and let him recoverfrom the effects of the storm. 

We rode down the beautiful valley, taking the road to Sebaste (Samaria), while our luggage-mules kept directly over the mountains to Jenin. Ourpath at first followed the course of the stream, between turfy banks andthrough luxuriant orchards. The whole country we overlooked was plantedwith olive-trees, and, except the very summits of the mountains, coveredwith grain-fields. For two hours our course was north-east, leading overthe hills, and now and then dipping into beautiful dells. In one of thesea large stream gushes from the earth in a full fountain, at the foot of agreat olive-tree. The hill-side above it was a complete mass of foliage, crowned with the white walls of a Syrian village. Descending the valley, which is very deep, we came in sight of Samaria, situated on the summit ofan isolated hill. The sanctuary of the ancient Christian church of St. John towers high above the mud walls of the modern village. Riding betweenolive-orchards and wheat-fields of glorious richness and beauty, we passedthe remains of an acqueduct, and ascended the hill The ruins of the churchoccupy the eastern summit. Part of them have been converted into a mosque, which the Christian foot is not allowed to profane. The church, which isin the Byzantine style, is apparently of the time of the Crusaders. It hadoriginally a central and two side-aisles, covered with groined Gothicvaults. The sanctuary is semi-circular, with a row of small arches, supported by double pillars. The church rests on the foundations of somemuch more ancient building--probably a temple belonging to the Romancity. 

Behind the modern village, the hill terminates in a long, ellipticalmound, about one-third of a mile in length. We made the tour of it, andwere surprised at finding a large number of columns, each of a singlepiece of marble. They had once formed a double colonnade, extending fromthe church to a gate on the western side of the summit. Our native guidesaid they had been covered with an arch, and constituted a long market orbazaar--a supposition in which he may be correct. From the gate, which isstill distinctly marked, we overlooked several deep valleys to the west, and over them all, the blue horizon of the Mediterranean, south ofCæsarea. On the northern side of the hill there are upwards of twenty morepillars standing, besides a number hurled down, and the remains of aquadrangular colonnade, on the side of the hill below. The total number ofpillars on the summit cannot be less than one hundred, from twelve toeighteen feet in height. The hill is strewn, even to its base, with largehewn blocks and fragments of sculptured stone. The present name of thecity was given to it by Herod, and it must have been at that time a moststately and beautiful place. 

We descended to a valley on the east, climbed a long ascent, and aftercrossing the broad shoulder of a mountain beyond, saw below us a landscapeeven more magnificent than that of Nablous. It was a great winding valley, its bottom rolling in waves of wheat and barley, while every hill-side, upto the bare rock, was mantled with groves of olive. The very summits whichlooked into this garden of Israel, were green with fragrant plants--wildthyme and sage, gnaphalium and camomile. Away to the west was the sea, andin the north-west the mountain chain of Carmel. We went down to thegardens and pasture-land, and stopped to rest at the Village of Geba, which hangs on the side of the mountain. A spring of whitish but deliciouswater gushed out of the soil, in the midst of a fig orchard. The womenpassed us, going back and forth with tall water-jars on their heads. Someherd-boys brought down a flock of black goats, and they were all givendrink in a large wooden bowl. They were beautiful animals, with thickcurved horns, white eyes, and ears a foot long. It was a truly Biblicalpicture in every feature. 

Beyond this valley we passed a circular basin, which has no outlet, sothat in winter the bottom of it must be a lake. After winding among thehills an hour more, we came out upon the town of Jenin, a Turkish village, with a tall white minaret, at the head of the great plain of Esdraelon. Itis supposed to be the ancient Jezreel, where the termagant Jezebel wasthrown out of the window. We pitched our tent in a garden near the town, under a beautiful mulberry tree, and, as the place is in very bad repute, engaged a man to keep guard at night. An English family was robbed theretwo or three weeks ago. Our guard did his duty well, pacing back andforth, and occasionally grounding his musket to keep up his courage by thesound. In the evening, François caught a chameleon, a droll-looking littlecreature, which changed color in a marvellous manner. 

Our road, next day, lay directly across the Plain of Esdraelon, one of therichest districts in the world. It is now a green sea, covered with fieldsof wheat and barley, or great grazing tracts, on which multitudes of sheepand goats are wandering. In some respects it reminded me of the Valley ofSan José, and if I were to liken Palestine to any other country I haveseen, it would be California. The climate and succession of the seasonsare the same, the soil is very similar in quality, and the landscapespresent the same general features. Here, in spring, the plains are coveredwith that deluge of floral bloom, which makes California seem a paradise. Here there are the same picturesque groves, the same rank fields of wildoats clothing the mountain-sides, the same aromatic herbs impregnating theair with balm, and above all, the same blue, cloudless days and dewlessnights. While travelling here, I am constantly reminded of our new Syriaon the Pacific. 

Towards noon, Mount Tabor separated itself from the chain of hills beforeus, and stood out singly, at the extremity of the plain. We watered ourhorses at a spring in a swamp, were some women were collected, beatingwith sticks the rushes they had gathered to make mats. After reaching themountains on the northern side of the plain, an ascent of an hour anda-half, through a narrow glen, brought us to Nazareth, which is situatedin a cul-de-sac, under the highest peaks of the range. As we were passinga rocky part of the road, Mr. Harrison's horse fell with him and severelyinjured his leg. We were fortunately near our destination, and on reachingthe Latin Convent, Fra Joachim, to whose surgical abilities thetraveller's book bore witness, took him in charge. Many others besidesourselves have had reason to be thankful for the good offices of the Latinmonks in Palestine. I have never met with a class more kind, cordial, andgenial. All the convents are bound to take in and entertain allapplicants--of whatever creed or nation--for the space of three days. 

In the afternoon, Fra Joachim accompanied me to the Church of the Virgin, which is inclosed within the walls of the convent. It is built over thesupposed site of the house in which the mother of Christ was living, atthe time of the angelic annunciation. Under the high altar, a flight ofsteps leads down to the shrine of the Virgin, on the threshold of thehouse, where the Angel Gabriel's foot rested, as he stood, with a lily inhis hand, announcing the miraculous conception. The shrine, of whitemarble and gold, gleaming in the light of golden lamps, stands under arough arch of the natural rock, from the side of which hangs a heavyfragment of a granite pillar, suspended, as the devout believe, by divinepower. Fra Joachim informed me that, when the Moslems attempted toobliterate all tokens of the holy place, this pillar was preserved by amiracle, that the locality might not be lost to the Christians. At thesame time, he said, the angels of God carried away the wooden house whichstood at the entrance of the grotto; and, after letting it drop inMarseilles, while they rested, picked it up again and set it down inLoretto, where it still remains. As he said this, there was such entire, absolute belief in the good monk's eyes, and such happiness in thatbelief, that not for ten times the gold on the shrine would I haveexpressed a doubt of the story. He then bade me kneel, that I might seethe spot where the angel stood, and devoutly repeated a paternoster whileI contemplated the pure plate of snowy marble, surrounded with vases offragrant flowers, between which hung cressets of gold, wherein perfumedoils were burning. All the decorations of the place conveyed the idea oftranscendent purity and sweetness; and, for the first time in Palestine, Iwished for perfect faith in the spot. Behind the shrine, there are two orthree chambers in the rock, which served as habitations for the family ofthe Virgin. 

A young Christian Nazarene afterwards conducted me to the House of Joseph, the Carpenter, which is now inclosed in a little chapel. It is merely afragment of wall, undoubtedly as old as the time of Christ, and I feltwilling to consider it a genuine relic. There was an honest roughnessabout the large stones, inclosing a small room called the carpenter'sshop, which I could not find it in my heart to doubt. Besides, in a quietcountry town like Nazareth, which has never knows such vicissitudes asJerusalem, much more dependence can be placed on popular tradition. Forthe same reason, I looked with reverence on the Table of Christ, alsoinclosed within a chapel. This is a large, natural rock, about nine feetby twelve, nearly square, and quite flat on the top. It is said that itonce served as a table for Christ and his Disciples. The building calledthe School of Christ, where he went with other children of his age, is nowa church of the Syrian Christians, who were performing a doleful mass, inArabic, at the time of my visit. It is a vaulted apartment, about fortyfeet long, and only the lower part of the wall is ancient. At each ofthese places, the Nazarene put into my hand a piece of pasteboard, onwhich was printed a prayer in Latin, Italian, and Arabic, with theinformation that whoever visited the place, and made the prayer, would beentitled to seven years' indulgence. I duly read all the prayers, and, accordingly, my conscience ought to be at rest for twenty-one years. 

Chapter VII. 

The Country of Galilee. 

 Departure from Nazareth--A Christian Guide--Ascent of Mount Tabor--Wallachian Hermits--The Panorama of Tabor--Ride to Tiberias--A Bath in Genesareth--The Flowers of Galilee--The Mount of Beatitude--Magdala--Joseph's Well--Meeting with a Turk--The Fountain of the Salt-Works--The Upper Valley of the Jordan--Summer Scenery--The Rivers of Lebanon--Tell el-Kadi--An Arcadian Region--The Fountains of Banias. 

 "Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee!"--Whittier. 

Banias (Cæsarea Philippi), _May_ 10, 1852. 

We left Nazareth on the morning of the 8th inst. My companion had done sowell under the care of Fra Joachim that he was able to ride, and ourjourney was not delayed by his accident. The benedictions of the goodFranciscans accompanied us as we rode away from the Convent, past theFountain of the Virgin, and out of the pleasant little valley where theboy Jesus wandered for many peaceful years. The Christian guide we engagedfor Mount Tabor had gone ahead, and we did not find him until we hadtravelled for more than two hours among the hills. As we approached thesacred mountain, we came upon the region of oaks--the first oak I had seensince leaving Europe last autumn. There are three or four varieties, somewith evergreen foliage, and in their wild luxuriance and thepicturesqueness of their forms and groupings, they resemble those ofCalifornia. The sea of grass and flowers in which they stood was sprinkledwith thick tufts of wild oats--another point of resemblance to the lattercountry. But here, there is no gold; there, no sacred memories. 

The guide was waiting for us beside a spring, among the trees. He was atall youth of about twenty, with a mild, submissive face, and wore thedark-blue turban, which appears to be the badge of a native SyrianChristian. I found myself involuntarily pitying him for belonging to adespised sect. There is no disguising the fact that one feels much morerespect for the Mussulman rulers of the East, than for their oppressedsubjects who profess his own faith. The surest way to make a mancontemptible is to treat him contemptuously, and the Oriental Christians, who have been despised for centuries, are, with some few exceptions, despicable enough. Now, however, since the East has become a favoritefield of travel, and the Frank possesses an equal dignity with the Moslem, the native Christians are beginning to hold up their heads, and the returnof self-respect will, in the course of time, make them respectable. 

Mount Tabor stands a little in advance of the hill-country, with which itis connected only by a low spur or shoulder, its base being the Plain ofEsdraelon. This is probably the reason why it has been fixed upon as theplace of the Transfiguration, as it is not mentioned by name in the NewTestament. The words are: "an high mountain apart, " which some suppose torefer to the position of the mountain, and not to the remoteness of Christand the three Disciples from men. The sides of the mountain are coveredwith clumps of oak, hawthorn and other trees, in many places overrun withthe white honeysuckle, its fingers dropping with odor of nutmeg andcloves. The ascent, by a steep and winding path, occupied an hour. Thesummit is nearly level, and resembles some overgrown American field, or"oak opening. " The grass is more than knee-deep; the trees grow high andstrong, and there are tangled thickets and bowers of vines without end. The eastern and highest end of the mountain is covered with the remains ofan old fortress-convent, once a place of great strength, from thethickness of its walls. In a sort of cell formed among the ruins we foundtwo monk-hermits. I addressed them in all languages of which I know asalutation, without effect, but at last made out that they wereWallachians. They were men of thirty-five, with stupid faces, dirtygarments, beards run to waste, and fur caps. Their cell was a mere hovel, without furniture, except a horrid caricature of the Virgin and Child, andfour books of prayers in the Bulgarian character. One of them walked aboutknitting a stocking, and paid no attention to us; but the other, aftergiving us some deliciously cold water, got upon a pile of rubbish, andstood regarding us with open mouth while we took breakfast. So far fromthis being a cause of annoyance, I felt really glad that our presence hadagitated the stagnant waters of his mind. 

The day was hazy and sultry, but the panoramic view from Mount Tabor wasstill very fine. The great Plain of Esdraelon lay below us like a vastmosaic of green and brown--jasper and verd-antique. On the west, MountCarmel lifted his head above the blue horizon line of the Mediterranean. Turning to the other side, a strip of the Sea of Galilee glimmered deepdown among the hills, and the Ghor, or the Valley of the Jordan, stretched like a broad gash through them. Beyond them, the country ofDjebel Adjeloun, the ancient Decapolis, which still holds the walls ofGadara and the temples and theatres of Djerash, faded away into vapor, and, still further to the south, the desolate hills of Gilead, the home ofJephthah. Mount Hermon is visible when the atmosphere is clear but we werenot able to see it. 

From the top of Mount Tabor to Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee, is ajourney of five hours, through a wild country, with but one singlemiserable village on the road. At first we rode through lonely dells, grown with oak and brilliant with flowers, especially the large purplemallow, and then over broad, treeless tracts of rolling land, butpartially cultivated. The heat was very great; I had no thermometer, butshould judge the temperature to have been at least 95° in the shade. Fromthe edge of the upland tract, we looked down on the Sea of Galilee--abeautiful sheet of water sunk among the mountains, and more than 300 feetbelow the level of the Mediterranean. It lay unruffled in the bottom ofthe basin, reflecting the peaks of the bare red mountains beyond it. Tiberias was at our very feet, a few palm trees alone relieving thenakedness of its dull walls. After taking a welcome drink at the Fountainof Fig-trees, we descended to the town, which has a desolate and forlornair. Its walls have been partly thrown down by earthquakes, and neverrepaired. We found our tents already pitched on the bank above the lake, and under one of the tottering towers. 

Not a breath of air was stirring; the red hills smouldered in the heat, and the waters of Genesareth at our feet glimmered with an oilysmoothness, unbroken by a ripple. We untwisted our turbans, kicked off ourbaggy trowsers, and speedily releasing ourselves from the barbarousrestraints of dress, dipped into the tepid sea and floated lazily outuntil we could feel the exquisite coldness of the living springs whichsent up their jets from the bottom. I was lying on my back, moving my finsjust sufficiently to keep afloat, and gazing dreamily through half-closedeyes on the forlorn palms of Tiberias, when a shrill voice hailed me with:"O Howadji, get out of our way!" There, at the old stone gateway below ourtent, stood two Galilean damsels, with heavy earthen jars upon theirheads. "Go away yourselves, O maidens!" I answered, "if you want us tocome out of the water. " "But we must fill our pitchers, " one of themreplied. "Then fill them at once, and be not afraid; or leave them, and wewill fill them for you. " Thereupon they put the pitchers down, butremained watching us very complacently while we sank the vessels to thebottom of the lake, and let them fill from the colder and purer tide ofthe springs. In bringing them back through the water to the gate, the oneI propelled before me happened to strike against a stone, and its fairowner, on receiving it, immediately pointed to a crack in the side, whichshe declared I had made, and went off lamenting. After we had resumed ourgarments, and were enjoying the pipe of indolence and the coffee ofcontentment, she returned and made such an outcry, that I was fain topurchase peace by the price of a new pitcher. I passed the first hoursof-the night in looking out of my tent-door, as I lay, on the starssparkling in the bosom of Galilee, like the sheen of Assyrian spears, andthe glare of the great fires kindled on the opposite shore. 

The next day, we travelled northward along the lake, passing throughcontinuous thickets of oleander, fragrant with its heavy pink blossoms. The thistles were more abundant and beautiful than ever. I noticed, inparticular, one with a superb globular flower of a bright blue color, which would make a choice ornament for our gardens at home. At thenorth-western head of the lake, the mountains fall back and leave a largetract of the richest meadow-land, which narrows away into a deep dell, overhung by high mountain headlands, faced with naked cliffs of red rock. The features of the landscape are magnificent. Up the dell, I saw plainlythe Mount of Beatitude, beyond which lies the village of Cana of Galilee. In coming up the meadow, we passed a miserable little village of thatchedmud huts, almost hidden by the rank weeds which grew around them. Awithered old crone sat at one of the doors, sunning herself. "What is thename of this village?" I asked. "It is Mejdel, " was her reply. This wasthe ancient Magdala, the home of that beautiful but sinful Magdalene, whose repentance has made her one of the brightest of the Saints. Thecrystal waters of the lake here lave a shore of the cleanest pebbles. Thepath goes winding through oleanders, nebbuks, patches of hollyhock, anise-seed, fennel, and other spicy plants, while, on the west, greatfields of barley stand ripe for the cutting. In some places, the Fellahs, men and women, were at work, reaping and binding the sheaves. Aftercrossing this tract, we came to the hill, at the foot of which was aruined khan, and on the summit, other undistinguishable ruins, supposed bysome to be those of Capernaum. The site of that exalted town, however, isstill a matter of discussion. 

We journeyed on in a most sweltering atmosphere over the ascending hills, the valley of the Upper Jordan lying deep on our right. In a shallowhollow, under one of the highest peaks, there stands a large desertedkhan; over a well of very cold; sweet water, called _Bir Youssuf_ by theArabs. Somewhere near it, according to tradition, is the field whereJoseph was sold by his brethren; and the well is, no doubt, looked upon bymany as the identical pit into which he was thrown. A stately Turk ofDamascus, with four servants behind him, came riding up as we were restingin the gateway of the khan, and, in answer to my question, informed methat the well was so named from Nebbee Youssuf (the Prophet Joseph), andnot from Sultan Joseph Saladin. He took us for his countrymen, accostingme first in Turkish, and, even after I had talked with him some time inbad Arabic, asked me whether I had been making a pilgrimage to the tombsof certain holy Moslem saints, in the neighborhood of Jaffa. He joinedcompany with us, however, and shared his pipe with me, as we continued ourjourney. We rode for two hours more over hills bare of trees, but coveredthick with grass and herbs, and finally lost our way. François went ahead, dashing through the fields of barley and lentils, and we reached the pathagain, as the Waters of Merom came in sight. We then descended into theValley of the Upper Jordan, and encamped opposite the lake, at Ainel-Mellaha (the Fountain of the Salt-Works), the first source of thesacred river. A stream of water, sufficient to turn half-a-dozen mills, gushes and gurgles up at the foot of the mountain. There are the remainsof an ancient dam, by which a large pool was formed for the irrigation ofthe valley. It still supplies a little Arab mill below the fountain. Thisis a frontier post, between the jurisdictions of the Pashas of Jerusalemand Damascus, and the _mukkairee_ of the Greek Caloyer, who left us atTiberias, was obliged to pay a duty of seven and a half piastres onfifteen mats, which he had bought at Jerusalem for one and a half piastreseach. The poor man will perhaps make a dozen piastres (about half adollar) on these mats at Damascus, after carrying them on his mule formore than two hundred miles. 

We pitched our tents on the grassy meadow below the mill--a charming spot, with Tell el-Khanzir (the hill of wild boars) just in front, over theWaters of Merom, and the snow-streaked summit of Djebel esh-Shekh--thegreat Mount Hermon--towering high above the valley. This is the loftiestpeak of the Anti-Lebanon, and is 10, 000 feet above the sea. The nextmorning, we rode for three hours before reaching the second spring of theJordan, at a place which François called Tell el-Kadi, but which did notat all answer with the description given me by Dr. Robinson, at Jerusalem. The upper part of the broad valley, whence the Jordan draws his waters, isflat, moist, and but little cultivated. There are immense herds of sheep, goats, and buffaloes wandering over it. The people are a dark Arab tribe, and live in tents and miserable clay huts. Where the valley begins toslope upward towards the hills, they plant wheat, barley, and lentils. Thesoil is the fattest brown loam, and the harvests are wonderfully rich. Isaw many tracts of wheat, from half a mile to a mile in extent, whichwould average forty bushels to the acre. Yet the ground is never manured, and the Arab plough scratches up but a few inches of the surface. What aparadise might be made of this country, were it in better hands!

The second spring is not quite so large as Ain el-Mellaha but, like it, pours out a strong stream from a single source The pool was filled withwomen, washing the heavy fleeces of their sheep, and beating the dirt outof their striped camel's hair abas with long poles. We left it, andentered on a slope of stony ground, forming the head of the valley. Theview extended southward, to the mountains closing the northern cove of theSea of Galilee. It was a grand, rich landscape--so rich that itsdesolation seems forced and unnatural. High on the summit of a mountain tothe west, the ruins of a large Crusader fortress looked down upon us. Thesoil, which slowly climbs upward through a long valley between Lebanon andAnti-Lebanon, is cut with deep ravines. The path is very difficult tofind; and while we were riding forward at random, looking in alldirections for our baggage mules, we started up a beautiful gazelle. Atlast, about noon, hot, hungry, and thirsty, we reached a swift stream, roaring at the bottom of a deep ravine, through a bed of gorgeous foliage. The odor of the wild grape-blossoms, which came up to us, as we rode alongthe edge, was overpowering in its sweetness. An old bridge of two archescrossed the stream. There was a pile of rocks against the central pier, and there we sat and took breakfast in the shade of the maples, while thecold green waters foamed at our feet. By all the Naiads and Tritons, whata joy there is in beholding a running stream! The rivers of Lebanon aremiracles to me, after my knowledge of the Desert. A company of Arabs, seven in all, were gathered under the bridge; and, from a flute which oneof them blew, I judged they were taking a pastoral holiday. We kept ourpistols beside us; for we did not like their looks. Before leaving, theytold us that the country was full of robbers, and advised us to be on thelookout. We rode more carefully, after this, and kept with our baggage onreaching it, An hour after leaving the bridge, we came to a largecircular, or rather annular mound, overgrown with knee-deep grass andclumps of oak-trees. A large stream, of a bright blue color, gushed downthe north side, and after half embracing the mound swept off across themeadows to the Waters of Merom. There could be no doubt that this was Tellel-Kadi, the site of Dan, the most northern town of ancient Israel. Themound on which it was built is the crater of an extinct volcano. TheHebrew word _Dan_ signifies "judge, " and Tell el-Kadi, in Arabic, is "TheHill of the Judge. "

The Anti-Lebanon now rose near us, its northern and western slopes greenwith trees and grass. The first range, perhaps 5, 000 feet in height, shutout the snowy head of Hermon; but still the view was sublime in its largeand harmonious outlines. Our road was through a country resemblingArcadia--the earth hidden by a dense bed of grass and flowers; thickets ofblossoming shrubs; old, old oaks, with the most gnarled of trunks, themost picturesque of boughs, and the glossiest of green leaves; olive-treesof amazing antiquity; and, threading and enlivening all, the clear-coldfloods of Lebanon. This was the true haunt of Pan, whose altars are nowbefore me, graven on the marble crags of Hermon. Looking on those altars, and on the landscape, lovely as a Grecian dream, I forget that the lamenthas long been sung:

 "Pan, Pan is dead!"

In another hour, we reached this place, the ancient Cæsarea Philippi, nowa poor village, embowered in magnificent trees, and washed by gloriouswaters. There are abundant remains of the old city: fragments of immensewalls; broken granite columns; traces of pavements; great blocks of hewnstone; marble pedestals, and the like. In the rock at the foot of themountain, there are several elegant niches, with Greek inscriptions, besides a large natural grotto. Below them, the water gushes up throughthe stones, in a hundred streams, forming a flood of considerable size. Wehave made our camp in an olive grove near the end of the village, besidean immense terebinth tree, which is inclosed in an open court, paved withstone. This is the town-hall of Banias, where the Shekh dispenses justice, and at the same time, the resort of all the idlers of the place. We wentup among them, soon after our arrival, and were given seats of honor nearthe Shekh, who talked with me a long time about America. The peopleexhibit a very sensible curiosity, desiring to know the extent of ourcountry, the number of inhabitants, the amount of taxation, the price ofgrain, and other solid information. 

The Shekh and the men of the place inform us that the Druses are infestingthe road to Damascus. This tribe is in rebellion in Djebel Hauaran, onaccount of the conscription, and some of them, it appears, have takenrefuge in the fastnesses of Hermon, where they are beginning to plundertravellers. While I was talking with the Shekh, a Druse came down from themountains, and sat for half an hour among the villagers, under theterebinth, and we have just heard that he has gone back the way he came. This fact has given us some anxiety, as he may have been a spy sent downto gather news and, if so, we are almost certain to be waylaid. If we werewell armed, we should not fear a dozen, but all our weapons consist of asword and four pistols. After consulting together, we decided to apply tothe Shekh for two armed men, to accompany us. I accordingly went to himagain, and exhibited the firman of the Pasha of Jerusalem, which he read, stating that, even without it, he would have felt it his duty to grant ourrequest. This is the graceful way in which the Orientals submit to aperemptory order. He thinks that one man will be sufficient, as we shallprobably not meet with any large party. 

The day has been, and still is, excessively hot. The atmosphere issweltering, and all around us, over the thick patches of mallow and wildmustard, the bees are humming with a continuous sultry sound. The Shekh, with a number of lazy villagers, is still seated under the terebinth, in atent of shade, impervious to the sun. I can hear the rush of the fountainsof Banias--the holy springs of Hermon, whence Jordan is born. But what isthis? The odor of the velvety weed of Shiraz meets my nostrils; adark-eyed son of Pan places the narghileh at my feet; and, bubbling moresweetly than the streams of Jordan, the incense most dear to the god dimsthe crystal censer, and floats from my lips in rhythmic ejaculations. I, too, am in Arcadia!

Chapter VIII. 

Crossing the Anti-Lebanon. 

 The Harmless Guard--Cæsarea Philippi--The Valley of the Druses--The Sides of Mount Hermon--An Alarm--Threading a Defile--Distant view of Djebel Hauaran--Another Alarm--Camp at Katana--We Ride into Damascus. 

Damascus, _May_ 12, 1852. 

We rose early, so as to be ready for a long march. The guard came--amild-looking Arab--without arms; but on our refusing to take him thus, hebrought a Turkish musket, terrible to behold, but quite guiltless of anymurderous intent. We gave ourselves up to fate, with trueArab-resignation, and began ascending the Anti-Lebanon. Up and up, bystony paths, under the oaks, beside the streams, and between thewheat-fields, we climbed for two hours, and at last reached a comb ordividing ridge, whence we could look into a valley on the other side, orrather inclosed between the main chain and the offshoot named DjebelHeish, which stretches away towards the south-east. About half-way up theascent, we passed the ruined acropolis of Cæsarea Philippi, crowning thesummit of a lower peak. The walls and bastions cover a great extent ofground, and were evidently used as a stronghold in the Middle Ages. 

The valley into which we descended lay directly under one of the peaks ofHermon and the rills that watered it were fed from his snow-fields. It wasinhabited by Druses, but no men were to be seen, except a few poorhusbandmen, ploughing on the mountain-sides. The women, wearing thoseenormous horns on their heads which distinguish them from the Mohammedanfemales, were washing at a pool below. We crossed the valley, and slowlyascended the height on the opposite side, taking care to keep with thebaggage-mules. Up to this time, we met very few persons; and we forgot theanticipated perils in contemplating the rugged scenery of theAnti-Lebanon. The mountain-sides were brilliant with flowers, and many newand beautiful specimens arrested our attention. The asphodel grew inbunches beside the streams, and the large scarlet anemone outshone eventhe poppy, whose color here is the quintessence of flame. Five hours afterleaving Banias, we reached the highest part of the pass--a dreary volcanicregion, covered with fragments of lava. Just at this place, an old Arabmet us, and, after scanning us closely, stopped and accosted Dervish. Thelatter immediately came running ahead, quite excited with the news thatthe old man had seen a company of about fifty Druses descend from thesides of Mount Hermon, towards the road we were to travel. We immediatelyordered the baggage to halt, and Mr. Harrison, François, and myself rodeon to reconnoitre. Our guard, the valiant man of Banias, whose teethalready chattered with fear, prudently kept with the baggage. We crossedthe ridge and watched the stony mountain-sides for some time; but no spearor glittering gun-barrel could we see. The caravan was then set in motion;and we had not proceeded far before we met a second company of Arabs, whoinformed us that the road was free. 

Leaving the heights, we descended cautiously into a ravine with walls ofrough volcanic rock on each side. It was a pass where three men might havestood their ground against a hundred; and we did not feel thoroughlyconvinced of our safety till we had threaded its many windings and emergedupon a narrow valley. A village called Beit Jenn nestled under the rocks;and below it, a grove of poplar-trees shaded the banks of a rapid stream. We had now fairly crossed the Anti-Lebanon. The dazzling snows of MountHermon overhung us on the west; and, from the opening of the valley, welooked across a wild, waste country, to the distant range of DjebelHauaran, the seat of the present rebellion, and one of the mostinteresting regions of Syria. I regretted more than ever not being able toreach it. The ruins of Bozrah, Ezra, and other ancient cities, would wellrepay the arduous character of the journey, while the traveller mightsucceed in getting some insight into the life and habits of that singularpeople, the Druses. But now, and perhaps for some time to come, there isno chance of entering the Hauaran. 

Towards the middle of the afternoon, we reached a large village, which isusually the end of the first day's journey from Banias. Our men wanted tostop here, but we considered that to halt then would be to increase therisk, and decided to push on to Katana, four hours' journey from Damascus. They yielded with a bad grace; and we jogged on over the stony road, crossing the long hills which form the eastern base of the Anti-Lebanon. Before long, another Arab met us with the news that there was anencampment of Druses on the plain between us and Katana. At this, ourguard, who had recovered sufficient spirit to ride a few paces in advance, fell back, and the impassive Dervish became greatly agitated. Where thereis an uncertain danger, it is always better to go ahead than to turn back;and we did so. But the guard reined up on the top of the first ridge, trembling as he pointed to a distant hill, and cried out: _"Ahò, ahòhenàk!"_ (There they are!) There were, in fact, the shadows of some rocks, which bore a faint resemblance to tents. Before sunset, we reached thelast declivity of the mountains, and saw far in the dusky plain, the longgreen belt of the gardens of Damascus, and here and there the indistinctglimmer of a minaret. Katana, our resting-place for the night, lay belowus, buried in orchards of olive and orange. We pitched our tents on thebanks of a beautiful stream, enjoyed the pipe of tranquillity, after ourlong march, and soon forgot the Druses, in a slumber that lasted unbrokentill dawn. 

In the morning we sent back the man of Banias, left the baggage to takecare of itself, and rode on to Damascus, as fast as our tired horses couldcarry us. The plain, at first barren and stony, became enlivened withvineyards and fields of wheat, as we advanced. Arabs were everywhere atwork, ploughing and directing the water-courses. The belt of living green, the bower in which the great city, the Queen of the Orient, hides herbeauty, drew nearer and nearer, stretching out a crescent of foliage formiles on either hand, that gradually narrowed and received us into itscool and fragrant heart. We sank into a sea of olive, pomegranate, orange, plum, apricot, walnut, and plane trees, and were lost. The sun sparkled inthe rolling surface above; but we swam through the green depths, belowhis reach, and thus, drifted on through miles of shade, entered the city. 

Since our arrival, I find that two other parties of travellers, one ofwhich crossed the Anti-Lebanon on the northern side of Mount Hermon, wereobliged to take guards, and saw several Druse spies posted on the heights, as they passed. A Russian gentleman travelling from here to Tiberias, wasstopped three times on the road, and only escaped being plundered from thefact of his having a Druse dragoman. The disturbances are more seriousthan I had anticipated. Four regiments left here yesterday, sent to theaid of a company of cavalry, which is surrounded by the rebels in a valleyof Dejebel Hauaran, and unable to get out. 

Chapter IX. 

Pictures of Damascus. 

 Damascus from the Anti-Lebanon--Entering the City--A Diorama of Bazaars--An Oriental Hotel--Our Chamber--The Bazaars--Pipes and Coffee--The Rivers of Damascus--Palaces of the Jews--Jewish Ladies--A Christian Gentleman--The Sacred Localities--Damascus Blades--The Sword of Haroun Al-Raschid--An Arrival from Palmyra. 

 "Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?"--2 Kings, v. 12. 

Damascus, _Wednesday, May_ 19, 1852. 

Damascus is considered by many travellers as the best remaining type of anOriental city. Constantinople is semi-European; Cairo is fast becoming so;but Damascus, away from the highways of commerce, seated alone between theLebanon and the Syrian Desert, still retains, in its outward aspect and inthe character of its inhabitants, all the pride and fancy and fanaticismof the times of the Caliphs. With this judgment, in general terms, Iagree; but not to its ascendancy, in every respect, over Cairo. True, whenyou behold Damascus from the Salahiyeh, the last slope of theAnti-Lebanon, it is the realization of all that you have dreamed ofOriental splendor; the world has no picture more dazzling. It is Beautycarried to the Sublime, as I have felt when overlooking some boundlessforest of palms within the tropics. From the hill, whose ridges heavebehind you until in the south they rise to the snowy head of Mount Hermon, the great Syrian plain stretches away to the Euphrates, broken atdistances of ten and fifteen miles, by two detached mountain chains. In aterrible gorge at your side, the river Barrada, the ancient Pharpar, forces its way to the plain, and its waters, divided into twelve differentchannels, make all between you and those blue island-hills of the desert, one great garden, the boundaries of which your vision can barelydistinguish. Its longest diameter cannot be less than twenty miles. Youlook down on a world of foliage, and fruit, and blossoms, whose hue, bycontrast with the barren mountains and the yellow rim of the desert whichincloses it, seems brighter than all other gardens in the world. Throughits centre, following the course of the river, lies Damascus; a line ofwhite walls, topped with domes and towers and tall minarets, winding awayfor miles through the green sea. Nothing less than a city of palaces, whose walls are marble and whose doors are ivory and pearl, could keep upthe enchantment of that distant view. 

We rode for an hour through the gardens before entering the gate. Thefruit-trees, of whatever variety---walnut, olive, apricot, or fig--werethe noblest of their kind. Roses and pomegranates in bloom starred thedark foliage, and the scented jasmine overhung the walls. But as weapproached the city, the view was obscured by high mud walls on eitherside of the road, and we only caught glimpses now and then of the fragrantwilderness. The first street we entered was low and mean, the houses ofclay. Following this, we came to an uncovered bazaar, with rude shops oneither side, protected by mats stretched in front and supported by poles. Here all sorts of common stuns and utensils were sold, and the street wasfilled with crowds of Fellahs and Desert Arabs. Two large sycamores shadedit, and the Seraglio of the Pasha of Damascus, a plain two-story building, faced the entrance of the main bazaar, which branched off into the city. We turned into this, and after passing through several small bazaarsstocked with dried fruits, pipes and pipe-bowls, groceries, and all theprimitive wares of the East, reached a large passage, covered with a steepwooden roof, and entirely occupied by venders of silk stuffs. Out of thiswe passed through another, devoted to saddles and bridles; then another, full of spices, and at last reached the grand bazaar, where all therichest stuffs of Europe and the East were displayed in the shops. We rodeslowly along through the cool twilight, crossed here and there by longpencils of white light, falling through apertures in the roof, andilluminating the gay turbans and silk caftans of the lazy merchants. Butout of this bazaar, at intervals, opened the grand gate of a khan, givingus a view of its marble court, its fountains, and the dark arches of itsstorerooms; or the door of a mosque, with its mosaic floor and pillaredcorridor. The interminable lines of bazaars, with their atmospheres ofspice and fruit and fragrant tobacco, the hushed tread of the slipperedcrowds; the plash of falling fountains and the bubbling of innumerablenarghilehs; the picturesque merchants and their customers, no longer inthe big trowsers of Egypt, but the long caftans and abas of Syria; theabsence of Frank faces and dresses--in all these there was the true spiritof the Orient, and so far, we were charmed with Damascus. 

At the hotel in the Soog el-Haràb, or Frank quarter, the illusion was notdissipated. It had once been the house of some rich merchant. The courtinto which we were ushered is paved with marble, with a great stone basin, surrounded with vases of flowering plants, in the centre. Two large lemontrees shade the entrance, and a vine, climbing to the top of the house, makes a leafy arbor over the flat roof. The walls of the house are paintedin horizontal bars of blue, white, orange and white--a gay grotesquenessof style which does not offend the eye under an eastern sun. On thesouthern side of the court is the _liwan_, an arrangement for which thehouses of Damascus are noted. It is a vaulted apartment, twenty feet high, entirely open towards the court, except a fine pointed arch at the top, decorated with encaustic ornaments of the most brilliant colors. In front, a tesselated pavement of marble leads to the doors of the chambers on eachside. Beyond this is a raised floor covered with matting, and along thefarther end a divan, whose piled cushions are the most tempting trap everset to catch a lazy man. Although not naturally indolent, I find itimpossible to resist the fascination of this lounge. Leaning back, cross-legged, against the cushions, with the inseparable pipe in one'shand, the view of the court, the water-basin, the flowers and lemon trees, the servants and dragomen going back and forth, or smoking theirnarghilehs in the shade--all framed in the beautiful arched entrance, isso perfectly Oriental, so true a tableau from the times of good old HarounAl-Raschid, that one is surprised to find how many hours have slipped awaywhile he has been silently enjoying it. 

Opposite the _liwan_ is a large room paved with marble, with a handsomefountain in the centre. It is the finest in the hotel, and now occupiedby Lord Dalkeith and his friends. Our own room is on the upper floor, andis so rich in decorations that I have not yet finished the study of them. Along the side, looking down on the court, we have a mosaic floor ofwhite, red, black and yellow marble. Above this is raised a second floor, carpeted and furnished in European style. The walls, for a height of tenfeet, are covered with wooden panelling, painted with arabesque devices inthe gayest colors, and along the top there is a series of Arabicinscriptions in gold. There are a number of niches or open closets in thewalls, whose arched tops are adorned with pendent wooden ornaments, resembling stalactites, and at the corners of the room the heavy gildedand painted cornice drops into similar grotesque incrustations. A space ofbare white wall intervenes between this cornice and the ceiling, which isformed of slim poplar logs, laid side by side, and so covered with paintand with scales and stripes and network devices in gold and silver, thatone would take them to be clothed with the skins of the magic serpentsthat guard the Valley of Diamonds. My most satisfactory remembrance ofDamascus will be this room. 

My walks through the city have been almost wholly confined to the bazaars, which are of immense extent. One can walk for many miles, without goingbeyond the cover of their peaked wooden roofs, and in all this round willfind no two precisely alike. One is devoted entirely to soap; another totobacco, through which you cough and sneeze your way to the bazaar ofspices, and delightedly inhale its perfumed air. Then there is the bazaarof sweetmeats; of vegetables; of red slippers; of shawls; of caftans; ofbakers and ovens; of wooden ware; of jewelry---a great stone building, covered with vaulted passages; of Aleppo silks; of Baghdad carpets; ofIndian stuffs; of coffee; and so on, through a seemingly endless variety. As I have already remarked, along the line of the bazaars are many khans, the resort of merchants from all parts of Turkey and Persia, and evenIndia. They are large, stately buildings, and some of them have superbgateways of sculptured marble. The interior courts are paved with stone, with fountains in the centre, and many of them are covered with domesresting on massive pillars. The largest has a roof of nine domes, supported by four grand pillars, which inclose a fountain. The mosques, into which no Christian is allowed to enter, are in general inferior tothose of Cairo, but their outer courts are always paved with marble, adorned with fountains, and surrounded by light and elegant corridors. Thegrand mosque is an imposing edifice, and is said to occupy the site of aformer Christian church. 

Another pleasant feature of the city is its coffee shops, which abound inthe bazaars and on the outskirts of the gardens, beside the runningstreams. Those in the bazaars are spacious rooms with vaulted ceilings, divans running around the four walls, and fountains in the centre. Duringthe afternoon they are nearly always filled with Turks, Armenians andPersians, smoking the narghileh, or water-pipe, which is the universalcustom in Damascus. The Persian tobacco, brought here by the caravans fromBaghdad, is renowned for this kind of smoking. The most popularcoffee-shop is near the citadel, on the banks and over the surface of thePharpar. It is a rough wooden building, with a roof of straw mats, but thesight and sound of the rushing waters, as they shoot away with arrowyswiftness under your feet, the shade of the trees that line the banks, and the cool breeze that always visits the spot, beguile you into a secondpipe ere you are aware. _"El mà, wa el khòdra, wa el widj elhassàn_--water, verdure and a beautiful face, " says an old Arab proverb, "are three things which delight the heart, " and the Syrians avow that allthree are to be found in Damascus. Not only on the three Sundays of eachweek, but every day, in the gardens about the city, you may see wholefamilies (and if Jews or Christians, many groups of families) spending theday in the shade, beside the beautiful waters. There are several gardensfitted up purposely for these picnics, with kiosks, fountains and pleasantseats under the trees. You bring your pipes, your provisions and the likewith you, but servants are in attendance to furnish fire and water andcoffee, for which, on leaving, you give them a small gratuity. Of all theDamascenes I have yet seen, there is not one but declares his city to bethe Garden of the World, the Pearl of the Orient, and thanks God and theProphet for having permitted him to be born and to live in it. But, exceptthe bazaars, the khans and the baths, of which there are several mostluxurious establishments, the city itself is neither so rich nor so purelySaracenic in its architecture as Cairo. The streets are narrow and dirty, and the houses, which are never more than two low stories in height, arebuilt of sun-dried bricks, coated with plaster. I miss the solid piles ofstone, the elegant doorways, and, above all, the exquisite hangingbalconies of carved wood, which meet one in the old streets of Cairo. Damascus is the representative of all that is gay, brilliant, andpicturesque, in Oriental life; but for stately magnificence, Cairo, and, Isuspect, Baghdad, is its superior. 

We visited the other day the houses of some of the richest Jews andChristians. Old Abou-Ibrahim, the Jewish servant of the hotel, accompaniedand introduced us. It is customary for travellers to make these visits, and the families, far from being annoyed, are flattered by it. Theexteriors of the houses are mean; but after threading a narrow passage, weemerged into a court, rivalling in profusion of ornament and rich contrastof colors one's early idea of the Palace of Aladdin. The floors andfountains are all of marble mosaic; the arches of the _liwan_ glitter withgold, and the walls bewilder the eye with the intricacy of theiradornments. In the first house, we were received by the family in a roomof precious marbles, with niches in the walls, resembling grottoes ofsilver stalactites. The cushions of the divan were of the richest silk, and a chandelier of Bohemian crystal hung from the ceiling. Silvernarghilehs were brought to us, and coffee was served in heavy silver_zerfs_. The lady of the house was a rather corpulent lady of aboutthirty-five, and wore a semi-European robe of embroidered silk and lace, with full trowsers gathered at the ankles, and yellow slippers. Her blackhair was braided, and fastened at the end with golden ornaments, and thelight scarf twisted around her head blazed with diamonds. The lids of herlarge eyes were stained with _kohl_, and her eyebrows were plucked out andshaved away so as to leave only a thin, arched line, as if drawn with apencil, above each eye. Her daughter, a girl of fifteen, who bore thegenuine Hebrew name of Rachel, had even bigger and blacker eyes than hermother; but her forehead was low, her mouth large, and the expression ofher face exceedingly stupid. The father of the family was a middle-agedman, with a well-bred air, and talked with an Oriental politeness whichwas very refreshing. An English lady, who was of our party, said to him, through me, that if she possessed such a house she should be willing toremain in Damascus. "Why does she leave, then?" he immediately answered:"this is her house, and everything that is in it. " Speaking of visitingJerusalem, he asked me whether it was not a more beautiful city thanDamascus. "It is not more beautiful, " I said, "but it is more holy, " anexpression which the whole company received with great satisfaction. 

The second house we visited was even larger and richer than the first, buthad an air of neglect and decay. The slabs of rich marble were loose andbroken, about the edges of the fountains; the rich painting of thewood-work was beginning to fade; and the balustrades leading to the upperchambers were broken off in places. We were ushered into a room, the wallsand ceilings of which were composed entirely of gilded arabesqueframe-work, set with small mirrors. When new, it must have had a gorgeouseffect; but the gold is now tarnished, and the glasses dim. The mistressof the house was seated on the cushions, dividing her time between herpipe and her needle-work. She merely made a slight inclination of her headas we entered, and went on with her occupation. Presently her twodaughters and an Abyssinian slave appeared, and took their places on thecushions at her feet, the whole forming a charming group, which Iregretted some of my artist friends at home could not see. The mistresswas so exceedingly dignified, that she bestowed but few words on us. Sheseemed to resent our admiration of the slave, who was a most gracefulcreature; yet her jealousy, it afterwards appeared, had reference to herown husband, for we had scarcely left, when a servant followed to informthe English lady that if she was willing to buy the Abyssinian, themistress would sell her at once for two thousand piastres. 

The last visit we paid was to the dwelling of a Maronite, the richestChristian in Damascus. The house resembled those we had already seen, except that, having been recently built, it was in better condition, andexhibited better taste in the ornaments. No one but the lady was allowedto enter the female apartments, the rest of us being entertained by theproprietor, a man of fifty, and without exception the handsomest and mostdignified person of that age I have ever seen. He was a king without athrone, and fascinated me completely by the noble elegance of his manner. In any country but the Orient, I should have pronounced him incapable ofan unworthy thought: here, he may be exactly the reverse. 

Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date ofits foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics ofantiquity in or near it. In the bazaar are three large pillars, supportinghalf the pediment, which are said to have belonged to the Christian Churchof St. John, but, if so, that church must have been originally a Romantemple. Part of the Roman walls and one of the city gates remain; and wesaw the spot where, according to tradition, Saul was let down from thewall in a basket. There are two localities pointed out as the scene of hisconversion, which, from his own account, occurred near the city. I visiteda subterranean chapel claimed by the Latin monks to be the cellar of thehouse of Ananias, in which the Apostle was concealed. The cellar is, undoubtedly, of great antiquity; but as the whole quarter was for manycenturies inhabited wholly by Turks, it would be curious to know how themonks ascertained which was the house of Ananias. As for the "streetcalled Straight, " it would be difficult at present to find any in Damascuscorresponding to that epithet. 

The famous Damascus blades, so renowned in the time of the Crusaders, aremade here no longer. The art has been lost for three or four centuries. Yet genuine old swords, of the true steel, are occasionally to be found. They are readily distinguished from modern imitations by their clear andsilvery ring when struck, and by the finely watered appearance of theblade, produced by its having been first made of woven wire, and thenworked over and over again until it attained the requisite temper. A drollTurk, who is the _shekh ed-dellàl, _ or Chief of the Auctioneers, and isnicknamed Abou-Anteeka (the Father of the Antiques), has a largecollection of sabres, daggers, pieces of mail, shields, pipes, rings, seals, and other ancient articles. He demands enormous prices, butgenerally takes about one-third of what he first asks. I have spentseveral hours in his curiosity shop, bargaining for turquoise rings, carbuncles, Persian amulets, and Circassian daggers. While looking oversome old swords the other day, I noticed one of exquisite temper, but witha shorter blade than usual. The point had apparently been snapped off infight, but owing to the excellence of the sword, or the owner's affectionfor it, the steel had been carefully shaped into a new point. Abou-Anteekaasked five hundred piastres, and I, who had taken a particular fancy topossess it, offered him two hundred in an indifferent way, and then laidit aside to examine other articles. After his refusal to accept my offer, I said nothing more, and was leaving the shop, when the old fellow calledme back, saying: "You have forgotten your sword, "--which I thereupon tookat my own price. I have shown it to Mr. Wood, the British Consul, whopronounced it an extremely fine specimen of Damascus steel; and, onreading the inscription enamelled upon the blade, ascertains that it wasmade in the year of the Hegira, 181, which corresponds to A. D. 798. Thiswas during the Caliphate of Haroun Al-Raschid, and who knows but the swordmay have once flashed in the presence of that great and glorioussovereign--nay, been drawn by his own hand! Who knows but that the Milanarmor of the Crusaders may have shivered its point, on the field ofAskalon! I kiss the veined azure of thy blade, O Sword of Haroun! I hangthe crimson cords of thy scabbard upon my shoulder, and thou shalthenceforth clank in silver music at my side, singing to my ear, and minealone, thy chants of battle, thy rejoicing songs of slaughter!

Yesterday evening, three gentlemen of Lord Dalkeith's party arrived from atrip to Palmyra. The road thither lies through a part of the Syrian Desertbelonging to the Aneyzeh tribe, who are now supposed to be in league withthe Druses, against the Government. Including this party, only six personshave succeeded in reaching Palmyra within a year, and two of them, Messrs. Noel and Cathcart, were imprisoned four days by the Arabs, and onlyescaped by the accidental departure of a caravan for Damascus. The presentparty was obliged to travel almost wholly by night, running the gauntletof a dozen Arab encampments, and was only allowed a day's stay at Palmyra. They were all disguised as Bedouins, and took nothing with them but thenecessary provisions. They made their appearance here last evening, inlong, white abas, with the Bedouin _keffie_ bound over their heads, theirfaces burnt, their eyes inflamed, and their frames feverish with sevendays and nights of travel. The shekh who conducted them was not anAneyzeh, and would have lost his life had they fallen in with any of thattribe. 

Chapter X. 

The Visions of Hasheesh. 

 "Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. "

 Collins. 

During my stay in Damascus, that insatiable curiosity which leads me toprefer the acquisition of all lawful knowledge through the channels of myown personal experience, rather than in less satisfactory and lesslaborious ways, induced me to make a trial of the celebrated_Hasheesh_--that remarkable drug which supplies the luxurious Syrian withdreams more alluring and more gorgeous than the Chinese extracts from hisdarling opium pipe. The use of Hasheesh--which is a preparation of thedried leaves of the _cannabis indica_--has been familiar to the East formany centuries. During the Crusades, it was frequently used by the Saracenwarriors to stimulate them to the work of slaughter, and from the Arabicterm of "_Hashasheën, "_ or Eaters of Hasheesh, as applied to them, theword "assassin" has been naturally derived. An infusion of the same plantgives to the drink called "_bhang_, " which is in common use throughoutIndia and Malaysia, its peculiar properties. Thus prepared, it is a morefierce and fatal stimulant than the paste of sugar and spices to which theTurk resorts, as the food of his voluptuous evening reveries. While itsimmediate effects seem to be more potent than those of opium, itshabitual use, though attended with ultimate and permanent injury to thesystem, rarely results in such utter wreck of mind and body as that towhich the votaries of the latter drug inevitably condemn themselves. 

A previous experience of the effects of hasheesh--which I took once, andin a very mild form, while in Egypt--was so peculiar in its character, that my curiosity, instead of being satisfied, only prompted me the moreto throw myself, for once, wholly under its influence. The sensations itthen produced were those, physically, of exquisite lightness andairiness--of a wonderfully keen perception of the ludicrous, in the mostsimple and familiar objects. During the half hour in which it lasted, Iwas at no time so far under its control, that I could not, with theclearest perception, study the changes through which I passed. I noted, with careful attention, the fine sensations which spread throughout thewhole tissue of my nervous fibre, each thrill helping to divest my frameof its earthy and material nature, until my substance appeared to me nogrosser than the vapors of the atmosphere, and while sitting in the calmof the Egyptian twilight, I expected to be lifted up and carried away bythe first breeze that should ruffle the Nile. While this process was goingon, the objects by which I was surrounded assumed a strange and whimsicalexpression. My pipe, the oars which my boatmen plied, the turban worn bythe captain, the water-jars and culinary implements, became in themselvesso inexpressibly absurd and comical, that I was provoked into a long fitof laughter. The hallucination died away as gradually as it came, leavingme overcome with a soft and pleasant drowsiness, from which I sank into adeep, refreshing sleep. 

My companion and an English gentleman, who, with his wife, was alsoresiding in Antonio's pleasant caravanserai--agreed to join me in theexperiment. The dragoman of the latter was deputed to procure a sufficientquantity of the drug. He was a dark Egyptian, speaking only the _linguafranca_ of the East, and asked me, as he took the money and departed onhis mission, whether he should get hasheesh "_per ridere, a per dormire?_""Oh, _per ridere_, of course, " I answered; "and see that it be strong andfresh. " It is customary with the Syrians to take a small portionimmediately before the evening meal, as it is thus diffused through thestomach and acts more gradually, as well as more gently, upon the system. As our dinner-hour was at sunset, I proposed taking hasheesh at that time, but my friends, fearing that its operation might be more speedy upon freshsubjects, and thus betray them into some absurdity in the presence of theother travellers, preferred waiting until after the meal. It was thenagreed that we should retire to our room, which, as it rose like a towerone story higher than the rest of the building, was in a manner isolated, and would screen us from observation. 

We commenced by taking a tea-spoonful each of the mixture which Abdallahhad procured. This was about the quantity I had taken in Egypt, and as theeffect then had been so slight, I judged that we ran no risk of taking anover-dose. The strength of the drug, however, must have been far greaterin this instance, for whereas I could in the former case distinguish noflavor but that of sugar and rose leaves, I now found the taste intenselybitter and repulsive to the palate. We allowed the paste to dissolveslowly on our tongues, and sat some time, quietly waiting the result. But, having been taken upon a full stomach, its operation was hindered, andafter the lapse of nearly an hour, we could not detect the least change inour feelings. My friends loudly expressed their conviction of the humbugof hasheesh, but I, unwilling to give up the experiment at this point, proposed that we should take an additional half spoonful, and follow itwith a cup of hot tea, which, if there were really any virtue in thepreparation, could not fail to call it into action. This was done, thoughnot without some misgivings, as we were all ignorant of the precisequantity which constituted a dose, and the limits within which the drugcould be taken with safety. It was now ten o'clock; the streets ofDamascus were gradually becoming silent, and the fair city was bathed inthe yellow lustre of the Syrian moon. Only in the marble court-yard belowus, a few dragomen and _mukkairee_ lingered under the lemon-trees, andbeside the fountain in the centre. 

I was seated alone, nearly in the middle of the room, talking with myfriends, who were lounging upon a sofa placed in a sort of alcove, at thefarther end, when the same fine nervous thrill, of which I have spoken, suddenly shot through me. But this time it was accompanied with a burningsensation at the pit of the stomach; and, instead of growing upon me withthe gradual pace of healthy slumber, and resolving me, as before, intoair, it came with the intensity of a pang, and shot throbbing along thenerves to the extremities of my body. The sense of limitation---of theconfinement of our senses within the bounds of our own flesh andblood--instantly fell away. The walls of my frame were burst outward andtumbled into ruin; and, without thinking what form I wore--losing sighteven of all idea of form--I felt that I existed throughout a vast extentof space. The blood, pulsed from my heart, sped through uncounted leaguesbefore it reached my extremities; the air drawn into my lungs expandedinto seas of limpid ether, and the arch of my skull was broader than thevault of heaven. Within the concave that held my brain, were thefathomless deeps of blue; clouds floated there, and the winds of heavenrolled them together, and there shone the orb of the sun. It was--though Ithought not of that at the time--like a revelation of the mystery ofomnipresence. It is difficult to describe this sensation, or the rapiditywith which it mastered me. In the state of mental exaltation in which Iwas then plunged, all sensations, as they rose, suggested more or lesscoherent images. They presented themselves to me in a double form: onephysical, and therefore to a certain extent tangible; the other spiritual, and revealing itself in a succession of splendid metaphors. The physicalfeeling of extended being was accompanied by the image of an explodingmeteor, not subsiding into darkness, but continuing to shoot from itscentre or nucleus--which corresponded to the burning spot at the pit of mystomach--incessant adumbrations of light that finally lost themselves inthe infinity of space. To my mind, even now, this image is still the bestillustration of my sensations, as I recall them; but I greatly doubtwhether the reader will find it equally clear. 

My curiosity was now in a way of being satisfied; the Spirit (demon, shallI not rather say?) of Hasheesh had entire possession of me. I was castupon the flood of his illusions, and drifted helplessly whithersoever theymight choose to bear me. The thrills which ran through my nervous systembecame more rapid and fierce, accompanied with sensations that steeped mywhole being in unutterable rapture. I was encompassed by a sea of light, through which played the pure, harmonious colors that are born of light. While endeavoring, in broken expressions, to describe my feelings to myfriends, who sat looking upon me incredulously--not yet having beenaffected by the drug--I suddenly found myself at the foot of the greatPyramid of Cheops. The tapering courses of yellow limestone gleamed likegold in the sun, and the pile rose so high that it seemed to lean forsupport upon the blue arch of the sky. I wished to ascend it, and the wishalone placed me immediately upon its apex, lifted thousands of feet abovethe wheat-fields and palm-groves of Egypt. I cast my eyes downward, and, to my astonishment, saw that it was built, not of limestone, but of hugesquare plugs of Cavendish tobacco! Words cannot paint the overwhelmingsense of the ludicrous which I then experienced. I writhed on my chair inan agony of laughter, which was only relieved by the vision melting awaylike a dissolving view; till, out of my confusion of indistinct images andfragments of images, another and more wonderful vision arose. 

The more vividly I recall the scene which followed, the more carefully Irestore its different features, and separate the many threads of sensationwhich it wove into one gorgeous web, the more I despair of representingits exceeding glory. I was moving over the Desert, not upon the rockingdromedary, but seated in a barque made of mother-of-pearl, and studdedwith jewels of surpassing lustre. The sand was of grains of gold, and mykeel slid through them without jar or sound. The air was radiant withexcess of light, though no sun was to be seen. I inhaled the mostdelicious perfumes; and harmonies, such as Beethoven may have heard indreams, but never wrote, floated around me. The atmosphere itself waslight, odor, music; and each and all sublimated beyond anything the sobersenses are capable of receiving. Before me--for a thousand leagues, as itseemed--stretched a vista of rainbows, whose colors gleamed with thesplendor of gems--arches of living amethyst, sapphire, emerald, topaz, andruby. By thousands and tens of thousands, they flew past me, as mydazzling barge sped down the magnificent arcade; yet the vista stillstretched as far as ever before me. I revelled in a sensuous elysium, which was perfect, because no sense was left ungratified. But beyond all, my mind was filled with a boundless feeling of triumph. My journey wasthat of a conqueror--not of a conqueror who subdues his race, either byLove or by Will, for I forgot that Man existed--but one victorious overthe grandest as well as the subtlest forces of Nature. The spirits ofLight, Color, Odor, Sound, and Motion were my slaves; and, having these, Iwas master of the universe. 

Those who are endowed to any extent with the imaginative faculty, musthave at least once in their lives experienced feelings which may give thema clue to the exalted sensuous raptures of my triumphal march. The view ofa sublime mountain landscape, the hearing of a grand orchestral symphony, or of a choral upborne by the "full-voiced organ, " or even the beauty andluxury of a cloudless summer day, suggests emotions similar in kind, ifless intense. They took a warmth and glow from that pure animal joy whichdegrades not, but spiritualizes and ennobles our material part, and whichdiffers from cold, abstract, intellectual enjoyment, as the flamingdiamond of the Orient differs from the icicle of the North. Those finersenses, which occupy a middle ground between our animal and intellectualappetites, were suddenly developed to a pitch beyond what I had everdreamed, and being thus at one and the same time gratified to the fullestextent of their preternatural capacity, the result was a single harmonioussensation, to describe which human language has no epithet. Mahomet'sParadise, with its palaces of ruby and emerald, its airs of musk andcassia, and its rivers colder than snow and sweeter than honey, would havebeen a poor and mean terminus for my arcade of rainbows. Yet in thecharacter of this paradise, in the gorgeous fancies of the Arabian Nights, in the glow and luxury of all Oriental poetry, I now recognize more orless of the agency of hasheesh. 

The fulness of my rapture expanded the sense of time; and though the wholevision was probably not more than five minutes in passing through my mind, years seemed to have elapsed while I shot under the dazzling myriads ofrainbow arches. By and by, the rainbows, the barque of pearl and jewels, and the desert of golden sand, vanished; and, still bathed in light andperfume, I found myself in a land of green and flowery lawns, divided byhills of gently undulating outline. But, although the vegetation was therichest of earth, there were neither streams nor fountains to be seen; andthe people who came from the hills, with brilliant garments that shone inthe sun, besought me to give them the blessing of water. Their hands werefull of branches of the coral honeysuckle, in bloom. These I took; and, breaking off the flowers one by one, set them in the earth. The slender, trumpet-like tubes immediately became shafts of masonry, and sank deepinto the earth; the lip of the flower changed into a circular mouth ofrose-colored marble, and the people, leaning over its brink, lowered theirpitchers to the bottom with cords, and drew them up again, filled to thebrim, and dripping with honey. 

The most remarkable feature of these illusions was, that at the time whenI was most completely under their influence, I knew myself to be seated inthe tower of Antonio's hotel in Damascus, knew that I had taken hasheesh, and that the strange, gorgeous and ludicrous fancies which possessed me, were the effect of it. At the very same instant that I looked upon theValley of the Nile from the pyramid, slid over the Desert, or created mymarvellous wells in that beautiful pastoral country, I saw the furnitureof my room, its mosaic pavement, the quaint Saracenic niches in the walls, the painted and gilded beams of the ceiling, and the couch in the recessbefore me, with my two companions watching me. Both sensations weresimultaneous, and equally palpable. While I was most given up to themagnificent delusion, I saw its cause and felt its absurdity most clearly. Metaphysicians say that the mind is incapable of performing two operationsat the same time, and may attempt to explain this phenomenon by supposinga rapid and incessant vibration of the perceptions between the two states. This explanation, however, is not satisfactory to me; for not more clearlydoes a skilful musician with the same breath blow two distinct musicalnotes from a bugle, than I was conscious of two distinct conditions ofbeing in the same moment. Yet, singular as it may seem, neither conflictedwith the other. My enjoyment of the visions was complete and absolute, undisturbed by the faintest doubt of their reality, while, in some otherchamber of my brain, Reason sat coolly watching them, and heaping theliveliest ridicule on their fantastic features. One set of nerves wasthrilled with the bliss of the gods, while another was convulsed withunquenchable laughter at that very bliss. My highest ecstacies could notbear down and silence the weight of my ridicule, which, in its turn, waspowerless to prevent me from running into other and more gorgeousabsurdities. I was double, not "swan and shadow, " but rather, Sphinx-like, human and beast. A true Sphinx, I was a riddle and a mystery to myself. 

The drug, which had been retarded in its operation on account of havingbeen taken after a meal, now began to make itself more powerfully felt. The visions were more grotesque than ever, but less agreeable; and therewas a painful tension throughout my nervous system--the effect ofover-stimulus. I was a mass of transparent jelly, and a confectionerpoured me into a twisted mould. I threw my chair aside, and writhed andtortured myself for some time to force my loose substance into the mould. At last, when I had so far succeeded that only one foot remained outside, it was lifted off, and another mould, of still more crooked and intricateshape, substituted. I have no doubt that the contortions through which Iwent, to accomplish the end of my gelatinous destiny, would have beenextremely ludicrous to a spectator, but to me they were painful anddisagreeable. The sober half of me went into fits of laughter over them, and through that laughter, my vision shifted into another scene. I hadlaughed until my eyes overflowed profusely. Every drop that fell, immediately became a large loaf of bread, and tumbled upon the shop-boardof a baker in the bazaar at Damascus. The more I laughed, the faster theloaves fell, until such a pile was raised about the baker, that I couldhardly see the top of his head. "The man will be suffocated, " I cried, "but if he were to die, I cannot stop!"

My perceptions now became more dim and confused. I felt that I was in thegrasp of some giant force; and, in the glimmering of my fading reason, grew earnestly alarmed, for the terrible stress under which my framelabored increased every moment. A fierce and furious heat radiated from mystomach throughout my system; my mouth and throat were as dry and hard asif made of brass, and my tongue, it seemed to me, was a bar of rusty iron. I seized a pitcher of water, and drank long and deeply; but I might aswell have drunk so much air, for not only did it impart no moisture, butmy palate and throat gave me no intelligence of having drunk at all. Istood in the centre of the room, brandishing my arms convulsively, anheaving sighs that seemed to shatter my whole being. "Will no one, " Icried in distress, "cast out this devil that has possession of me?" I nolonger saw the room nor my friends, but I heard one of them saying, "Itmust be real; he could not counterfeit such an expression as that. But itdon't look much like pleasure. " Immediately afterwards there was a screamof the wildest laughter, and my countryman sprang upon the floor, exclaiming, "O, ye gods! I am a locomotive!" This was his rulinghallucination; and, for the space of two or three hours, he continued topace to and fro with a measured stride, exhaling his breath in violentjets, and when he spoke, dividing his words into syllables, each of whichhe brought out with a jerk, at the same time turning his hands at hissides, as if they were the cranks of imaginary wheels, The Englishman, assoon as he felt the dose beginning to take effect, prudently retreated tohis own room, and what the nature of his visions was, we never learned, for he refused to tell, and, moreover, enjoined the strictest silence onhis wife. 

By this time it was nearly midnight. I had passed through the Paradise ofHasheesh, and was plunged at once into its fiercest Hell. In my ignoranceI had taken what, I have since learned, would have been a sufficientportion for six men, and was now paying a frightful penalty for mycuriosity. The excited blood rushed through my frame with a sound like theroaring of mighty waters. It was projected into my eyes until I could nolonger see; it beat thickly in my ears, and so throbbed in my heart, thatI feared the ribs would give way under its blows. I tore open my vest, placed my hand over the spot, and tried to count the pulsations; but therewere two hearts, one beating at the rate of a thousand beats a minute, andthe other with a slow, dull motion. My throat, I thought, was filled tothe brim with blood, and streams of blood were pouring from my ears. Ifelt them gushing warm down my cheeks and neck. With a maddened, desperatefeeling, I fled from the room, and walked over the flat, terraced roof ofthe house. My body seemed to shrink and grow rigid as I wrestled with thedemon, and my face to become wild, lean and haggard. Some lines which hadstruck me, years before, in reading Mrs. Browning's "Rhyme of the DuchessMay, " flashed into my mind:--

 "And the horse, in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, On the last verge, rears amain; And he hangs, he rocks between--and his nostrils curdle in-- And he shivers, head and hoof, and the flakes of foam fall off; And his face grows fierce and thin. "

That picture of animal terror and agony was mine. I was the horse, hanging poised on the verge of the giddy tower, the next moment to beborne sheer down to destruction. Involuntarily, I raised my hand to feelthe leanness and sharpness of my face. Oh horror! the flesh had fallenfrom my bones, and it was a skeleton head that I carried on my shoulders!With one bound I sprang to the parapet, and looked down into the silentcourtyard, then filled with the shadows thrown into it by the sinkingmoon. Shall I cast myself down headlong? was the question I proposed tomyself; but though the horror of that skeleton delusion was greater thanmy fear of death, there was an invisible hand at my breast which pushed meaway from the brink. 

I made my way back to the room, in a state of the keenest suffering. Mycompanion was still a locomotive, rushing to and fro, and jerking out hissyllables with the disjointed accent peculiar to a steam-engine. His mouthhad turned to brass, like mine, and he raised the pitcher to his lips inthe attempt to moisten it, but before he had taken a mouthful, set thepitcher down again with a yell of laughter, crying out: "How can I takewater into my boiler, while I am letting off steam?"

But I was now too far gone to feel the absurdity of this, or his otherexclamations. I was sinking deeper and deeper into a pit of unutterableagony and despair. For, although I was not conscious of real pain in anypart of my body, the cruel tension to which my nerves had been subjectedfilled me through and through with a sensation of distress which was farmore severe than pain itself. In addition to this, the remnant of willwith which I struggled against the demon, became gradually weaker, and Ifelt that I should soon be powerless in his hands. Every effort topreserve my reason was accompanied by a pang of mortal fear, lest what Inow experienced was insanity, and would hold mastery over me for ever. Thethought of death, which also haunted me, was far less bitter than thisdread. I knew that in the struggle which was going on in my frame, I wasborne fearfully near the dark gulf, and the thought that, at such a time, both reason and will were leaving my brain, filled me with an agony, thedepth and blackness of which I should vainly attempt to portray. I threwmyself on my bed, with the excited blood still roaring wildly in my ears, my heart throbbing with a force that seemed to be rapidly wearing away mylife, my throat dry as a pot-sherd, and my stiffened tongue cleaving tothe roof of my mouth--resisting no longer, but awaiting my fate with theapathy of despair. 

My companion was now approaching the same condition, but as the effect ofthe drug on him had been less violent, so his stage of suffering was moreclamorous. He cried out to me that he was dying, implored me to help him, and reproached me vehemently, because I lay there silent, motionless, andapparently careless of his danger. "Why will he disturb me?" I thought;"he thinks he is dying, but what is death to madness? Let him die; athousand deaths were more easily borne than the pangs I suffer. " While Iwas sufficiently conscious to hear his exclamations, they only provoked mykeen anger; but after a time, my senses became clouded, and I sank into astupor. As near as I can judge, this must have been three o'clock in themorning, rather more than five hours after the hasheesh began to takeeffect. I lay thus all the following day and night, in a state of gray, blank oblivion, broken only by a single wandering gleam of consciousness. I recollect hearing François' voice. He told me afterwards that I arose, attempted to dress myself, drank two cups of coffee, and then fell backinto the same death-like stupor; but of all this, I did not retain theleast knowledge. On the morning of the second day, after a sleep of thirtyhours, I awoke again to the world, with a system utterly prostrate andunstrung, and a brain clouded with the lingering images of my visions. Iknew where I was, and what had happened to me, but all that I saw stillremained unreal and shadowy. There was no taste in what I ate, norefreshment in what I drank, and it required a painful effort tocomprehend what was said to me and return a coherent answer. Will andReason had come back, but they still sat unsteadily upon their thrones. 

My friend, who was much further advanced in his recovery, accompanied meto the adjoining bath, which I hoped would assist in restoring me. It waswith great difficulty that I preserved the outward appearance ofconsciousness. In spite of myself, a veil now and then fell over my mind, and after wandering for years, as it seemed, in some distant world, Iawoke with a shock, to find myself in the steamy halls of the bath, with abrown Syrian polishing my limbs. I suspect that my language must have beenrambling and incoherent, and that the menials who had me in chargeunderstood my condition, for as soon as I had stretched myself upon thecouch which follows the bath, a glass of very acid sherbet was presentedto me, and after drinking it I experienced instant relief. Still the spellwas not wholly broken, and for two or three days I continued subject tofrequent involuntary fits of absence, which made me insensible, for thetime, to all that was passing around me. I walked the streets of Damascuswith a strange consciousness that I was in some other place at the sametime, and with a constant effort to reunite my divided perceptions. 

Previous to the experiment, we had decided on making a bargain with theshekh for the journey to Palmyra. The state, however, in which we nowfound ourselves, obliged us to relinquish the plan. Perhaps the excitementof a forced march across the desert, and a conflict with the hostileArabs, which was quite likely to happen, might have assisted us inthrowing off the baneful effects of the drug; but all the charm which layin the name of Palmyra and the romantic interest of the trip, was gone. Iwas without courage and without energy, and nothing remained for me but toleave Damascus. 

Yet, fearful as my rash experiment proved to me, I did not regret havingmade it. It revealed to me deeps of rapture and of suffering which mynatural faculties never could have sounded. It has taught me the majestyof human reason and of human will, even in the weakest, and the awfulperil of tampering with that which assails their integrity. I have herefaithfully and fully written out my experience, on account of the lessonwhich it may convey to others. If I have unfortunately failed in mydesign, and have but awakened that restless curiosity which I haveendeavored to forestall, let me beg all who are thereby led to repeat theexperiment upon themselves, that they be content to take the portion ofhasheesh which is considered sufficient for one man, and not, like me, swallow enough for six. 

Chapter XI. 

A Dissertation on Bathing and Bodies. 

 "No swan-soft woman, rubbed with lucid oils, The gift of an enamored god, more fair. "

 Browning. 

We shall not set out from Damascus--we shall not leave the Pearl of theOrient to glimmer through the seas of foliage wherein it liesburied--without consecrating a day to the Bath, that material agent ofpeace and good-will unto men. We have bathed in the Jordan, like Naaman, and been made clean; let us now see whether Abana and Pharpar, rivers ofDamascus, are better than the waters of Israel. 

The Bath is the "peculiar institution" of the East. Coffee has becomecolonized in France and America; the Pipe is a cosmopolite, and his blue, joyous breath congeals under the Arctic Circle, or melts languidly intothe soft airs of the Polynesian Isles; but the Bath, that sensuous elysiumwhich cradled the dreams of Plato, and the visions of Zoroaster, and thesolemn meditations of Mahomet, is only to be found under an Oriental sky. The naked natives of the Torrid Zone are amphibious; they do not bathe, they live in the water. The European and Anglo-American wash themselvesand think they have bathed; they shudder under cold showers and performlaborious antics with coarse towels. As for the Hydropathist, the Geniusof the Bath, whose dwelling is in Damascus, would be convulsed withscornful laughter, could he behold that aqueous Diogenes sitting in histub, or stretched out in his wet wrappings, like a sodden mummy, in acatacomb of blankets and feather beds. As the rose in the East has a rarerperfume than in other lands, so does the Bath bestow a superiorpurification and impart a more profound enjoyment. 

Listen not unto the lamentations of travellers, who complain of the heat, and the steam, and the dislocations of their joints. They belong to thestiff-necked generation, who resist the processes, whereunto the Orientalyields himself body and soul. He who is bathed in Damascus, must be asclay in the hands of a potter. The Syrians marvel how the Franks can walk, so difficult is it to bend their joints. Moreover, they know thedifference between him who comes to the Bath out of a mere idle curiosity, and him who has tasted its delight and holds it in due honor. Only thelatter is permitted to know all its mysteries. The former is carelesslyhurried through the ordinary forms of bathing, and, if any trace of thecockney remain in him, is quite as likely to be disgusted as pleased. Again, there are many second and third-rate baths, whither cheatingdragomen conduct their victims, in consideration of a division of spoilswith the bath-keeper. Hence it is, that the Bath has received but partialjustice at the hands of tourists in the East. If any one doubts this, lethim clothe himself with Oriental passiveness and resignation, go to theHamman el-Khyateën, at Damascus, or the Bath of Mahmoud Pasha, atConstantinople, and demand that he be perfectly bathed. 

Come with me, and I will show you the mysteries of the perfect bath. Hereis the entrance, a heavy Saracenic arch, opening upon the crowded bazaar. We descend a few steps to the marble pavement of a lofty octagonal hall, lighted by a dome. There is a jet of sparkling water in the centre, falling into a heavy stone basin. A platform about five feet in heightruns around the hall, and on this are ranged a number of narrow couches, with their heads to the wall, like the pallets in a hospital ward. Theplatform is covered with straw matting, and from the wooden gallery whichrises above it are suspended towels, with blue and crimson borders. Themaster of the bath receives us courteously, and conducts us to one of thevacant couches. We kick off our red slippers below, and mount the steps tothe platform. Yonder traveller, in Frank dress, who has just entered, goesup with his boots on, and we know, from that fact, what sort of a bath hewill get. 

As the work of disrobing proceeds, a dark-eyed boy appears with a napkin, which he holds before us, ready to bind it about the waist, as soon as weregain our primitive form. Another attendant throws a napkin over ourshoulders and wraps a third around our head, turban-wise. He then thrustsa pair of wooden clogs upon our feet, and, taking us by the arm, steadiesour tottering and clattering steps, as we pass through a low door and awarm ante-chamber into the first hall of the bath. The light, fallingdimly through a cluster of bull's-eyes in the domed ceiling, shows, first, a silver thread of water, playing in a steamy atmosphere; next, some darkmotionless objects, stretched out on a low central platform of marble. Theattendant spreads a linen sheet in one of the vacant places, places apillow at one end, takes off our clogs, deposits us gently on our back, and leaves us. The pavement is warm beneath us, and the first breath wedraw gives us a sense of suffocation. But a bit of burning aloe-wood hasjust been carried through the hall, and the steam is permeated withfragrance. The dark-eyed boy appears with a narghileh, which he placesbeside us, offering the amber mouth-piece to our submissive lips. Thesmoke we inhale has an odor of roses; and as the pipe bubbles with ourbreathing, we feel that the dews of sweat gather heavily upon us. Theattendant now reappears, kneels beside us, and gently kneads us withdexterous hands. Although no anatomist, he knows every muscle and sinewwhose suppleness gives ease to the body, and so moulds and manipulatesthem that we lose the rigidity of our mechanism, and become plastic in hishands. He turns us upon our face, repeats the same process upon the back, and leaves us a little longer to lie there passively, glistening in ourown dew. 

We are aroused from a reverie about nothing by a dark-brown shape, whoreplaces the clogs, puts his arm around our waist and leads us into aninner hall, with a steaming tank in the centre. Here he slips us off thebrink, and we collapse over head and ears in the fiery fluid. Once--twice--we dip into the delicious heat, and then are led into amarble alcove, and seated flat upon the floor. The attendant stands behindus, and we now perceive that his hands are encased in dark hair-gloves. Hepounces upon an arm, which he rubs until, like a serpent, we slough theworn-out skin, and resume our infantile smoothness and fairness. No mancan be called clean until he has bathed in the East. Let him walk directlyfrom his accustomed bath and self-friction with towels, to the Hammamel-Khyateën, and the attendant will exclaim, as he shakes out hishair-gloves: "O Frank! it is a long time since you have bathed. " The otherarm follows, the back, the breast, the legs, until the work is complete, and we know precisely how a horse feels after he has been curried. 

Now the attendant turns two cocks at the back of the alcove, and holding abasin alternately under the cold and hot streams, floods us at first witha fiery dash, that sends a delicious warm shiver through every nerve;then, with milder applications, lessening the temperature of the water bysemi-tones, until, from the highest key of heat which we can bear, weglide rapturously down the gamut until we reach the lowest bass ofcoolness. The skin has by this time attained an exquisite sensibility, andanswers to these changes of temperature with thrills of the purestphysical pleasure. In fact, the whole frame seems purged of its earthynature and transformed into something of a finer and more delicatetexture. 

After a pause, the attendant makes his appearance with a large woodenbowl, a piece of soap, and a bunch of palm-fibres. He squats down besidethe bowl, and speedily creates a mass of snowy lather, which grows up to apyramid and topples over the edge. Seizing us by the crown-tuft of hairupon our shaven head, he plants the foamy bunch of fibres full in ourface. The world vanishes; sight, hearing, smell, taste (unless we open ourmouth), and breathing, are cut off; we have become nebulous. Although oureyes are shut, we seem to see a blank whiteness; and, feeling nothing buta soft fleeciness, we doubt whether we be not the Olympian cloud whichvisited lo. But the cloud clears away before strangulation begins, and thevelvety mass descends upon the body. Twice we are thus "slushed" from headto foot, and made more slippery than the anointed wrestlers of the Greekgames. Then the basin comes again into play, and we glide once moremusically through the scale of temperature. 

The brown sculptor has now nearly completed his task. The figure of claywhich entered the bath is transformed into polished marble. He turns thebody from side to side, and lifts the limbs to see whether the workmanshipis adequate to his conception. His satisfied gaze proclaims his success. Askilful bath-attendant has a certain aesthetic pleasure in his occupation. The bodies he polishes become to some extent his own workmanship, and hefeels responsible for their symmetry or deformity. He experiences a degreeof triumph in contemplating a beautiful form, which has grown more airilylight and beautiful under his hands. He is a great connoisseur of bodies, and could pick you out the finest specimens with as ready an eye as anartist. 

I envy those old Greek bathers, into whose hands were delivered Pericles, and Alcibiades, and the perfect models of Phidias. They had daily beforetheir eyes the highest types of Beauty which the world has ever produced;for of all things that are beautiful, the human body is the crown. Now, since the delusion of artists has been overthrown, and we know thatGrecian Art is but the simple reflex of Nature--that the old masterpiecesof sculpture were no miraculous embodiments of a _beau ideal_, but copiesof living forms--we must admit that in no other age of the world has thephysical Man been so perfectly developed. The nearest approach I have everseen to the symmetry of ancient sculpture was among the Arab tribes ofEthiopia. Our Saxon race can supply the athlete, but not the Apollo. 

Oriental life is too full of repose, and the Ottoman race has become toodegenerate through indulgence, to exhibit many striking specimens ofphysical beauty. The face is generally fine, but the body is apt to belank, and with imperfect muscular development. The best forms I saw in thebaths were those of laborers, who, with a good deal of rugged strength, showed some grace and harmony of proportion. It may be received as ageneral rule, that the physical development of the European is superior tothat of the Oriental, with the exception of the Circassians and Georgians, whose beauty well entitles them to the distinction of giving their name toour race. 

So far as female beauty is concerned, the Circassian women have nosuperiors. They have preserved in their mountain home the purity of theGrecian models, and still display the perfect physical loveliness, whosetype has descended to us in the Venus de Medici. The Frank who is addictedto wandering about the streets of Oriental cities can hardly fail to befavored with a sight of the faces of these beauties. More than once it hashappened to me, in meeting a veiled lady, sailing along in herballoon-like feridjee, that she has allowed the veil to drop by a skilfulaccident, as she passed, and has startled me with the vision of herbeauty, recalling the line of the Persian poet: "Astonishment! is this thedawn of the glorious sun, or is it the full moon?" The Circassian face isa pure oval; the forehead is low and fair, "an excellent thing in woman, "and the skin of an ivory whiteness, except the faint pink of the cheeksand the ripe, roseate stain of the lips. The hair is dark, glossy, andluxuriant, exquisitely outlined on the temples; the eyebrows slightlyarched, and drawn with a delicate pencil; while lashes like "rays ofdarkness" shade the large, dark, humid orbs below them. The alabaster ofthe face, so pure as scarcely to show the blue branching of the veins onthe temples, is lighted by those superb eyes--

 "Shining eyes, like antique jewels set in Parian statue-stone, "

--whose wells are so dark and deep, that you are cheated into the beliefthat a glorious soul looks out of them. 

Once, by an unforeseen chance, I beheld the Circassian form, in its mostperfect development. I was on board an Austrian steamer in the harbor ofSmyrna, when the harem of a Turkish pasha came out in a boat to embark forAlexandria. The sea was rather rough, and nearly all the officers of thesteamer were ashore. There were six veiled and swaddled women, with ablack eunuch as guard, in the boat, which lay tossing for some time at thefoot of the gangway ladder, before the frightened passengers could summoncourage to step out. At last the youngest of them--a Circassian girl ofnot more than fifteen or sixteen years of age--ventured upon the ladder, clasping the hand-rail with one hand, while with the other she heldtogether the folds of her cumbrous feridjee. I was standing in thegangway, watching her, when a slight lurch of the steamer caused her toloose her hold of the garment, which, fastened at the neck, was blown backfrom her shoulders, leaving her body screened but by a single robeof-light, gauzy silk. Through this, the marble whiteness of her skin, theroundness, the glorious symmetry of her form, flashed upon me, as a visionof Aphrodite, seen

 "Through leagues of shimmering water, like a star. "

It was but a momentary glimpse; yet that moment convinced me that formsof Phidian perfection are still nurtured in the vales of Caucasus. 

The necessary disguise of dress hides from us much of the beauty anddignity of Humanity, I have seen men who appeared heroic in the freedom ofnakedness, shrink almost into absolute vulgarity, when clothed. The soulnot only sits at the windows of the eyes, and hangs upon the gateway ofthe lips; she speaks as well in the intricate, yet harmonious lines of thebody, and the ever-varying play of the limbs. Look at the torso ofIlioneus, the son of Niobe, and see what an agony of terror andsupplication cries out from that headless and limbless trunk! DecapitateLaocoön, and his knotted muscles will still express the same dreadfulsuffering and resistance. None knew this better than the ancientsculptors; and hence it was that we find many of their statues ofdistinguished men wholly or partly undraped. Such a view of Art would beconsidered transcendental now-a-days, when our dress, our costumes, andour modes of speech either ignore the existence of our bodies, or treatthem with little of that reverence which is their due. 

But, while we have been thinking these thoughts, the attendant has beenwaiting to give us a final plunge into the seething tank. Again we slidedown to the eyes in the fluid heat, which wraps us closely about until wetingle with exquisite hot shiverings. Now comes the graceful boy, withclean, cool, lavendered napkins, which he folds around our waist and wrapssoftly about the head. The pattens are put upon our feet, and the brownarm steadies us gently through the sweating-room and ante-chamber into theouter hall, where we mount to our couch. We sink gently upon the coollinen, and the boy covers us with a perfumed sheet. Then, kneeling besidethe couch, he presses the folds of the sheet around us, that it may absorbthe lingering moisture and the limpid perspiration shed by the departingheat. As fast as the linen becomes damp, he replaces it with fresh, pressing the folds about us as tenderly as a mother arranges the draperyof her sleeping babe; for we, though of the stature of a man, are nowinfantile in our helpless happiness. Then he takes our passive hand andwarms its palm by the soft friction of his own; after which, moving to theend of the couch, he lifts our feet upon his lap, and repeats the frictionupon their soles, until the blood comes back to the surface of the bodywith a misty glow, like that which steeps the clouds of a summerafternoon. 

We have but one more process to undergo, and the attendant already standsat the head of our couch. This is the course of passive gymnastics, whichexcites so much alarm and resistance in the ignorant Franks. It is onlyresistance that is dangerous, completely neutralizing the enjoyment of theprocess. Give yourself with a blind submission into the arms of the brownFate, and he will lead you to new chambers of delight. He lifts us to asitting posture, places himself behind us, and folds his arms around ourbody, alternately tightening and relaxing his clasp, as if to test theelasticity of the ribs. Then seizing one arm, he draws it across theopposite shoulder, until the joint cracks like a percussion-cap. Theshoulder-blades, the elbows, the wrists, and the finger-joints are allmade to fire off their muffled volleys; and then, placing one knee betweenour shoulders, and clasping both hands upon our forehead, he draws ourhead back until we feel a great snap of the vertebral column. Now hedescends to the hip-joints, knees, ankles, and feet, forcing each and allto discharge a salvo _de joie_. The slight languor left from the bath isgone, and an airy, delicate exhilaration, befitting the winged Mercury, takes its place. 

The boy, kneeling, presents us with _finjan_ of foamy coffee, followed bya glass of sherbet cooled with the snows of Lebanon. He presently returnswith a narghileh, which we smoke by the effortless inhalation of thelungs. Thus we lie in perfect repose, soothed by the fragrant weed, andidly watching the silent Orientals, who are undressing for the bath orreposing like ourselves. Through the arched entrance, we see a picture ofthe bazaars: a shadowy painting of merchants seated amid their silks andspices, dotted here and there with golden drops and splashes of sunshine, which have trickled through the roof. The scene paints itself upon oureyes, yet wakes no slightest stir of thought. The brain is a becalmed sea, without a ripple on its shores. Mind and body are drowned in deliciousrest; and we no longer remember what we are. We only know that there is anExistence somewhere in the air, and that wherever it is, and whatever itmay be, it is happy. 

More and more dim grows the picture. The colors fade and blend into eachother, and finally merge into a bed of rosy clouds, flooded with theradiance of some unseen sun. Gentlier than "tired eyelids upon tiredeyes, " sleep lies upon our senses: a half-conscious sleep, wherein we knowthat we behold light and inhale fragrance. As gently, the clouds dissipateinto air, and we are born again into the world. The Bath is at an end. Wearise and put on our garments, and walk forth into the sunny streets ofDamascus. But as we go homewards, we involuntarily look down to seewhether we are really treading upon the earth, wondering, perhaps, that weshould be content to do so, when it would be so easy to soar above thehouse-tops. 

Chapter XII. 

Baalbec and Lebanon. 

 Departure from Damascus--The Fountains of the Pharpar--Pass of the Anti-Lebanon--Adventure with the Druses--The Range of Lebanon--The Demon of Hasheesh departs--Impressions of Baalbec--The Temple of the Sun--Titanic Masonry--The Ruined Mosque--Camp on Lebanon--Rascality of the Guide--The Summit of Lebanon--The Sacred Cedars--The Christians of Lebanon--An Afternoon in Eden--Rugged Travel--We Reach the Coast--Return to Beyrout. 

 "Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim. "

 Milton. 

 "The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone. "

 Byron. 

Beyrout, _Thursday, May_ 27, 1852. 

After a stay of eight days in Damascus, we called our men, Dervish andMustapha, again into requisition, loaded our enthusiastic mules, andmounted our despairing horses. There were two other parties on the way toBaalbec--an English gentleman and lady, and a solitary Englishman, so thatour united forces made an imposing caravan. There is always a custom-houseexamination, not on entering, but on issuing from an Oriental city, buttravellers can avoid it by procuring the company of a Consular Janissaryas far as the gate. Mr. Wood, the British Consul, lent us one of hisofficers for the occasion, whom we found waiting, outside of the wall, toreceive his private fee for the service. We mounted the long, barren hillwest of the plain, and at the summit, near the tomb of a Moslem shekh, turned to take a last long look at the bowery plain, and the minarets ofthe city, glittering through the blue morning vapor. 

A few paces further on the rocky road, a different scene presented itselfto us. There lay, to the westward, a long stretch of naked yellowmountains, basking in the hot glare of the sun, and through the centre, deep down in the heart of the arid landscape, a winding line of livinggreen showed the course of the Barrada. We followed the river, until thepath reached an impassable gorge, which occasioned a detour of two orthree hours. We then descended to the bed of the dell, where thevegetation, owing to the radiated heat from the mountains and thefertilizing stimulus of the water below, was even richer than on the plainof Damascus. The trees were plethoric with an overplus of life. The boughsof the mulberries were weighed down with the burden of the leaves;pomegranates were in a violent eruption of blossoms; and the foliage ofthe fig and poplar was of so deep a hue that it shone black in the sun. 

Passing through a gateway of rock, so narrow that we were often obliged toride in the bed of the stream, we reached a little meadow, beyond whichwas a small hamlet, almost hidden in the leaves. Here the mountains againapproached each other, and from the side of that on the right hand, themain body of the Barrada, or Pharpar, gushed forth in one full stream. Thefountain is nearly double the volume of that of the Jordan at Banias, andmuch more beautiful. The foundations of an ancient building, probably atemple, overhang it, and tall poplars and sycamores cover it withimpenetrable shade. From the low aperture, where it bursts into the light, its waters, white with foam, bound away flashing in the chance rays ofsunshine, until they are lost to sight in the dense, dark foliage. We satan hour on the ruined walls, listening to the roar and rush of the flood, and enjoying the shade of the walnuts and sycamores. Soon after leaving, our path crossed a small stream, which comes down to the Barrada from theupper valleys of the Anti-Lebanon, and entered a wild pass, faced withcliffs of perpendicular rock. An old bridge, of one arch, spanned thechasm, out of which we climbed to a tract of high meadow land. In the passthere were some fragments of ancient columns, traces of an aqueduct, andinscriptions on the rocks, among which Mr. H. Found the name of Antoninus. The place is not mentioned in any book of travel I have seen, as it is noton the usual road from Damascus to Baalbec. 

As we were emerging from the pass, we saw a company of twelve armed menseated in the grass, near the roadside. They were wild-looking characters, and eyed us somewhat sharply as we passed. We greeted them with the usual"salaam aleikoom!" which they did not return. The same evening, as weencamped at the village of Zebdeni, about three hours further up thevalley, we were startled by a great noise and outcry, with the firing ofpistols. It happened, as we learned on inquiring the cause of all thisconfusion, that the men we saw in the pass were rebel Druses, who werethen lying in wait for the Shekh of Zebdeni, whom, with his son, they hadtaken captive soon after we passed. The news had by some means beenconveyed to the village, and a company of about two hundred persons wasthen marching out to the rescue. The noise they made was probably to givethe Druses intimation of their coming, and thus avoid a fight. I do notbelieve that any of the mountaineers of Lebanon would willingly take partagainst the Druses, who, in fact, are not fighting so much against theinstitution of the conscription law, as its abuse. The law ordains thatthe conscript shall serve for five years; but since its establishment, asI have been informed, there has not been a single instance of discharge. It amounts, therefore, to lifelong servitude, and there is little wonderthat these independent sons of the mountains, as well as the tribesinhabiting the Syrian Desert, should rebel rather than submit. 

The next day, we crossed a pass in the Anti-Lebanon beyond Zebdeni, descended a beautiful valley on the western side, under a ridge which wasstill dotted with patches of snow, and after travelling for some hoursover a wide, barren height, the last of the range, saw below us the plainof Baalbec. The grand ridge of Lebanon opposite, crowned with glitteringfields of snow, shone out clearly through the pure air, and the hoary headof Hermon, far in the south, lost something of its grandeur by thecomparison. Though there is a "divide, " or watershed, between Husbeiya, atthe foot of Mount Hermon, and Baalbec, whose springs join the Orontes, which flows northward to Antioch, the great natural separation of the twochains continues unbroken to the Gulf of Akaba, in the Red Sea. A littlebeyond Baalbec, the Anti-Lebanon terminates, sinking into the Syrianplain, while the Lebanon, though its name and general features are lost, about twenty miles further to the north is succeeded by other ranges, which, though broken at intervals, form a regular series, connecting withthe Taurus, in Asia Minor. 

On leaving Damascus, the Demon of Hasheesh still maintained a partialcontrol over me. I was weak in body and at times confused in myperceptions, wandering away from the scenes about me to some unknownsphere beyond the moon. But the healing balm of my sleep at Zebdeni, andthe purity of the morning air among the mountains, completed my cure. As Irode along the valley, with the towering, snow-sprinkled ridge of theAnti-Lebanon on my right, a cloudless heaven above my head, and meadsenamelled with the asphodel and scarlet anemone stretching before me, Ifelt that the last shadow had rolled away from my brain. My mind was nowas clear as that sky--my heart as free and joyful as the elastic morningair. The sun never shone so brightly to my eyes; the fair forms of Naturewere never penetrated with so perfect a spirit of beauty. I was againmaster of myself, and the world glowed as if new-created in the light ofmy joy and gratitude. I thanked God, who had led me out of a darkness moreterrible than that of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and while my feetstrayed among the flowery meadows of Lebanon, my heart walked on theDelectable Hills of His Mercy. 

By the middle of the afternoon, we reached Baalbec. The distant view ofthe temple, on descending the last slope of the Anti-Lebanon, is notcalculated to raise one's expectations. On the green plain at the foot ofthe mountain, you see a large square platform of masonry, upon which standsix columns, the body of the temple, and a quantity of ruined walls. As afeature in the landscape, it has a fine effect, but you find yourselfpronouncing the speedy judgment, that "Baalbec, without Lebanon, would berather a poor show. " Having come to this conclusion, you ride down thehill with comfortable feelings of indifference. There are a number ofquarries on the left hand; you glance at them with an expression whichmerely says: "Ah! I suppose they got the stones here, " and so you saunteron, cross a little stream that flows down from the modern village, pass amill, return the stare of the quaint Arab miller who comes to the door tosee you, and your horse is climbing a difficult path among the brokencolumns and friezes, before you think it worth while to lift your eyes tothe pile above you. Now re-assert your judgment, if you dare! This isBaalbec: what have you to say? Nothing; but you amazedly measure thetorsos of great columns which lie piled across one another in magnificentwreck; vast pieces which have dropped from the entablature, beautifulCorinthian capitals, bereft of the last graceful curves of their acanthusleaves, and blocks whose edges are so worn away that they resembleenormous natural boulders left by the Deluge, till at last you look up tothe six glorious pillars, towering nigh a hundred feet above your head, and there is a sensation in your brain which would be a shout, if youcould give it utterance, of faultless symmetry and majesty, such as noconception of yours and no other creation of art, can surpass. 

I know of nothing so beautiful in all remains of ancient Art as these sixcolumns, except the colonnade of the Memnonium, at Thebes, which is ofmuch smaller proportions. From every position, and with all lights of theday or night, they are equally perfect, and carry your eyes continuallyaway from the peristyle of the smaller temple, which is better preserved, and from the exquisite architecture of the outer courts and pavilions. The two temples of Baalbec stand on an artificial platform of masonry, athousand feet in length, and from fifteen to thirty feet (according to thedepression of the soil) in height, The larger one, which is supposed tohave been a Pantheon, occupies the whole length of this platform. Theentrance was at the north, by a grand flight of steps, now broken away, between two lofty and elegant pavilions which are still nearly entire. Then followed a spacious hexagonal court, and three grand halls, parts ofwhich, with niches for statues, adorned with cornices and pediments ofelaborate design, still remain entire to the roof. This magnificent seriesof chambers was terminated at the southern extremity of the platform bythe main temple, which had originally twenty columns on a side, similar tothe six now standing. 

The Temple of the Sun stands on a smaller and lower platform, whichappears to have been subsequently added to the greater one. The cella, orbody of the temple, is complete except the roof, and of the colonnadesurrounding it, nearly one-half of its pillars are still standing, upholding the frieze, entablature, and cornice, which altogether formprobably the most ornate specimen of the Corinthian order of architecturenow extant. Only four pillars of the superb portico remain, and theSaracens have nearly ruined these by building a sort of watch-tower uponthe architrave. The same unscrupulous race completely shut up the portalof the temple with a blank wall, formed of the fragments they had hurleddown, and one is obliged to creep through a narrow hole in order to reachthe interior. Here the original doorway faces you--and I know not how todescribe the wonderful design of its elaborate sculptured mouldings andcornices. The genius of Greek art seems to have exhausted itself ininventing ornaments, which, while they should heighten the gorgeous effectof the work, must yet harmonize with the grand design of the temple. Theenormous keystone over the entrance has slipped down, no doubt from theshock of an earthquake, and hangs within six inches of the bottom of thetwo blocks which uphold it on either side. When it falls, the wholeentablature of the portal will be destroyed. On its lower side is an eaglewith outspread wings, and on the side-stones a genius with garlands offlowers, exquisitely sculptured in bas relief. Hidden among the wreaths ofvines which adorn the jambs are the laughing heads of fauns. This portalwas a continual study to me, every visit revealing new refinements ofornament, which I had not before observed. The interior of the temple, with its rich Corinthian pilasters, its niches for statues, surmounted bypediments of elegant design, and its elaborate cornice, needs little aidof the imagination to restore it to its original perfection. Like that ofDendera, in Egypt, the Temple of the Sun leaves upon the mind animpression of completeness which makes you forget far grander remains. 

But the most wonderful thing at Baalbec is the foundation platform uponwhich the temples stand. Even the colossal fabrics of Ancient Egyptdwindle before this superhuman masonry. The platform itself, 1, 000 feetlong, and averaging twenty feet in height, suggests a vast mass of stones, but when you come to examine the single blocks of which it is composed, you are crushed with their incredible bulk. On the western side is a rowof eleven foundation stones, each of which is thirty-two feet in length, twelve in height, and ten in thickness, forming a wall three hundred andfifty-two feet long! But while you are walking on, thinking of the artwhich cut and raised these enormous blocks, you turn the southern cornerand come upon _three_ stones, the united length of which is _one hundredand eighty-seven feet_--two of them being sixty-two and the othersixty-three feet in length! There they are, cut with faultless exactness, and so smoothly joined to each other, that you cannot force a cambricneedle into the crevice. There is one joint so perfect that it can only bediscerned by the minutest search; it is not even so perceptible as thejunction of two pieces of paper which have been pasted together. In thequarry, there still lies a finished block, ready for transportation, whichis sixty-seven feet in length. The weight of one of these masses has beenreckoned at near 9, 000 tons, yet they do not form the base of thefoundation, but are raised upon other courses, fifteen feet from theground. It is considered by some antiquarians that they are of a dategreatly anterior to that of the temples, and were intended as the basementof a different edifice. 

In the village of Baalbec there is a small circular Corinthian temple ofvery elegant design. It is not more than thirty feet in diameter, and mayhave been intended as a tomb. A spacious mosque, now roofless anddeserted, was constructed almost entirely out of the remains of thetemples. Adjoining the court-yard and fountain are five rows of ancientpillars, forty (the sacred number) in all, supporting light Saracenicarches. Some of them are marble, with Corinthian capitals, and eighteenare single shafts of red Egyptian granite. Beside the fountain lies asmall broken pillar of porphyry, of a dark violet hue, and of so fine agrain that the stone has the soft rich lustre of velvet. This fragment isthe only thing I would carry away if I had the power. 

After a day's sojourn, we left Baalbec at noon, and took the road for theCedars, which lie on the other side of Lebanon, in the direction ofTripoli. Our English fellow-travellers chose the direct road to Beyrout. We crossed the plain in three hours; to the village of Dayr el-Ahmar, andthen commenced ascending the lowest slopes of the great range, whosetopmost ridge, a dazzling parapet of snow, rose high above us. For severalhours, our path led up and down stony ridges, covered with thickets of oakand holly, and with wild cherry, pear, and olive-trees. Just as the sunthrew the shadows of the highest Lebanon over us, we came upon a narrow, rocky glen at his very base. Streams that still kept the color and thecoolness of the snow-fields from which they oozed, foamed over the stonesinto the chasm at the bottom. The glen descended into a mountain basin, inwhich lay the lake of Yemouni, cold and green under the evening shadows. But just opposite us, on a little shelf of soil, there was a rude mill, and a group of superb walnut-trees, overhanging the brink of the largesttorrent. We had sent our baggage before us, and the men, with an eye tothe picturesque which I should not have suspected in Arabs, had pitchedour tents under those trees, where the stream poured its snow-cold beakersbeside us, and the tent-door looked down on the plain of Baalbec andacross to the Anti-Lebanon. The miller and two or three peasants, who wereliving in this lonely spot, were Christians. 

The next morning we commenced ascending the Lebanon. We had slept justbelow the snow-line, for the long hollows with which the ridge is clovenwere filled up to within a short distance of the glen, out of which wecame. The path was very steep, continually ascending, now around thebarren shoulder of the mountain, now up some ravine, where the holly andolive still flourished, and the wild rhubarb-plant spread its large, succulent leaves over the soil. We had taken a guide, the day before, atthe village of Dayr el-Ahmar, but as the way was plain before us, and hedemanded an exorbitant sum, we dismissed him, We had not climbed far, however, before he returned, professing to be content with whatever wemight give him, and took us into another road, the first, he said, beingimpracticable. Up and up we toiled, and the long hollows of snow lay belowus, and the wind came cold from the topmost peaks, which began to shownear at hand. But now the road, as we had surmised, turned towards that wehad first taken, and on reaching the next height we saw the latter at ashort distance from us. It was not only a better, but a shorter road, therascal of a guide having led us out of it in order to give the greatereffect to his services. In order to return to it, as was necessary, therewere several dangerous snow-fields to be passed. The angle of theirdescent was so great that a single false step would have hurled ouranimals, baggage and all, many hundred feet below. The snow was melting, and the crust frozen over the streams below was so thin in places that theanimals broke through and sank to their bellies. 

It were needless to state the number and character of the anathemasbestowed upon the guide. The impassive Dervish raved; Mustapha stormed;François broke out in a frightful eruption of Greek and Turkish oaths, andthe two travellers, though not (as I hope and believe) profanely inclined, could not avoid using a few terse Saxon expressions. When the generalindignation had found vent, the men went to work, and by taking eachanimal separately, succeeded, at imminent hazard, in getting them allover the snow. We then dismissed the guide, who, far from being abashed bythe discovery of his trickery, had the impudence to follow us for sometime, claiming his pay. A few more steep pulls, over deep beds of snow andpatches of barren stone, and at length the summit ridge--a sharp, whitewall, shining against the intense black-blue of the zenith--stood beforeus. We climbed a toilsome zig-zag through the snow, hurried over thestones cumbering the top, and all at once the mountains fell away, ridgebelow ridge, gashed with tremendous chasms, whose bottoms were lost inblue vapor, till the last heights, crowned with white Maronite convents, hung above the sea, whose misty round bounded the vision. I have seen manygrander mountain views, but few so sublimely rugged and broken in theirfeatures. The sides of the ridges dropped off in all directions into sheerprecipices, and the few villages we could see were built like eagles'nests on the brinks. In a little hollow at our feet was the sacred Forestof Cedars, appearing like a patch of stunted junipers. It is the highestspeck of vegetation on Lebanon, and in winter cannot be visited, onaccount of the snow. The summit on which we stood was about nine thousandfeet above the sea, but there were peaks on each side at least a thousandfeet higher. 

We descended by a very steep path, over occasional beds of snow, andreached the Cedars in an hour and a half. Not until we were within ahundred yards of the trees, and below their level, was I at all impressedwith their size and venerable aspect. But, once entered into the heart ofthe little wood, walking over its miniature hills and valleys, andbreathing the pure, balsamic exhalations of the trees, all thedisappointment rising to my mind was charmed away in an instant There areabout three hundred trees, in all, many of which are of the last century'sgrowth, but at least fifty of them would be considered grand in anyforest. The patriarchs are five in number, and are undoubtedly as old asthe Christian Era, if not the Age of Solomon. The cypresses in the Gardenof Montezuma, at Chapultepec, are even older and grander trees, but theyare as entire and shapely as ever, whereas these are gnarled and twistedinto wonderful forms by the storms of twenty centuries, and shivered insome places by lightning. The hoary father of them all, nine feet indiameter, stands in the centre of the grove, on a little knoll, andspreads his ponderous arms, each a tree in itself, over the heads of themany generations that have grown up below, as if giving his lastbenediction before decay. He is scarred less with storm and lightning, than with the knives of travellers, and the marble crags of Lebanon do notmore firmly retain their inscriptions than his stony trunk. Dates of thelast century are abundant, and I recollect a tablet inscribed: "Souard, 1670, " around which the newer wood has grown to the height of three orfour inches. The seclusion of the grove, shut in by peaks of barren snow, is complete. Only the voice of the nightingale, singing here by daylightin the solemn shadows, breaks the silence. The Maronite monk, who hascharge of a little stone chapel standing in the midst, moves about like ashade, and, not before you are ready to leave, brings his book for you toregister your name therein, I was surprised to find how few of the crowdthat annually overrun Syria reach the Cedars, which, after Baalbec, arethe finest remains of antiquity in the whole country. 

After a stay of three hours, we rode on to Eden, whither our men hadalready gone with the baggage. Our road led along the brink of atremendous gorge, a thousand feet deep, the bottom of which was onlyaccessible here and there by hazardous foot-paths. On either side, a longshelf of cultivated land sloped down to the top, and the mountain streams, after watering a multitude of orchards and grain-fields, tumbled over thecliffs in long, sparkling cascades, to join the roaring flood below. Thisis the Christian region of Lebanon, inhabited almost wholly by Maronites, who still retain a portion of their former independence, and are the mostthrifty, industrious, honest, and happy people in Syria. Their villagesare not concrete masses of picturesque filth, as are those of the Moslems, but are loosely scattered among orchards of mulberry, poplar, and vine, washed by fresh rills, and have an air of comparative neatness andcomfort. Each has its two or three chapels, with their little belfries, which toll the hours of prayer. Sad and poetic as is the call from theminaret, it never touched me as when I heard the sweet tongues of thoseChristian bells, chiming vespers far and near on the sides of Lebanon. 

Eden merits its name. It is a mountain paradise, inhabited by people sokind and simple-hearted, that assuredly no vengeful angel will ever drivethem out with his flaming sword. It hangs above the gorge, which is herenearly two thousand feet deep, and overlooks a grand wilderness ofmountain-piles, crowded on and over each other, from the sea that gleamsbelow, to the topmost heights that keep off the morning sun. The housesare all built of hewn stone, and grouped in clusters under the shade oflarge walnut-trees. In walking among them, we received kind greetingseverywhere, and every one who was seated rose and remained standing as wepassed. The women are beautiful, with sprightly, intelligent faces, quitedifferent from the stupid Mahometan females. 

The children were charming creatures, and some of the girls of ten ortwelve years were lovely as angels. They came timidly to our tent (whichthe men had pitched as before, under two superb trees, beside a fountain), and offered us roses and branches of fragrant white jasmine. They expectedsome return, of course, but did not ask it, and the delicate grace withwhich the offering was made was beyond all pay. It was Sunday, and the menand boys, having nothing better to do, all came to see and talk with us. Ishall not soon forget the circle of gay and laughing villagers, in whichwe sat that evening, while the dark purple shadows gradually filled up thegorges, and broad golden lights poured over the shoulders of the hills. The men had much sport in inducing the smaller boys to come up and saluteus. There was one whom they called "the Consul, " who eluded them for sometime, but was finally caught and placed in the ring before us. "Peace bewith you, O Consul, " I said, making him a profound inclination, "may yourdays be propitious! may your shadow be increased!" but I then saw, fromthe vacant expression on the boy's face, that he was one of thoseharmless, witless creatures, whom yet one cannot quite call idiots. "He isan unfortunate; he knows nothing; he has no protector but God, " said themen, crossing themselves devoutly. The boy took off his cap, crept up andkissed my hand, as I gave him some money, which he no sooner grasped, thanhe sprang up like a startled gazelle, and was out of sight in an instant. 

In descending from Eden to the sea-coast, we were obliged to cross thegreat gorge of which I spoke. Further down, its sides are less steep, andclothed even to the very bottom with magnificent orchards of mulberry, fig, olive, orange, and pomegranate trees. We were three hours in reachingthe opposite side, although the breadth across the top is not more than amile. The path was exceedingly perilous; we walked down, leading ourhorses, and once were obliged to unload our mules to get them past a tree, which would have forced them off the brink of a chasm several hundred feetdeep. The view from the bottom was wonderful. We were shut in by steeps offoliage and blossoms from two to three thousand feet high, broken by cragsof white marble, and towering almost precipitously to the very clouds. Idoubt if Melville saw anything grander in the tropical gorges of Typee. After reaching the other side, we had still a journey of eight hours tothe sea, through a wild and broken, yet highly cultivated country. 

Beyrout was now thirteen hours distant, but by making a forced march wereached it in a day, travelling along the shore, past the towns of Jebeil, the ancient Byblus, and Joonieh. The hills about Jebeil produce thecelebrated tobacco known in Egypt as the _Jebelee_, or "mountain" tobacco, which is even superior to the Latakiyeh. 

Near Beyrout, the mulberry and olive are in the ascendant. The latter treebears the finest fruit in all the Levant, and might drive all other oilsout of the market, if any one had enterprise enough to erect propermanufactories. Instead of this the oil of the country is badly prepared, rancid from the skins in which it is kept, and the wealthy natives importfrom France and Italy in preference to using it. In the bottoms near thesea, I saw several fields of the taro-plant, the cultivation of which Ihad supposed was exclusively confined to the Islands of the Pacific. Therewould be no end to the wealth of Syria were the country in proper hands. 

Chapter XIII. 

Pipes and Coffee. 

 --"the kind nymph to Bacchus born By Morpheus' daughter, she that seems Gifted upon her natal morn By him with fire, by her with dreams-- Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewildering juice. " Lowell. 

In painting the picture of an Oriental, the pipe and the coffee-cup areindispensable accessories. There is scarce a Turk, or Arab, orPersian--unless he be a Dervish of peculiar sanctity--but breathes hisdaily incense to the milder Bacchus of the moderns. The custom has becomeso thoroughly naturalized in the East, that we are apt to forget itscomparatively recent introduction, and to wonder that no mention is madeof the pipe in the Arabian Nights. The practice of smoking harmonizes sothoroughly with the character of Oriental life, that it is difficult forus to imagine a time when it never existed. It has become a part of thatsupreme patience, that wonderful repose, which forms so strong a contrastto the over-active life of the New World--the enjoyment of which no onecan taste, to whom the pipe is not familiar. Howl, ye Reformers! but Isolemnly declare unto you, that he who travels through the East withoutsmoking, does not know the East. 

It is strange that our Continent, where the meaning of Rest is unknown, should have given to the world this great agent of Rest. There is nothingmore remarkable in history than the colonization of Tobacco over the wholeEarth. Not three centuries have elapsed since knightly Raleigh puffed itsfumes into the astonished eyes of Spenser and Shakspeare; and now, find meany corner of the world, from Nova Zembla to the Mountains of the Moon, where the use of the plant is unknown! Tarshish (if India was Tarshish) isless distinguished by its "apes, ivory, and peacocks, " than by itshookahs; the valleys of Luzon, beyond Ternate and Tidore, send us morecheroots than spices; the Gardens of Shiraz produce more velvety _toombek_than roses, and the only fountains which bubble in Samarcand are those ofthe narghilehs: Lebanon is no longer "excellent with the Cedars, " as inthe days of Solomon, but most excellent with its fields of Jebelee andLatakiyeh. On the unvisited plains of Central Africa, the table-lands ofTartary, and in the valleys of Japan, the wonderful plant has found ahome. The naked negro, "panting at the Line, " inhales it under the palms, and the Lapp and Samoyed on the shores of the Frozen Sea. 

It is idle for those who object to the use of Tobacco to attribute thesephenomena wholly to a perverted taste. The fact that the custom was atonce adopted by all the races of men, whatever their geographical positionand degree of civilization, proves that there must be a reason for it inthe physical constitution of man. Its effect, when habitually used, isslightly narcotic and sedative, not stimulating--or if so, at times, itstimulates only the imagination and the social faculties. It lulls tosleep the combative and destructive propensities, and hence--so far as amaterial agent may operate--it exercises a humanizing and refininginfluence. A profound student of Man, whose name is well known to theworld, once informed me that he saw in the eagerness with which savagetribes adopt the use of Tobacco, a spontaneous movement of Nature towardsCivilization. 

I will not pursue these speculations further, for the narghileh (bubblingsoftly at my elbow, as I write) is the promoter of repose and the begetterof agreeable reverie. As I inhale its cool, fragrant breath, and partlyyield myself to the sensation of healthy rest which wraps my limbs as witha velvet mantle, I marvel how the poets and artists and scholars of oldentimes nursed those dreams which the world calls indolence, but which arethe seeds that germinate into great achievements. How did Platophilosophize without the pipe? How did gray Homer, sitting on thetemple-steps in the Grecian twilights, drive from his heart the bitternessof beggary and blindness? How did Phidias charm the Cerberus of his animalnature to sleep, while his soul entered the Elysian Fields and beheld theforms of heroes? For, in the higher world of Art, Body and Soul are swornenemies, and the pipe holds an opiate more potent than all the drowsysyrups of the East, to drug the former into submission. Milton knew this, as he smoked his evening pipe at Chalfont, wandering, the while, among thepalms of Paradise. 

But it is also our loss, that Tobacco was unknown to the Greeks. Theywould else have given us, in verse and in marble, another divinity intheir glorious Pantheon--a god less drowsy than Morpheus and Somnus, lessriotous than Bacchus, less radiant than Apollo, but with something of thespirit of each: a figure, beautiful with youth, every muscle in perfectrepose, and the vague expression of dreams in his half-closed eyes. Histemple would have been built in a grove of Southern pines, on the bordersof a land-locked gulf, sheltered from the surges that buffet without, where service would have been rendered him in the late hours of theafternoon, or in the evening twilight. From his oracular tripod words ofwisdom would have been spoken, and the fanes of Delphi and Dodona wouldhave been deserted for his. 

Oh, non-smoking friends, who read these lines with pain andincredulity--and you, ladies, who turn pale at the thought of a pipe--letme tell you that you are familiar only with the vulgar form of tobacco, and have never passed between the wind and its gentility. The word conveysno idea to you but that of "long nines, " and pig-tail, and cavendish. Forget these for a moment, and look upon this dark-brown cake of driedleaves and blossoms, which exhales an odor of pressed flowers. These arethe tender tops of the _Jebelee_, plucked as the buds begin to expand, andcarefully dried in the shade. In order to be used, it is moistened withrose-scented water, and cut to the necessary degree of fineness. The testof true Jebelee is, that it burns with a slow, hidden fire, like tinder, and causes no irritation to the eye when held under it. The smoke, drawnthrough a long cherry-stick pipe and amber mouth-piece, is pure, cool, andsweet, with an aromatic flavor, which is very pleasant in the mouth. Itexcites no salivation, and leaves behind it no unpleasant, stale odor. 

The narghileh (still bubbling beside me) is an institution known only inthe East. It requires a peculiar kind of tobacco, which grows toperfection in the southern provinces of Persia. The smoke, after passingthrough water (rose-flavored, if you choose), is inhaled through a long, flexible tube directly into the lungs. It occasions not the slightestirritation or oppression, but in a few minutes produces a delicious senseof rest, which is felt even in the finger-ends. The pure physicalsensation of rest is one of strength also, and of perfect contentment. Many an impatient thought, many an angry word, have I avoided by a resortto the pipe. Among our aborigines the pipe was the emblem of Peace, and Istrongly recommend the Peace Society to print their tracts upon papers ofsmoking tobacco (Turkish, if possible), and distribute pipes with them. 

I know of nothing more refreshing, after the fatigue of a long day'sjourney, than a well-prepared narghileh. That slight feverish andexcitable feeling which is the result of fatigue yields at once to itspotency. The blood loses its heat and the pulse its rapidity; the musclesrelax, the nerves are soothed into quiet, and the frame passes into acondition similar to sleep, except that the mind is awake and active. Bythe time one has finished his pipe, he is refreshed for the remainder ofthe day, and his nightly sleep is sound and healthy. Such are some of thephysical effects of the pipe, in Eastern lands. Morally andpsychologically, it works still greater transformations; but to describethem now, with the mouth-piece at my lips, would require an activeself-consciousness which the habit does not allow. 

A servant enters with a steamy cup of coffee, seated in a silver _zerf_, or cup-holder. His thumb and fore-finger are clasped firmly upon thebottom of the zerf, which I inclose near the top with my own thumb andfinger, so that the transfer is accomplished without his hand havingtouched mine. 

After draining the thick brown liquid, which must be done with duedeliberation and a pause of satisfaction between each sip, I return thezerf, holding it in the middle, while the attendant places a palm of eachhand upon the top and bottom and carries it off without contact. Thebeverage is made of the berries of Mocha, slightly roasted, pulverized ina mortar, and heated to a foam, without the addition of cream or sugar. Sometimes, however, it is flavored with the extract of roses or violets. When skilfully made, each cup is prepared separately, and the quantity ofwater and coffee carefully measured. 

Coffee is a true child of the East, and its original home was among thehills of Yemen, the Arabia Felix of the ancients. Fortunately forMussulmen, its use was unknown in the days of Mahomet, or it wouldprobably have fallen under the same prohibition as wine. The word _Kahweh_(whence _café_) is an old Arabic term for wine. The discovery of theproperties of coffee is attributed to a dervish, who, for somemisdemeanor, was carried into the mountains of Yemen by his brethren andthere left to perish by starvation. In order to appease the pangs ofhunger he gathered the ripe berries from the wild coffee-trees, roastedand ate them. The nourishment they contained, with water from the springs, sustained his life, and after two or three months he returned in goodcondition to his brethren, who considered his preservation as a miracle, and ever afterwards looked upon him as a pattern of holiness. He taughtthe use of the miraculous fruit, and the demand for it soon became sogreat as to render the cultivation of the tree necessary. It was a longtime, however, before coffee was introduced into Europe. As late as thebeginning of the seventeenth century, Sandys, the quaint old traveller, describes the appearance and taste of the beverage, which he calls"Coffa, " and sagely asks: "Why not that black broth which theLacedemonians used?"

On account of the excellence of the material, and the skilful manner ofits preparation, the Coffee of the East is the finest in the world. I havefound it so grateful and refreshing a drink, that I can readily pardon thepleasant exaggeration of the Arabic poet, Abd-el Kader Anazari DjezeriHanbali, the son of Mahomet, who thus celebrates its virtues. After suchan exalted eulogy, my own praises would sound dull and tame; and Itherefore resume my pipe, commending Abd-el Kader to the reader. 

"O Coffee! thou dispellest the cares of the great; thou bringest backthose who wander from the paths of knowledge. Coffee is the beverage ofthe people of God, and the cordial of his servants who thirst for wisdom. When coffee is infused into the bowl, it exhales the odor of musk, and isof the color of ink. The truth is not known except to the wise, who drinkit from the foaming coffee-cup. God has deprived fools of coffee, who, with invincible obstinacy, condemn it as injurious. 

"Coffee is our gold; and in the place of its libations we are in theenjoyment of the best and noblest society. Coffee is even as innocent adrink as the purest milk, from which it is distinguished only by itscolor. Tarry with thy coffee in the place of its preparation, and the goodGod will hover over thee and participate in his feast. There the graces ofthe saloon, the luxury of life, the society of friends, all furnish apicture of the abode of happiness. 

"Every care vanishes when the cup-bearer presents the delicious chalice. It will circulate fleetly through thy veins, and will not rankle there:if thou doubtest this, contemplate the youth and beauty of those who drinkit. Grief cannot exist where it grows; sorrow humbles itself in obediencebefore its powers. 

"Coffee is the drink of God's people; in it is health. Let this be theanswer to those who doubt its qualities. In it we will drown ouradversities, and in its fire consume our sorrows. Whoever has once seenthe blissful chalice, will scorn the wine-cup. Glorious drink! thy coloris the seal of purity, and reason proclaims it genuine. Drink withconfidence, and regard not the prattle of fools, who condemn withoutfoundation. "

Chapter XIV. 

Journey to Antioch and Aleppo. 

 Change of Plans--Routes to Baghdad--Asia Minor--We sail from Beyrout--Yachting on the Syrian Coast--Tartus and Latakiyeh--The Coasts of Syria--The Bay of Suediah--The Mouth of the Orontes--Landing--The Garden of Syria--Ride to Antioch--The Modern City--The Plains of the Orontes--Remains of the Greek Empire--The Ancient Road--The Plain of Keftin--Approach to Aleppo. 

 "The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, The living breath is fresh behind, As, with dews and sunrise fed, Comes the laughing morning wind. "

 Shelley. 

Aleppo, _Friday, June_ 4, 1852. 

A Traveller in the East, who has not unbounded time and an extensivefortune at his disposal, is never certain where and how far he shall go, until his journey is finished. With but a limited portion of both thesenecessaries, I have so far carried out my original plan with scarcely avariation; but at present I am obliged to make a material change of route. My farthest East is here at Aleppo. At Damascus, I was told by everybodythat it was too late in the season to visit either Baghdad or Mosul, andthat, on account of the terrible summer heats and the fevers which prevailalong the Tigris, it would be imprudent to undertake it. Notwithstandingthis, I should probably have gone (being now so thoroughly acclimated thatI have nothing to fear from the heat), had I not met with a friend ofCol. Rawlinson, the companion of Layard, and the sharer in his discoveriesat Nineveh. This gentleman, who met Col. R. Not long since inConstantinople, on his way to Baghdad (where he resides as BritishConsul), informed me that since the departure of Mr. Layard from Mosul, the most interesting excavations have been filled up, in order to preservethe sculptures. Unless one was able to make a new exhumation, he would beby no means repaid for so long and arduous a journey. The ruins of Ninevehare all below the surface of the earth, and the little of them that is nowleft exposed, is less complete and interesting than the specimens in theBritish Museum. 

There is a route from Damascus to Baghdad, across the Desert, by way ofPalmyra, but it is rarely travelled, even by the natives, except when thecaravans are sufficiently strong to withstand the attacks of the Bedouins. The traveller is obliged to go in Arab costume, to leave his baggagebehind, except a meagre scrip for the journey, and to pay from $300 to$500 for the camels and escort. The more usual route is to come northwardto this city, then cross to Mosul and descend the Tigris--a journey offour or five weeks. After weighing all the advantages and disadvantages ofundertaking a tour of such length as it would be necessary to make beforereaching Constantinople, I decided at Beyrout to give up the fascinatingfields of travel in Media, Assyria and Armenia, and take a rather shorterand-perhaps equally interesting route from Aleppo to Constantinople, byway of Tarsus, Konia (Iconium), and the ancient countries of Phrygia, Bithynia, and Mysia. The interior of Asia Minor is even less known to usthan the Persian side of Asiatic Turkey, which has of late received moreattention from travellers; and, as I shall traverse it in its wholelength, from Syria to the Bosphorus, I may find it replete with "greenfields and pastures new, " which shall repay me for relinquishing the firstand more ambitious undertaking. At least, I have so much reason to begrateful for the uninterrupted good health and good luck I have enjoyedduring seven months in Africa and the Orient, that I cannot be otherwisethan content with the prospect before me. 

I left Beyrout on the night of the 28th of May, with Mr. Harrison, who hasdecided to keep me company as far as Constantinople. François, our classicdragoman, whose great delight is to recite Homer by the sea-side, isretained for the whole tour, as we have found no reason to doubt hishonesty or ability. Our first thought was to proceed to Aleppo by land, byway of Homs and Hamah, whence there might be a chance of reaching Palmyra;but as we found an opportunity of engaging an American yacht for thevoyage up the coast, it was thought preferable to take her, and save time. She was a neat little craft, called the "American Eagle, " brought out byMr. Smith, our Consul at Beyrout. So, one fine moonlit night, we slowlycrept out of the harbor, and after returning a volley of salutes from ourfriends at Demetri's Hotel, ran into the heart of a thunder-storm, whichpoured down more rain than all I had seen for eight months before. But ourraïs, Assad (the Lion), was worthy of his name, and had two good Christiansailors at his command, so we lay in the cramped little cabin, and heardthe floods washing our deck, without fear. 

In the morning, we were off Tripoli, which is even more deeply buried thanBeyrout in its orange and mulberry groves, and slowly wafted along thebold mountain-coast, in the afternoon reached Tartus, the Ancient Tortosa. A mile from shore is the rocky island of Aradus, entirely covered by atown. There were a dozen vessels lying in the harbor. The remains of alarge fortress and ancient mole prove it to have been a place ofconsiderable importance. Tartus is a small old place on the sea-shore--notso large nor so important in appearance as its island-port. The countrybehind is green and hilly, though but partially cultivated, and rises intoDjebel Ansairiyeh, which divides the valley of the Orontes from the sea. It is a lovely coast, especially under the flying lights and shadows ofsuch a breezy day as we had. The wind fell at sunset; but by the nextmorning, we had passed the tobacco-fields of Latakiyeh, and were in sightof the southern cape of the Bay of Suediah. The mountains forming thiscape culminate in a grand conical peak, about 5, 000 feet in height, calledDjebel Okrab. At ten o'clock, wafted along by a slow wind, we turned thepoint and entered the Bay of Suediah, formed by the embouchure of theRiver Orontes. The mountain headland of Akma Dagh, forming the portal ofthe Gulf of Scanderoon, loomed grandly in front of us across the bay; andfar beyond it, we could just distinguish the coast of Karamania, thesnow-capped range of Taurus. 

The Coasts of Syria might be divided, like those of Guinea, according tothe nature of their productions. The northern division is bold and bare, yet flocks of sheep graze on the slopes of its mountains; and the inlandplains behind them are covered with orchards of pistachio-trees. Silk iscultivated in the neighborhood of Suediah, but forms only a small portionof the exports. This region may be called the Wool and Pistachio Coast. Southward, from Latakiyeh to Tartus and the northern limit of Lebanon, extends the Tobacco Coast, whose undulating hills are now clothed with thepale-green leaves of the renowned plant. From Tripoli to Tyre, embracingall the western slope of Lebanon, and the deep, rich valleys lying betweenhis knees, the mulberry predominates, and the land is covered with thehouses of thatch and matting which shelter the busy worms. This is theSilk Coast. The palmy plains of Jaffa, and beyond, until Syria meets theAfrican sands between Gaza and El-Arish, constitute the Orange Coast. Thevine, the olive, and the fig flourish everywhere. 

We were all day getting up the bay, and it seemed as if we should neverpass Djebel Okrab, whose pointed top rose high above a long belt of fleecyclouds that girdled his waist. At sunset we made the mouth of the Orontes. Our lion of a Captain tried to run into the river, but the channel wasvery narrow, and when within three hundred yards of the shore the yachtstruck. We had all sail set, and had the wind been a little stronger, weshould have capsized in an instant. The lion went manfully to work, and bydint of hard poling, shoved us off, and came to anchor in deep water. Notuntil the danger was past did he open his batteries on the unluckyhelmsman, and then the explosion of Arabic oaths was equal to a broadsideof twenty-four pounders. We lay all night rocking on the swells, and thenext morning, by firing a number of signal guns, brought out a boat, whichtook us off. We entered the mouth of the Orontes, and sailed nearly a milebetween rich wheat meadows before reaching the landing-place ofSuediah--two or three uninhabited stone huts, with three or four smallTurkish craft, and a health officer. The town lies a mile or two inland, scattered along the hill-side amid gardens so luxuriant as almost toconceal it from view. 

This part of the coast is ignorant of travellers, and we were obliged towait half a day before we could find a sufficient number of horses to takeus to Antioch, twenty miles distant. When they came, they were solidfarmers' horses, with the rudest gear imaginable. I was obliged to mountastride of a broad pack-saddle, with my legs suspended in coils of rope. Leaving the meadows, we entered a lane of the wildest, richest andloveliest bloom and foliage. Our way was overhung with hedges ofpomegranate, myrtle, oleander, and white rose, in blossom, andoccasionally with quince, fig, and carob trees, laced together with grapevines in fragrant bloom. Sometimes this wilderness of color and odor metabove our heads and made a twilight; then it opened into long, dazzling, sun-bright vistas, where the hues of the oleander, pomegranate and whiterose made the eye wink with their gorgeous profusion. The mountains wecrossed were covered with thickets of myrtle, mastic, daphne, and arbutus, and all the valleys and sloping meads waved with fig, mulberry, and olivetrees. Looking towards the sea, the valley broadened out between mountainranges whose summits were lost in the clouds. Though the soil was not sorich as in Palestine, the general aspect of the country was much wilderand more luxuriant. 

So, by this glorious lane, over the myrtled hills and down into valleys, whose bed was one hue of rose from the blossoming oleanders, we travelledfor five hours, crossing the low ranges of hills through which the Orontesforces his way to the sea. At last we reached a height overlooking thevalley of the river, and saw in the east, at the foot of the mountainchain, the long lines of barracks built by Ibrahim Pasha for the defenceof Antioch. Behind them the ancient wall of the city clomb the mountains, whose crest it followed to the last peak of the chain, From the next hillwe saw the city--a large extent of one-story houses with tiled roofs, surrounded with gardens, and half buried in the foliage of sycamores. Itextends from the River Orontes, which washes its walls, up the slope ofthe mountain to the crags of gray rock which overhang it. We crossed theriver by a massive old bridge, and entered the town. Riding along therills of filth which traverse the streets, forming their central avenues, we passed through several lines of bazaars to a large and dreary-lookingkhan, the keeper of which gave us the best vacant chamber--a narrow place, full of fleas. 

Antioch presents not even a shadow of its former splendor. Except thegreat walls, ten to fifteen miles in circuit, which the Turks have donetheir best to destroy, every vestige of the old city has disappeared. Thehouses are all of one story, on account of earthquakes, from which Antiochhas suffered more than any other city in the world. At one time, duringthe Middle Ages, it lost 120, 000 inhabitants in one day. Its situation ismagnificent, and the modern town, notwithstanding its filth, wears abright and busy aspect. Situated at the base of a lofty mountain, itoverlooks, towards the east, a plain thirty or forty miles in length, producing the most abundant harvests. A great number of the inhabitantsare workers in wood and leather, and very thrifty and cheerful people theyappear to be. 

We remained until the next day at noon, by which time a gray-beardedscamp, the chief of the _mukkairees_, or muleteers, succeeded in gettingus five miserable beasts for the journey to Aleppo. On leaving the city, we travelled along a former street of Antioch, part of the ancientpavement still remaining, and after two miles came to the old wall ofcircuit, which we passed by a massive gateway, of Roman time. It is nowcalled _Bab Boulos_, or St. Paul's Gate. Christianity, it will beremembered, was planted in Antioch by Paul and Barnabas, and the ApostlePeter was the first bishop of the city. We now entered the great plain ofthe Orontes--a level sea, rioting in the wealth of its ripening harvests. The river, lined with luxuriant thickets, meandered through the centre ofthis glorious picture. We crossed it during the afternoon, and keeping onour eastward course, encamped at night in a meadow near the tents of somewandering Turcomans, who furnished us with butter and milk from theirherds. 

Leaving the plain the next morning, we travelled due east all day, overlong stony ranges of mountains, inclosing only one valley, which boreevidence of great fertility. It was circular, about ten miles in itsgreater diameter, and bounded on the north by the broad peak of DjebelSaman, or Mount St. Simon. In the morning we passed a ruined castle, standing in a dry, treeless dell, among the hot hills. The muleteerscalled it the Maiden's Palace, and said that it was built long ago by apowerful Sultan, as a prison for his daughter. For several hoursthereafter, our road was lined with remains of buildings, apparentlydating from the time of the Greek Empire. There were tombs, temples ofmassive masonry, though in a bad style of architecture, and long rows ofarched chambers, which resembled store-houses. They were all more or lessshattered by earthquakes, but in one place I noticed twenty such arches, each of at least twenty feet span. All-the hills, on either hand, as faras we could see, were covered with the remains of buildings. In the plainof St. Simon, I saw two superb pillars, apparently part of a portico, orgateway, and the village of Dana is formed almost entirely of churches andconvents, of the Lower Empire. There were but few inscriptions, and theseI could not read; but the whole of this region would, no doubt, richlyrepay an antiquarian research. I am told here that the entire chain ofhills, which extends southward for more than a hundred miles, abounds withsimilar remains, and that, in many places, whole cities stand almostentire, as if recently deserted by their inhabitants. 

During the afternoon, we came upon a portion of the ancient road fromAntioch to Aleppo, which is still as perfect as when first constructed. Itcrossed a very stony ridge, and is much the finest specimen of road-makingI ever saw, quite putting to shame the Appian and Flaminian Ways at Rome. It is twenty feet wide, and laid with blocks of white marble, from two tofour feet square. It was apparently raised upon a more ancient road, whichdiverges here and there from the line, showing the deeply-cut traces ofthe Roman chariot-wheels. In the barren depths of the mountains we foundevery hour cisterns cut in the rock and filled with water left by thewinter rains. Many of them, however, are fast drying up, and a month laterthis will be a desert road. 

Towards night we descended from the hills upon the Plain of Keftin, whichstretches south-westward from Aleppo, till the mountain-streams whichfertilize it are dried up, when it is merged into the Syrian Desert. Itsnorthern edge, along which we travelled, is covered with fields of wheat, cotton, and castor-beans. We stopped all night at a village called Taireb, planted at the foot of a tumulus, older than tradition. The people werein great dread of the Aneyzeh Arabs, who come in from the Desert todestroy their harvests and carry off their cattle. They wanted us to takea guard, but after our experience on the Anti-Lebanon, we felt saferwithout one. 

Yesterday we travelled for seven hours over a wide, rolling country, nowwaste and barren, but formerly covered with wealth and supporting anabundant population, evidences of which are found in the buildingseverywhere scattered over the hills. On and on we toiled in the heat, overthis inhospitable wilderness, and though we knew Aleppo must be very near, yet we could see neither sign of cultivation nor inhabitants. Finally, about three o'clock, the top of a line of shattered wall and the points ofsome minarets issued out of the earth, several miles in front of us, andon climbing a glaring chalky ridge, the renowned city burst at once uponour view. It filled a wide hollow or basin among the white hills, againstwhich its whiter houses and domes glimmered for miles, in the dead, drearyheat of the afternoon, scarcely relieved by the narrow belt of gardens onthe nearer side, or the orchards of pistachio trees beyond. In the centreof the city rose a steep, abrupt mound, crowned with the remains of theancient citadel, and shining minarets shot up, singly or in clusters, around its base. The prevailing hue of the landscape was a whitish-gray, and the long, stately city and long, monotonous hills, gleamed with equalbrilliancy under a sky of cloudless and intense blue. This singularmonotony of coloring gave a wonderful effect to the view, which is one ofthe most remarkable in all the Orient. 

Chapter XV. 

Life in Aleppo. 

 Our Entry into Aleppo--We are conducted to a House--Our Unexpected Welcome--The Mystery Explained--Aleppo--Its Name--Its Situation--The Trade of Aleppo--The Christians--The Revolt of 1850--Present Appearance of the City--Visit to Osman Pasha--The Citadel--View from the Battlements--Society in Aleppo--Etiquette and Costume--Jewish Marriage Festivities--A Christian Marriage Procession--Ride around the Town--Nightingales--The Aleppo Button--A Hospital for Cats--Ferhat Pasha. 

Aleppo, _Tuesday, June_ 8, 1852. 

Our entry into Aleppo was a fitting preliminary to our experiences duringthe five days we have spent here. After passing a blackamoor, who acted asan advanced guard of the Custom House, at a ragged tent outside of thecity, and bribing him with two piastres, we crossed the narrow line ofgardens on the western side, and entered the streets. There were manycoffee-houses, filled with smokers, nearly all of whom accosted us inTurkish, though Arabic is the prevailing language here. Ignorance made usdiscourteous, and we slighted every attempt to open a conversation. Out ofthe narrow streets of the suburbs, we advanced to the bazaars, in order tofind a khan where we could obtain lodgings. All the best khans, however, were filled, and we were about to take a very inferior room, when arespectable individual came up to François and said: "The house is readyfor the travellers, and I will show you the way. " We were a littlesurprised at this address, but followed him to a neat, quiet and pleasantstreet near the bazaars, where we were ushered into a spacious court-yard, with a row of apartments opening upon it, and told to make ourselves athome. 

The place had evidently been recently inhabited, for the rooms were wellfurnished, with not only divans, but beds in the Frank style. A leankitten was scratching at one of the windows, to the great danger ofoverturning a pair of narghilehs, a tame sea-gull was walking about thecourt, and two sheep bleated in a stable at the further end. In thekitchen we not only found a variety of utensils, but eggs, salt, pepper, and other condiments. Our guide had left, and the only information wecould get, from a dyeing establishment next door, was that the occupantshad gone into the country. "Take the good the gods provide thee, " is myrule in such cases, and as we were very hungry, we set François to work atpreparing dinner. We arranged a divan in the open air, had a table broughtout, and by the aid of the bakers in the bazaar, and the stores which thekitchen supplied, soon rejoiced over a very palatable meal. The romanticcharacter of our reception made the dinner a merry one. It was a chapterout of the Arabian Nights, and be he genie or afrite, caliph or merchantof Bassora, into whose hands we had fallen, we resolved to let theadventure take its course. We were just finishing a nondescript pastrywhich François found at a baker's, and which, for want of a better name, he called _méringues à la Khorassan, _ when there was a loud knock at thestreet door. We felt at first some little trepidation, but determined tomaintain our places, and gravely invite the real master to join us. 

It was a female servant, however, who, to our great amazement, made aprofound salutation, and seemed delighted to see us. "My master did notexpect your Excellencies to-day; he has gone into the gardens, but willsoon return. Will your Excellencies take coffee after your dinner?" andcoffee was forthwith served. The old woman was unremitting in herattentions; and her son, a boy of eight years, and the most venerablechild I ever saw, entertained us with the description of a horse which hismaster had just bought--a horse which had cost two thousand piastres, andwas ninety years old. Well, this Aleppo is an extraordinary place, was myfirst impression, and the inhabitants are remarkable people; but I waitedthe master's arrival, as the only means of solving the mystery. Aboutdusk, there was another rap at the door. A lady dressed in white, with anIndian handkerchief bound over her black hair, arrived. "Pray excuse us, "said she; "we thought you would not reach here before to-morrow; but mybrother will come directly. " In fact, the brother did come soonafterwards, and greeted us with a still warmer welcome. "Before leavingthe gardens, " he said, "I heard of your arrival, and have come in a fullgallop the whole way. " In order to put an end to this comedy of errors, Ideclared at once that he was mistaken; nobody in Aleppo could possiblyknow of our coming, and we were, perhaps, transgressing on hishospitality. But no: he would not be convinced. He was a dragoman to theEnglish Consulate; his master had told him we would be here the next day, and he must be prepared to receive us. Besides, the janissary of theConsulate had showed us the way to his house. We, therefore, let thematter rest until next morning, when we called on Mr. Very, the Consul, who informed us that the janissary had mistaken us for two gentlemen wehad met in Damascus, the travelling companions of Lord Dalkeith. As theyhad not arrived, he begged us to remain in the quarters which had beenprepared for them. We have every reason to be glad of this mistake, as ithas made us acquainted with one of the most courteous and hospitablegentlemen in the East. 

Aleppo lies so far out of the usual routes of travel, that it is rarelyvisited by Europeans. One is not, therefore, as in the case of Damascus, prepared beforehand by volumes of description, which preclude allpossibility of mistake or surprise. For my part, I only knew that Aleppohad once been the greatest commercial city of the Orient, though its powerhad long since passed into other hands. But there were certain statelyassociations lingering around the name, which drew me towards it, andobliged me to include it, at all hazards, in my Asiatic tour. The scantydescription of Captains Irby and Mangles, the only one I had read, gave meno distinct idea of its position or appearance; and when, the other day, Ifirst saw it looming grand and gray among the gray hills, more like a vastnatural crystallization than the product of human art, I revelled in thenovelty of that startling first impression. 

The tradition of the city's name is curious, and worth relating. It iscalled, in Arabic, _Haleb el-Shahba_--Aleppo, the Gray--which most personssuppose to refer to the prevailing color of the soil. The legend, however, goes much farther. _Haleb_, which the Venetians and Genoese softened intoAleppo, means literally: "has milked, " According to Arab tradition, thepatriarch Abraham once lived here: his tent being pitched near the moundnow occupied by the citadel. He had a certain gray cow (_el-shahba_)which was milked every morning for the benefit of the poor. When, therefore, it was proclaimed: "_Ibrahim haleb el-shahba_" (Abraham hasmilked the gray cow), all the poor of the tribe came up to receive theirshare. The repetition of this morning call attached itself to the spot, and became the name of the city which was afterwards founded. 

Aleppo is built on the eastern slope of a shallow upland basin, throughwhich flows the little River Koweik. There are low hills to the north andsouth, between which the country falls into a wide, monotonous plain, extending unbroken to the Euphrates. The city is from eight to ten milesin circuit, and, though not so thickly populated, covers a greater extentof space than Damascus. The population is estimated at 100, 000. In theexcellence (not the elegance) of its architecture, it surpasses anyOriental city I have yet seen. The houses are all of hewn stone, frequently three and even four stories in height, and built in a mostmassive and durable style, on account of the frequency of earthquakes. Thestreets are well paved, clean, with narrow sidewalks, and less tortuousand intricate than the bewildering alleys of Damascus. A large part of thetown is occupied with bazaars, attesting the splendor of its formercommerce. These establishments are covered with lofty vaults of stone, lighted from the top; and one may walk for miles beneath the spaciousroofs. The shops exhibit all the stuffs of the East, especially of Persiaand India. There is also an extensive display of European fabrics, as theeastern provinces of Asiatic Turkey, as far as Baghdad, are suppliedentirely from Aleppo and Trebizond. 

Within ten years--in fact, since the Allied Powers drove Ibrahim Pashaout of Syria--the trade of Aleppo has increased, at the expense ofDamascus. The tribes of the Desert, who were held in check during theEgyptian occupancy, are now so unruly that much of the commerce betweenthe latter place and Baghdad goes northward to Mosul, and thence by asafer road to this city. The khans, of which there are a great number, built on a scale according with the former magnificence of Aleppo, arenearly all filled, and Persian, Georgian, and Armenian merchants againmake their appearance in the bazaars. The principal manufactures carriedon are the making of shoes (which, indeed, is a prominent branch in everyTurkish city), and the weaving of silk and golden tissues. Two longbazaars are entirely occupied with shoe-shops, and there is nearly aquarter of a mile of confectionery, embracing more varieties than I eversaw, or imagined possible. I saw yesterday the operation of weaving silkand gold, which is a very slow process. The warp and the body of the woofwere of purple silk. The loom only differed from the old hand-looms ingeneral use in having some thirty or forty contrivances for lifting thethreads of the warp, so as to form, by variation, certain patterns. Thegold threads by which the pattern was worked were contained in twentysmall shuttles, thrust by hand under the different parcels of the warp, asthey were raised by a boy trained for that purpose, who sat on the top ofthe loom. The fabric was very brilliant in its appearance, and sells, asthe weavers informed me, at 100 piastres per _pik_--about $7 per yard. 

We had letters to Mr. Ford, an American Missionary established here, andSignor di Picciotto, who acts as American Vice-Consul. Both gentlemen havebeen very cordial in their offers of service, and by their aid we havebeen enabled to see something of Aleppo life and society. Mr. Ford, whohas been here four years, has a pleasant residence at Jedaida, a Christiansuburb of the city. His congregation numbers some fifty or sixtyproselytes, who are mostly from the schismatic sects of the Armenians. Dr. Smith, who established the mission at Ain-tab (two days' journey north ofthis), where he died last year, was very successful among these sects, andthe congregation there amounts to nine hundred. The Sultan, a year ago, issued a firman, permitting his Christian subjects to erect houses ofworship; but, although this was proclaimed in Constantinople and muchlauded in Europe as an act of great generosity and tolerance, there hasbeen no official promulgation of it here. So of the aid which the TurkishGovernment was said to have afforded to its destitute Christian subjects, whose houses were sacked during the fanatical rebellion of 1850. The worldpraised the Sultan's charity and love of justice, while the sufferers, tothis day, lack the first experience of it. But for the spontaneous reliefcontributed in Europe and among the Christian communities of the Levant, the amount of misery would have been frightful. 

To Feridj Pasha, who is at present the commander of the forces here, ismainly due the credit of having put down the rebels with a strong hand. There were but few troops in the city at the time of the outbreak, and asthe insurgents, who were composed of the Turkish and Arab population, werein league with the Aneyzehs of the Desert, the least faltering or delaywould have led to a universal massacre of the Christians. Fortunately, thetroops were divided into two portions, one occupying the barracks on ahill north of the city, and the other, a mere corporal's guard of a dozenmen, posted in the citadel. The leaders of the outbreak went to the latterand offered him a large sum of money (the spoils of Christian houses) togive up the fortress. With a loyalty to his duty truly miraculous amongthe Turks, he ordered his men to fire upon them, and they beat a hastyretreat. The quarter of the insurgents lay precisely between the barracksand the citadel, and by order of Feridj Pasha a cannonade was immediatelyopened on it from both points. It was not, however, until many houses hadbeen battered down, and a still larger number destroyed by fire, that therebels were brought to submission. Their allies, the Aneyzehs, appeared onthe hill east of Aleppo, to the number of five or six thousand, but a fewwell-directed cannon-balls told them what they might expect, and theyspeedily retreated. Two or three hundred Christian families lost nearlyall of their property during the sack, and many were left entirelydestitute. The house in which Mr. Ford lives was plundered of jewels andfurniture to the amount of 400, 000 piastres ($20, 000). The robbers, it issaid, were amazed at the amount of spoil they found. The Government madesome feeble efforts to recover it, but the greater part was already soldand scattered through a thousand hands, and the unfortunate Christianshave only received about seven per cent. Of their loss. 

The burnt quarter has since been rebuilt, and I noticed several Christiansoccupying shops in various parts of it. But many families, who fled at thetime, still remain in various parts of Syria, afraid to return to theirhomes. The Aneyzehs and other Desert tribes have latterly become moredaring than ever. Even in the immediate neighborhood of the city, theinhabitants are so fearful of them that all the grain is brought up tothe very walls to be threshed. The burying-grounds on both sides are nowturned into threshing-floors, and all day long the Turkish peasants drivetheir heavy sleds around among the tomb-stones. 

On the second day after our arrival, we paid a visit to Osman Pasha, Governor of the City and Province of Aleppo. We went in state, accompaniedby the Consul, with two janissaries in front, bearing silver maces, and adragoman behind. The _seraï_, or palace, is a large, plain woodenbuilding, and a group of soldiers about the door, with a shabby carriagein the court, were the only tokens of its character. We were ushered atonce into the presence of the Pasha, who is a man of about seventy years, with a good-humored, though shrewd face. He was quite cordial in hismanners, complimenting us on our Turkish costume, and vaunting his skillin physiognomy, which at once revealed to him that we belonged to thehighest class of American nobility. In fact, in the firman which he hassince sent us, we are mentioned as "nobles. " He invited us to pass a dayor two with him, saying that he should derive much benefit from oursuperior knowledge. We replied that such an intercourse could only benefitourselves, as his greater experience, and the distinguished wisdom whichhad made his name long since familiar to our ears, precluded the hope ofour being of any service to him. After half an hour's stay, during whichwe were regaled with jewelled pipes, exquisite Mocha coffee, and sherbetbreathing of the gardens of Gülistan, we took our leave. 

The Pasha sent an officer to show us the citadel. We passed around themoat to the entrance on the western side, consisting of a bridge anddouble gateway. The fortress, as I have already stated, occupies the crestof an elliptical mound, about one thousand feet by six hundred, and twohundred feet in height. It is entirely encompassed by the city and forms aprominent and picturesque feature in the distant view thereof. Formerly, it was thickly inhabited, and at the time of the great earthquake of 1822, there were three hundred families living within the walls, nearly all ofwhom perished. The outer walls were very much shattered on that occasion, but the enormous towers and the gateway, the grandest specimen ofSaracenic architecture in the East, still remain entire. This gateway, bywhich we entered, is colossal in its proportions. The outer entrance, through walls ten feet thick, admitted us into a lofty vestibule linedwith marble, and containing many ancient inscriptions in mosaic. Over themain portal, which is adorned with sculptured lions' heads, there is atablet stating that the fortress was built by El Melek el Ashraf (theHoliest of Kings), after which follows: "Prosperity to the TrueBelievers--Death to the Infidels!" A second tablet shows that it wasafterwards repaired by Mohammed ebn-Berkook, who, I believe, was one ofthe Fatimite Caliphs. The shekh of the citadel, who accompanied us, statedthe age of the structure at nine hundred years, which, as nearly as I canrecollect the Saracenic chronology, is correct. He called our attention tonumbers of iron arrow-heads sticking in the solid masonry--the marks ofancient sieges. Before leaving, we were presented with a bundle of arrowsfrom the armory--undoubted relics of Saracen warfare. 

The citadel is now a mass of ruins, having been deserted since theearthquake. Grass is growing on the ramparts, and the caper plant, withits white-and-purple blossoms, flourishes among the piles of rubbish. Since the late rebellion, however, a small military barrack has beenbuilt, and two companies of soldiers are stationed there, We walked aroundthe walls, which command a magnificent view of the city and the wideplains to the south and east. It well deserves to rank with the panoramaof Cairo from the citadel, and that of Damascus from the Anti-Lebanon, inextent, picturesqueness and rich oriental character. Out of the gray ringof the city, which incloses the mound, rise the great white domes and thewhiter minarets of its numerous mosques, many of which are grand andimposing structures. The course of the river through the centre of thepicture is marked by a belt of the greenest verdure, beyond which, to thewest, rises a chain of naked red hills, and still further, fading on thehorizon, the blue summit of Mt. St. Simon, and the coast range of AkmaDagh. Eastward, over vast orchards of pistachio trees, the barren plain ofthe Euphrates fades away to a glimmering, hot horizon. Looking downwardson the heart of the city, I was surprised to see a number of open, grassytracts, out of which, here and there, small trees were growing. But, perceiving what appeared to be subterranean entrances at various points, Ifound that these tracts were upon the roofs of the houses and bazaars, verifying what I had frequently heard, that in Aleppo the inhabitantsvisit their friends in different parts of the city, by passing over theroofs of the houses. Previous to the earthquake of 1822, these vastroof-plains were cultivated as gardens, and presented an extent of airybowers as large, if not as magnificent, as the renowned Hanging Gardens ofancient Babylon. 

Accompanied by Signor di Picciotto, we spent two or three days invisiting the houses of the principal Jewish and Christian families inAleppo. We found, it is true, no such splendor as in Damascus, but moresolid and durable architecture, and a more chastened elegance of taste. The buildings are all of hewn stone, the court-yards paved with marble, and the walls rich with gilding and carved wood. Some of the largerdwellings have small but beautiful gardens attached to them. We wereeverywhere received with the greatest hospitality, and the visits wereconsidered as a favor rather than an intrusion. Indeed, I was frequentlyobliged to run the risk of giving offence, by declining the refreshmentswhich were offered us. Each round of visits was a feat of strength, and wewere obliged to desist from sheer inability to support more coffee, rose-water, pipes, and aromatic sweetmeats. The character of society inAleppo is singular; its very life and essence is etiquette. The laws whichgovern it are more inviolable than those of the Medes and Persians. Thequestion of precedence among the different families is adjusted by themost delicate scale, and rigorously adhered to in the most triflingmatters. Even we, humble voyagers as we are, have been obliged to regulateour conduct according to it. After our having visited certain families, certain others would have been deeply mortified had we neglected to callupon them. Formerly, when a traveller arrived here, he was expected tocall upon the different Consuls, in the order of their establishedprecedence: the Austrian first, English second, French third, &c. Afterthis, he was obliged to stay at home several days, to give the Consuls anopportunity of returning the visits, which they made in the same order. There was a diplomatic importance about all his movements, and the leastviolation of etiquette, through ignorance or neglect, was the town talkfor days. 

This peculiarity in society is evidently a relic of the formal times, whenAleppo was a semi-Venetian city, and the opulent seat of Eastern commerce. Many of the inhabitants are descended from the traders of those times, andthey all speak the _lingua franca_, or Levantine Italian. The women wear acostume partly Turkish and partly European, combining the graces of both;it is, in my eyes, the most beautiful dress in the world. They wear a richscarf of some dark color on the head, which, on festive occasions, isalmost concealed by their jewels, and the heavy scarlet pomegranateblossoms which adorn their dark hair. A Turkish vest and sleeves ofembroidered silk, open in front, and a skirt of white or some light color, completes the costume. The Jewesses wear in addition a short Turkish_caftan_, and full trousers gathered at the ankles. At a ball given by Mr. Very, the English Consul, which we attended, all the Christian beauties ofAleppo were present. There was a fine display of diamonds, many of theladies wearing several thousand dollars' worth on their heads. Thepeculiar etiquette of the place was again illustrated on this occasion. The custom is, that the music must be heard for at least one hour beforethe guests come. The hour appointed was eight, but when we went there, atnine, nobody had arrived. As it was generally supposed that the ball wasgiven on our account, several of the families had servants in theneighborhood to watch our arrival; and, accordingly, we had not been therefive minutes before the guests crowded through the door in large numbers. When the first dance (an Arab dance, performed by two ladies at a time)was proposed, the wives of the French and Spanish Consuls were first led, or rather dragged, out. When a lady is asked to dance, she invariablyrefuses. She is asked a second and a third time; and if the gentleman doesnot solicit most earnestly, and use some gentle force in getting her uponthe floor, she never forgives him. 

At one of the Jewish houses which we visited, the wedding festivities ofone of the daughters were being celebrated. We were welcomed with greatcordiality, and immediately ushered into the room of state, an elegantapartment, overlooking the gardens below the city wall. Half the room wasoccupied by a raised platform, with a divan of blue silk cushions. Herethe ladies reclined, in superb dresses of blue, pink, and gold, while thegentlemen were ranged on the floor below. They all rose at our entrance, and we were conducted to seats among the ladies. Pipes and perfumed drinkswere served, and the bridal cake, made of twenty-six different fruits, waspresented on a golden salver. Our fair neighbors, some of whom literallyblazed with jewels, were strikingly beautiful. Presently the brideappeared at the door, and we all rose and remained standing, as sheadvanced, supported on each side by the two _shebeeniyeh_, or bridesmaids. She was about sixteen, slight and graceful in appearance, though notdecidedly beautiful, and was attired with the utmost elegance. Her dresswas a pale blue silk, heavy with gold embroidery; and over her long darkhair, her neck, bosom, and wrists, played a thousand rainbow gleams fromthe jewels which covered them. The Jewish musicians, seated at the bottomof the hall, struck up a loud, rejoicing harmony on their violins, guitars, and dulcimers, and the women servants, grouped at the door, uttered in chorus that wild, shrill cry, which accompanies all suchfestivals in the East. The bride was careful to preserve the decorumexpected of her, by speaking no word, nor losing the sad, resignedexpression of her countenance. She ascended to the divan, bowed to each ofus with a low, reverential inclination, and seated herself on thecushions. The music and dances lasted some time, accompanied by the_zughàreet_, or cry of the women, which was repeated with double forcewhen we rose to take leave. The whole company waited on us to the streetdoor, and one of the servants, stationed in the court, shouted some long, sing-song phrases after us as we passed out. I could not learn the words, but was told that it was an invocation of prosperity upon us, in returnfor the honor which our visit had conferred. 

In the evening I went to view a Christian marriage procession, which, about midnight, conveyed the bride to the house of the bridegroom. Thehouse, it appeared, was too small to receive all the friends of thefamily, and I joined a large number of them, who repaired to the terraceof the English Consulate, to greet the procession as it passed. The firstpersons who appeared were a company of buffoons; after them fourjanissaries, carrying silver maces; then the male friends, bearing coloredlanterns and perfumed torches, raised on gilded poles; then the females, among whom I saw some beautiful Madonna faces in the torchlight; andfinally the bride herself, covered from head to foot with a veil of clothof gold, and urged along by two maidens: for it is the etiquette of suchoccasions that the bride should resist being taken, and must be forcedevery step of the way, so that she is frequently three hours in going thedistance of a mile. We watched the procession a long time, winding awaythrough the streets--a line of torches, and songs, and incense, and noisyjubilee--under the sweet starlit heaven. 

The other evening, Signor di Picciotto mounted us from his fine Arabianstud, and we rode around the city, outside of the suburbs. The sun waslow, and a pale yellow lustre touched the clusters of minarets that roseout of the stately masses of buildings, and the bare, chalky hills to thenorth. After leaving the gardens on the banks of the Koweik, we came upona dreary waste of ruins, among which the antiquarian finds traces of theancient Aleppo of the Greeks, the Mongolian conquerors of the Middle Ages, and the Saracens who succeeded them. There are many mosques and tombs, which were once imposing specimens of Saracenic art; but now, split andshivered by wars and earthquakes, are slowly tumbling into utter decay. Onthe south-eastern side of the city, its chalk foundations have beenhollowed into vast, arched caverns, which extend deep into the earth. Pillars have been left at regular intervals, to support the masses above, and their huge, dim labyrinths resemble the crypts of some greatcathedral. They are now used as rope-walks, and filled with cheerfulworkmen. 

Our last excursion was to a country-house of Signor di Picciotto, in theGardens of Babala, about four miles from Aleppo. We set out in theafternoon on our Arabians, with our host's son on a large white donkey ofthe Baghdad breed. Passing the Turkish cemetery, where we stopped to viewthe tomb of General Bem, we loosened rein and sped away at full gallopover the hot, white hills. In dashing down a stony rise, the ambitiousdonkey, who was doing his best to keep up with the horses, fell, hurlingMaster Picciotto over his head. The boy was bruised a little, but set histeeth together and showed no sign of pain, mounted again, and followedus. The Gardens of Babala are a wilderness of fruit-trees, like those ofDamascus. Signor P. 's country-house is buried in a wild grove of apricot, fig, orange, and pomegranate-trees. A large marble tank, in front of theopen, arched _liwan_, supplies it with water. We mounted to the flat roof, and watched the sunset fade from the beautiful landscape. Beyond thebowers of dazzling greenness which surrounded us, stretched the wide, grayhills; the minarets of Aleppo, and the walls of its castled mount shonerosily in the last rays of the sun; an old palace of the Pashas, with thelong, low barracks of the soldiery, crowned the top of a hill to thenorth; dark, spiry cypresses betrayed the place of tombs; and, to thewest, beyond the bare red peak of Mount St. Simon, rose the faint blueoutline of Giaour Dagh, whose mural chain divides Syria from the plains ofCilicia. As the twilight deepened over the scene, there came a long, melodious cry of passion and of sorrow from the heart of a starry-floweredpomegranate tree in the garden. Other voices answered it from the gardensaround, until not one, but fifty nightingales charmed the repose of thehour. They vied with each other in their bursts of passionate music. Eachstrain soared over the last, or united with others, near and far, in achorus of the divinest pathos--an expression of sweet, unutterable, unquenchable longing. It was an ecstasy, yet a pain, to listen. "Away!"said Jean Paul to Music: "thou tellest me of that which I have not, andnever can have--which I forever seek, and never find!"

But space fails me to describe half the incidents of our stay in Aleppo. There are two things peculiar to the city, however, which I must not omitmentioning. One is the Aleppo Button, a singular ulcer, which attacksevery person born in the city, and every stranger who spends more than amonth there. It can neither be prevented nor cured, and always lasts for ayear. The inhabitants almost invariably have it on the face--either on thecheek, forehead, or tip of the nose--where it often leaves an indelibleand disfiguring scar. Strangers, on the contrary, have it on one of thejoints; either the elbow, wrist, knee, or ankle. So strictly is itsvisitation confined to the city proper, that in none of the neighboringvillages, nor even in a distant suburb, is it known. Physicians havevainly attempted to prevent it by inoculation, and are at a loss to whatcause to ascribe it. We are liable to have it, even after five days' stay;but I hope it will postpone its appearance until after I reach home. 

The other remarkable thing here is the Hospital for Cats. This was foundedlong ago by a rich, cat-loving Mussulman, and is one of the best endowedinstitutions in the city. An old mosque is appropriated to the purpose, under the charge of several directors; and here sick cats are nursed, homeless cats find shelter, and decrepit cats gratefully purr away theirdeclining years. The whole category embraces several hundreds, and it isquite a sight to behold the court, the corridors, and terraces of themosque swarming with them. Here, one with a bruised limb is receiving acataplasm; there, a cataleptic patient is tenderly cared for; and so on, through the long concatenation of feline diseases. Aleppo, moreover, rejoices in a greater number of cats than even Jerusalem. At a roughguess, I should thus state the population of the city: Turks and Arabs, 70, 000; Christians of all denominations, 15, 000; Jews, 10, 000; dogs, 12, 000; and cats, 8, 000. 

Among other persons whom I have met here, is Ferhat Pasha, formerlyGeneral Stein, Hungarian Minister of War, and Governor of Transylvania. Heaccepted Moslemism with Bem and others, and now rejoices in hiscircumcision and 7, 000 piastres a month. He is a fat, companionable sortof man; who, by his own confession, never labored very zealously for theindependence of Hungary, being an Austrian by birth. He conversed with mefor several hours on the scenes in which he had participated, andattributed the failure of the Hungarians to the want of material means. General Bem, who died here, is spoken of with the utmost respect, both byTurks and Christians. The former have honored him with a large tomb, ormausoleum, covered with a dome. 

But I must close, leaving half unsaid. Suffice it to say that no Orientalcity has interested me so profoundly as Aleppo, and in none have Ireceived such universal and cordial hospitality. We leave to-morrow forAsia Minor, having engaged men and horses for the whole route toConstantinople. 

Chapter XVI. 

Through the Syrian Gates. 

 An Inauspicious Departure--The Ruined Church of St. Simon--The Plain of Antioch--A Turcoman Encampment--Climbing Akma Dagh--The Syrian Gates--Scanderoon--An American Captain--Revolt of the Koords--We take a Guard--The Field of Issus--The Robber-Chief, Kutchuk Ali--A Deserted Town--A Land of Gardens. 

 "Mountains, on whose barren breast The lab'ring clouds do often rest. "

 Milton. 

In Quarantine (Adana, Asia Minor), _Tuesday, June_ 15, 1852. 

We left Aleppo on the morning of the 9th, under circumstances not the mostpromising for the harmony of our journey. We had engaged horses andbaggage-mules from the _capidji_, or chief of the muleteers, and in orderto be certain of having animals that would not break down on the way, madea particular selection from a number that were brought us. When aboutleaving the city, however, we discovered that one of the horses had beenchanged. Signor di Picciotto, who accompanied us past the Custom-Housebarriers, immediately dispatched the delinquent muleteer to bring back thetrue horse, and the latter made a farce of trying to find him, leading theConsul and the capidji (who, I believe, was at the bottom of the cheat) awild-goose chase over the hills around Aleppo, where of course, the animalwas not to be seen. When, at length, we had waited three hours, and hadwandered about four miles from the city, we gave up the search, took leaveof the Consul and went on with the new horse. Our proper plan would havebeen to pitch the tent and refuse to move till the matter was settled. Theanimal, as we discovered during the first day's journey, was hopelesslylame, and we only added to the difficulty by taking him. 

We rode westward all day over barren and stony hills, meeting withabundant traces of the power and prosperity of this region during thetimes of the Greek Emperors. The nevastation wrought by earthquakes hasbeen terrible; there is scarcely a wall or arch standing, which does notbear marks of having been violently shaken. The walls inclosing thefig-orchards near the villages contain many stones with Greekinscriptions, and fragments of cornices. We encamped the first night onthe plain at the foot of Mount St. Simon, and not far from the ruins ofthe celebrated Church of the same name. The building stands in a stonywilderness at the foot of the mountain. It is about a hundred feet longand thirty in height, with two lofty square towers in front. The pavementof the interior is entirely concealed by the masses of pillars, capitals, and hewn blocks that lie heaped upon it. The windows, which are of thetall, narrow, arched form, common in Byzantine Churches, have a commonmoulding which falls like a mantle over and between them. The generaleffect of the Church is very fine, though there is much inelegance in thesculptured details. At the extremity is a half-dome of massive stone, overthe place of the altar, and just in front of this formerly stood thepedestal whereon, according to tradition, St. Simeon Stylites commencedhis pillar-life. I found a recent excavation at the spot, but nopedestal, which has probably been carried off by the Greek monks. Besidethe Church stands a large building, with an upper and lower balcony, supported by square stone pillars, around three sides. There is also apaved court-yard, a large cistern cut in the rock and numerousout-buildings, all going to confirm the supposition of its having been amonastery. The main building is three stories high, with pointed gables, and bears a strong resemblance to an American summer hotel, with verandas. Several ancient fig and walnut trees are growing among the ruins, and addto their picturesque appearance. 

The next day we crossed a broad chain of hills to the Plain of Antioch, which we reached near its northern extremity. In one of the valleysthrough which the road lay, we saw a number of hot sulphur springs, someof them of a considerable volume of water. Not far from them was abeautiful fountain of fresh and cold water gushing from the foot of a highrock. Soon after reaching the plain, we crossed the stream of Kara Su, which feeds the Lake of Antioch. This part of the plain is low and swampy, and the streams are literally alive with fish. While passing over thebridge I saw many hundreds, from one to two feet in length. We wanderedthrough the marshy meadows for two or three hours, and towards sunsetreached a Turcoman encampment, where the ground was dry enough to pitchour tents. The rude tribe received us hospitably, and sent us milk andcheese in abundance. I visited the tent of the Shekh, who was verycourteous, but as he knew no language but Turkish, our conversation wasrestricted to signs. The tent was of camel's-hair cloth, spacious, andopen at the sides. A rug was spread for me, and the Shekh's wife broughtme a pipe of tolerable tobacco. The household were seated upon theground, chatting pleasantly with one another, and apparently not in theleast disturbed by my presence. One of the Shekh's sons, who was deaf anddumb, came and sat before me, and described by very expressive signs thecharacter of the road to Scanderoon. He gave me to understand that therewere robbers in the mountains, with many grim gestures descriptive ofstabbing and firing muskets. 

The mosquitoes were so thick during the night that we were obliged to fillthe tent with smoke in order to sleep. When morning came, we fancied therewould be a relief for us, but it only brought a worse pest, in the shapeof swarms of black gnats, similar to those which so tormented me in Nubia. I know of no infliction so terrible as these gnats, which you cannot driveaway, and which assail ears, eyes, and nostrils in such quantities thatyou become mad and desperate in your efforts to eject them. Through glensfilled with oleander, we ascended the first slopes of Akma Dagh, themountain range which divides the Gulf of Scanderoon from the Plain ofAntioch. Then, passing a natural terrace, covered with groves of oak, ourroad took the mountain side, climbing upwards in the shadow of pine andwild olive trees, and between banks of blooming lavender and myrtle. Wesaw two or three companies of armed guards, stationed by the road-side, for the mountain is infested with robbers, and a caravan had beenplundered only three days before. The view, looking backward, took in thewhole plain, with the Lake of Antioch glittering in the centre, the valleyof the Orontes in the south, and the lofty cone of Djebel-Okrab far to thewest. As we approached the summit, violent gusts of wind blew through thepass with such force as almost to overturn our horses. Here the road fromAntioch joins that from Aleppo, and both for some distance retain theancient pavement. 

From the western side we saw the sea once more, and went down through the_Pylæ Syriæ_, or Syrian Gates, as this defile was called by the Romans. Itis very narrow and rugged, with an abrupt descent. In an hour from thesummit we came upon an aqueduct of a triple row of arches, crossing thegorge. It is still used to carry water to the town of Beilan, which hangsover the mouth of the pass, half a mile below. This is one of the mostpicturesque spots in Syria. The houses cling to the sides and cluster onthe summits of precipitous crags, and every shelf of soil, every crevicewhere a tree can thrust its roots, upholds a mass of brilliant vegetation. Water is the life of the place. It gushes into the street from exhaustlessfountains; it trickles from the terraces in showers of misty drops; ittumbles into the gorge in sparkling streams; and everywhere it nourishes alife as bright and beautiful as its own. The fruit trees are of enormoussize, and the crags are curtained with a magnificent drapery of vines. This green gateway opens suddenly upon another, cut through a glitteringmass of micaceous rock, whence one looks down on the town and Gulf ofScanderoon, the coast of Karamania beyond, and the distant snows of theTaurus. We descended through groves of pine and oak, and in three hoursmore reached the shore. 

Scanderoon is the most unhealthy place on the Syrian Coast, owing to themalaria from a marsh behind it. The inhabitants are a wretched pallid set, who are visited every year with devastating fevers. The marsh was partlydrained some forty years ago by the Turkish government, and a fewthousand dollars would be sufficient to remove it entirely, and make theplace--which is of some importance as the seaport of Aleppo--healthy andhabitable. At present, there are not five hundred inhabitants, and half ofthese consist of the Turkish garrison and the persons attached to thedifferent Vice-Consulates. The streets are depositories of filth, andpools of stagnant water, on all sides, exhale the most fetid odors. Nearthe town are the ruins of a castle built by Godfrey of Bouillon. Wemarched directly down to the sea-shore, and pitched our tent close besidethe waves, as the place most free from malaria. There were a dozen vesselsat anchor in the road, and one of them proved to be the American barkColumbia, Capt. Taylor. We took a skiff and went on board, where we werecordially welcomed by the mate. In the evening, the captain came to ourtent, quite surprised to find two wandering Americans in such a lonelycorner of the world. Soon afterwards, with true seaman-like generosity, hereturned, bringing a jar of fine Spanish olives and a large bottle ofpickles, which he insisted on adding to our supplies. The olives have thechoicest Andalusian flavor, and the pickles lose none of their relish fromhaving been put up in New York. 

The road from Scanderoon to this place lies mostly along the shore of thegulf, at the foot of Akma Dagh, and is reckoned dangerous on account ofthe marauding bands of Koords who infest the mountains. These people, likethe Druses, have rebelled against the conscription, and will probably holdtheir ground with equal success, though the Turks talk loudly of invadingtheir strongholds. Two weeks ago, the post was robbed, about ten milesfrom Scanderoon, and a government vessel, now lying at anchor in the bay, opened a cannonade on the plunderers, before they could be secured. Inconsequence of the warnings of danger in everybody's mouth, we decided totake an escort, and therefore waited upon the commander of the forces, with the firman of the Pasha of Aleppo. A convoy of two soldiers was atonce promised us; and at sunrise, next morning, they took the lead of ourcaravan. 

In order to appear more formidable, in case we should meet with robbers, we put on our Frank pantaloons, which had no other effect than to make theheat more intolerable. But we formed rather a fierce cavalcade, six armedmen in all. Our road followed the shore of the bay, having a narrow, uninhabited flat, covered with thickets of myrtle and mastic, between usand the mountains. The two soldiers, more valiant than the guard ofBanias, rode in advance, and showed no signs of fear as we approached thesuspicious places. The morning was delightfully clear, and thesnow-crowned range of Taurus shone through the soft vapors hanging overthe gulf. In one place, we skirted the shore for some distance, under abank twenty feet in height, and so completely mantled with shrubbery, thata small army might have hidden in it. There were gulleys at intervals, opening suddenly on our path, and we looked up them, expecting everymoment to see the gleam of a Koordish gun-barrel, or a Turcoman spear, above the tops of the myrtles. 

Crossing a promontory which makes out from the mountains, we came upon therenowned plain of Issus, where Darius lost his kingdom to Alexander. On alow cliff overhanging the sea, there are the remains of a single tower ofgray stone. The people in Scanderoon call it "Jonah's Pillar, " and saythat it marks the spot where the Ninevite was cast ashore by the whale. [This makes three places on the Syrian coast where Jonah was vomitedforth. ] The plain of Issus is from two to three miles long, but not morethan half a mile wide, It is traversed by a little river, supposed to bethe Pinarus, which comes down through a tremendous cleft in the Akma Dagh. The ground seems too small for the battle-field of such armies as wereengaged on the occasion. It is bounded on the north by a low hill, separating it from the plain of Baïas, and it is possible that Alexandermay have made choice of this position, leaving the unwieldy forces ofDarius to attack him from the plain. His advantage would be greater, onaccount of the long, narrow form of the ground, which would prevent himfrom being engaged with more than a small portion of the Persian army, atone time. The plain is now roseate with blooming oleanders, but almostentirely uncultivated. About midway there are the remains of an ancientquay jutting into the sea. 

Soon after leaving the field of Issus, we reached the town of Baïas, whichis pleasantly situated on the shore, at the mouth of a river whose coursethrough the plain is marked with rows of tall poplar trees. The walls ofthe town, and the white dome and minaret of its mosque, rose dazzlinglyagainst the dark blue of the sea, and the purple stretch of the mountainsof Karamania. A single palm lifted its crest in the foreground. Wedismounted for breakfast under the shade of an old bridge which crossesthe river. It was a charming spot, the banks above and below beingoverhung with oleander, white rose, honeysuckle and clematis. The twoguardsmen finished the remaining half of our Turcoman cheese, and almostexhausted our supply of bread. I gave one of them a cigar, which he was ata loss how to smoke, until our muleteer showed him. 

Baïas was celebrated fifty years ago, as the residence of the robberchief, Kutchuk Ali, who, for a long time, braved the authority of thePorte itself. He was in the habit of levying a yearly tribute on thecaravan to Mecca, and the better to enforce his claims, often suspendedtwo or three of his captives at the gates of the town, a day or two beforethe caravan arrived. Several expeditions were sent against him, but healways succeeded in bribing the commanders, who, on their return toConstantinople, made such representations that Kutchuk Ali, instead ofbeing punished, received one dignity after another, until finally heattained the rank of a Pasha of two tails. This emboldened him to commitenormities too great to be overlooked, and in 1812 Baïas was taken, andthe atrocious nest of land-pirates broken up. 

I knew that the town had been sacked on this occasion, but was notprepared to find such a complete picture of desolation. The place issurrounded with a substantial wall, with two gateways, on the north andsouth. A bazaar, covered with a lofty vaulted roof of stone, runs directlythrough from gate to gate; and there was still a smell of spices in theair, on entering. The massive shops on either hand, with their open doors, invited possession, and might readily be made habitable again. The greatiron gates leading from the bazaar into the khans and courts, still swingon their rusty hinges. We rode into the court of the mosque, which issurrounded with a light and elegant corridor, supported by pillars. Thegrass has as yet but partially invaded the marble pavement, and a stonedrinking-trough still stands in the centre. I urged my horse up the stepsand into the door of the mosque. It is in the form of a Greek cross, witha dome in the centre, resting on four very elegant pointed arches. Thereis an elaborately gilded and painted gallery of wood over the entrance, and the pulpit opposite is as well preserved as if the _mollah_ had justleft it. Out of the mosque we passed into a second court, and then over anarrow bridge into the fortress. The moat is perfect, and the walls ascomplete as if just erected. Only the bottom is dry, and now covered witha thicket of wild pomegranate trees. The heavy iron doors of the fortressswung half open, as we entered unchallenged. The interior is almostentire, and some of the cannon still lie buried in the springing grass. The plan of the little town, which appears to have been all built at onetime, is most admirable. The walls of circuit, including the fortress, cannot be more than 300 yards square, and yet none of the characteristicsof a large Oriental city are omitted. 

Leaving Baïas, we travelled northward, over a waste, though fertile plain. The mountains on our right made a grand appearance, with their feetmantled in myrtle, and their tops plumed with pine. They rise from the seawith a long, bold sweep, but each peak falls off in a precipice on theopposite side, as if the chain were the barrier of the world and there wasnothing but space beyond. In the afternoon we left the plain for a belt ofglorious garden land, made by streams that came down from the mountains. We entered a lane embowered in pomegranate, white rose, clematis, andother flowering vines and shrubs, and overarched by superb plane, lime, and beech trees, chained together with giant grape vines. On either sidewere fields of ripe wheat and barley, mulberry orchards and groves offruit trees, under the shade of which the Turkish families sat or sleptduring the hot hours of the day. Birds sang in the boughs, and thegurgling of water made a cool undertone to their music. Out of fairylandwhere shall I see again such lovely bowers? We were glad when the soldiersannounced that it was necessary to encamp there; as we should find noother habitations for more than twenty miles. 

Our tent was pitched under a grand sycamore, beside a swift mountainstream which almost made the circuit of our camp. Beyond the tops of theelm, beech, and fig groves, we saw the picturesque green summits of thelower ranges of Giaour Dagh, in the north-east, while over the southernmeadows a golden gleam of sunshine lay upon the Gulf of Scanderoon. Thevillage near us was Chaya, where there is a military station. The guardswe had brought from Scanderoon here left us; but the commanding officeradvised us to take others on the morrow, as the road was still consideredunsafe. 

Chapter XVII. 

Adana and Tarsus. 

 The Black Gate--The Plain of Cilicia--A Koord Village--Missis--Cilician Scenery--Arrival at Adana--Three days in Quarantine--We receive Pratique--A Landscape--The Plain of Tarsus--The River Cydnus--A Vision of Cleopatra--Tarsus and its Environs--The _Duniktash_--The Moon of Ramazan. 

 "Paul said, I am a man which am a Jew of Tarsus, a city in Cilicia, a citizen of no mean city. "--Acts, xxi. 89. 

Khan on Mt. Taurus, _Saturday, June_ 19, 1852. 

We left our camp at Chaya at dawn, with an escort of three soldiers, whichwe borrowed from the guard stationed at that place. The path led along theshore, through clumps of myrtle beaten inland by the wind, and rounded assmoothly as if they had been clipped by a gardener's shears. As weapproached the head of the gulf, the peaked summits of Giaour Dagh, 10, 000feet in height, appeared in the north-east. The streams we forded swarmedwith immense trout. A brown hedgehog ran across our road, but when Itouched him with the end of my pipe, rolled himself into an imperviousball of prickles. Soon after turning the head of the gulf, the roadswerved off to the west, and entered a narrow pass, between hills coveredwith thick copse-wood. Here we came upon an ancient gateway of black lavastone, which bears marks of great antiquity It is now called _Kara Kapu, _the "Black Gate, " and some suppose it to have been one of the ancientgates of Cilicia. 

Beyond this, our road led over high, grassy hills, without a sign of humanhabitation, to the ruined khan of Koord Koolak, We dismounted and unloadedour baggage in the spacious stone archway, and drove our beasts into thedark, vaulted halls behind. The building was originally intended for amagazine of supplies, and from the ruined mosque near it, I suspect it wasformerly one of the caravan stations for the pilgrims from Constantinopleto Mecca. The weather was intensely hot and sultry, and our animals werealmost crazy from the attacks of a large yellow gad-fly. After the noondayheat was over we descended to the first Cilician plain, which is boundedon the west by the range of Durdun Dagh. As we had now passed the mostdangerous part of the road, we dismissed the three soldiers and took but asingle man with us. The entire plain is covered with wild fennel, six toeight feet in height, and literally blazing with its bloomy yellow tops. Riding through it, I could barely look over them, and far and wide, on allsides, spread a golden sea, out of which the long violet hills rose withthe liveliest effect. Brown, shining serpents, from four to six feet inlength, frequently slid across our path. The plain, which must be sixtymiles in circumference, is wholly uncultivated, though no land couldpossibly be richer. 

Out of the region of fennel we passed into one of red and white clover, timothy grass and wild oats. The thistles were so large as to resembleyoung palm-trees, and the salsify of our gardens grew rank and wild. Atlength we dipped into the evening shadow of Durdun Dagh, and reached thevillage of Koord Keui, on his lower slope. As there was no place for ourtent on the rank grass of the plain or the steep side of the hill, we tookforcible possession of the winnowing-floor, a flat terrace built up undertwo sycamores, and still covered with the chaff of the last threshing. TheKoords took the whole thing as a matter of course, and even brought us afelt carpet to rest upon. They came and seated themselves around us, chatting sociably, while we lay in the tent-door, smoking the pipe ofrefreshment. The view over the wide golden plain, and the hills beyond, tothe distant, snow-tipped peaks of Akma Dagh, was superb, as the shadow ofthe mountain behind us slowly lengthened over it, blotting out the mellowlights of sunset. There were many fragments of pillars and capitals ofwhite marble built up in the houses, showing that they occupied the siteof some ancient village or temple. 

The next morning, we crossed Durdun Dagh, and entered the great plain ofCilicia. The range, after we had passed it, presented a grand, bold, broken outline, blue in the morning vapor, and wreathed with shiftingbelts of cloud. A stately castle, called the Palace of Serpents, on thesummit of an isolated peak to the north, stood out clear and high, in themidst of a circle of fog, like a phantom picture of the air. The RiverJyhoon, the ancient Pyramus, which rises on the borders of Armenia, sweepsthe western base of the mountains. It is a larger stream than the Orontes, with a deep, rapid current, flowing at the bottom of a bed lower than thelevel of the plain. In three hours, we reached Missis, the ancientMopsuestia, on the right bank of the river. There are extensive ruins onthe left bank, which were probably those of the former city. The soil forsome distance around is scattered with broken pillars, capitals, and hewnstones. The ancient bridge still crosses the river, but the central archhaving been broken away, is replaced with a wooden platform. The moderntown is a forlorn place, and all the glorious plain around it isuncultivated. The view over this plain was magnificent: unbounded towardsthe sea, but on the north girdled by the sublime range of Taurus, whosegreat snow-fields gleamed in the sun. In the afternoon, we reached the oldbridge over the Jyhoon, at Adana. The eastern bank is occupied with thegraves of the former inhabitants, and there are at least fifteen acres oftombstones, as thickly planted as the graves can be dug. The fields ofwheat and barley along the river are very rich, and at present the nativesare busily occupied in drawing the sheaves on large sleds to the openthreshing-floors. 

The city is built over a low eminence, and its four tall minarets, with anumber of palm-trees rising from the mass of brown brick walls, remindedme of Egypt. At the end of the bridge, we were met by one of theQuarantine officers, who preceded us, taking care that we touched nobodyin the streets, to the Quarantine building. This land quarantine, betweenSyria and Asia Minor, when the former country is free from any epidemic, seems a most absurd thing. We were detained at Adana three days and ahalf, to be purified, before proceeding further. Lately, the whole townwas placed in quarantine for five days, because a Turkish Bey, who livesnear Baïas, entered the gates without being noticed, and was found in thebazaars. The Quarantine building was once a palace of the Pashas of Adana, but is now in a half-ruined condition. The rooms are large and airy, andthere is a spacious open divan which affords ample shade and a coolbreeze throughout the whole day. Fortunately for us, there were only threepersons in Quarantine, who occupied a room distant from ours. TheInspector was a very obliging person, and procured us a table and twochairs. The only table to be had in the whole place--a town of 15, 000inhabitants--belonged to an Italian merchant, who kindly gave it for ouruse. We employed a messenger to purchase provisions in the bazaars; andour days passed quietly in writing, smoking, and gazing indolently fromour windows upon the flowery plains beyond the town. Our nights, however, were tormented by small white gnats, which stung us unmercifully. Thephysician of Quarantine, Dr. Spagnolo, is a Venetian refugee, and formerlyeditor of _La Lega Italiana_, a paper published in Venice during therevolution. He informed us that, except the Princess Belgioioso, whopassed through Adana on her way to Jerusalem, we were the only travellershe had seen for eleven months. 

After three days and four nights of grateful, because involuntary, indolence, Dr. Spagnolo gave us _pratique_, and we lost no time in gettingunder weigh again. We were the only occupants of Quarantine; and as wemoved out of the portal of the old seraï, at sunrise, no one was guardingit. The Inspector and Mustapha, the messenger, took their back-sheesheswith silent gratitude. The plain on the west side of the town is wellcultivated; and as we rode along towards Tarsus, I was charmed with therich pastoral air of the scenery. It was like one of the midlandlandscapes of England, bathed in Southern sunshine. The beautiful level, stretching away to the mountains, stood golden with the fields of wheatwhich the reapers were cutting. It was no longer bare, but dotted withorange groves, clumps of holly, and a number of magnificentterebinth-trees, whose dark, rounded masses of foliage remind one of theNorthern oak. Cattle were grazing in the stubble, and horses, almostburied under loads of fresh grass, met us as they passed to the city. Thesheaves were drawn to the threshing-floor on sleds, and we could see thehusbandmen in the distance treading out and winnowing the grain. Overthese bright, busy scenes, rose the lesser heights of the Taurus, andbeyond them, mingled in white clouds, the snows of the crowning range. 

The road to Tarsus, which is eight hours distant, lies over an unbrokenplain. Towards the sea, there are two tumuli, resembling those on theplains east of Antioch. Stone wells, with troughs for watering horses, occur at intervals of three or four miles; but there is little cultivationafter leaving the vicinity of Adana. The sun poured down an intense summerheat, and hundreds of large gad-flies, swarming around us, drove thehorses wild with their stings. Towards noon, we stopped at a littlevillage for breakfast. We took possession of a shop, which thegood-natured merchant offered us, and were about to spread our provisionsupon the counter, when the gnats and mosquitoes fairly drove us away. Weat once went forward in search of a better place, which gave occasion toour chief mukkairee, Hadji Youssuf, for a violent remonstrance. The termsof the agreement at Aleppo gave the entire control of the journey into ourown hands, and the Hadji now sought to violate it. He protested againstour travelling more than six hours a day, and conducted himself soinsolently, that we threatened to take him before the Pasha of Tarsus. This silenced him for the time; but we hate him so cordially since then, that I foresee we shall have more trouble. In the afternoon, a gust, sweeping along the sides of Taurus, cooled the air and afforded us alittle relief. 

By three o'clock we reached the River Cydnus, which is bare of trees onits eastern side, but flows between banks covered with grass and shrubs. It is still spanned by the ancient bridge, and the mules now step in thehollow ruts worn long ago by Roman and Byzantine chariot wheels. Thestream is not more than thirty yards broad, but has a very full and rapidcurrent of a bluish-white color, from the snows which feed it. I rode downto the brink and drank a cup of the water. It was exceedingly cold, and Ido not wonder that a bath in it should have killed the Emperor Barbarossa. From the top of the bridge, there is a lovely view, down the stream, whereit washes a fringe of willows and heavy fruit-trees on its western bank, and then winds away through the grassy plain, to the sea. For once, myfancy ran parallel with the inspiration of the scene. I could think ofnothing but the galley of Cleopatra slowly stemming the current of thestream, its silken sails filled with the sea-breeze, its gilded oarskeeping time to the flutes, whose voluptuous melodies floated far out overthe vernal meadows. Tarsus was probably almost hidden then, as now, by itsgardens, except just where it touched the river; and the dazzling visionof the Egyptian Queen, as she came up conquering and to conquer, must havebeen all the more bewildering, from the lovely bowers through which shesailed. 

From the bridge an ancient road still leads to the old Byzantine gate ofTarsus. Part of the town is encompassed by a wall, built by the CaliphHaroun Al-Raschid, and there is a ruined fortress, which is attributed toSultan Bajazet Small streams, brought from the Cydnus, traverse theenvirons, and, with such a fertile soil, the luxuriance of the gardens inwhich the city lies buried is almost incredible. In our rambles in searchof a place to pitch the tent, we entered a superb orange-orchard, thefoliage of which made a perpetual twilight. Many of the trunks were twofeet in diameter. The houses are mostly of one story, and the materialsare almost wholly borrowed from the ancient city. Pillars, capitals, fragments of cornices and entablatures abound. I noticed here, as inAdana, a high wooden frame on the top of every house, raised a few stepsabove the roof, and covered with light muslin, like a portablebathing-house. Here the people put up their beds in the evening, sleep, and come down to the roofs in the morning--an excellent plan for gettingbetter air in these malarious plains and escaping from fleas andmosquitoes. In our search for the Armenian Church, which is said to havebeen founded by St. Paul ("Saul of Tarsus"), we came upon a mosque, whichhad been originally a Christian Church, of Greek times. 

From the top of a mound, whereupon stand the remains of an ancientcircular edifice, we obtained a fine view of the city and plain of Tarsus. A few houses or clusters of houses stood here and there like reefs amidthe billowy green, and the minarets--one of them with a nest of youngstorks on its very summit--rose like the masts of sunken ships. Some palmslifted their tufted heads from the gardens, beyond which the great plainextended from the mountains to the sea. The tumulus near Mersyn, the portof Tarsus, was plainly visible. Two hours from Mersyn are the ruins ofPompeiopolis, the name given by Pompey to the town of Soli, after hisconquest of the Cilician pirates. From Soli, on account of the bad Greekspoken by its inhabitants, came the term "solecism. " The ruins ofPompeiopolis consist of a theatre, temples, and a number of houses, stillin good preservation. The whole coast, as far as Aleya, three hundredmiles west of this, is said to abound with ruined cities, and I regretexceedingly that time will not permit me to explore it. 

While searching for the antiquities about Tarsus, I accosted a man in aFrank dress, who proved to be the Neapolitan Consul. He told us that themost remarkable relic was the _Duniktash_ (the Round Stone), and procuredus a guide. It lies in a garden near the city, and is certainly one of themost remarkable monuments in the East. It consists of a square inclosureof solid masonry, 350 feet long by 150 feet wide, the walls of which areeighteen feet in thickness and twenty feet high. It appears to have beenoriginally a solid mass, without entrance, but a passage has been brokenin one place, and in another there is a split or fissure, evidentlyproduced by an earthquake. The material is rough stone, brick and mortar. Inside of the inclosure are two detached square masses of masonry, ofequal height, and probably eighty feet on a side, without opening of anykind. One of them has been pierced at the bottom, a steep passage leadingto a pit or well, but the sides of the passage thus broken indicate thatthe whole structure is one solid mass. It is generally supposed that theywere intended as tombs: but of whom? There is no sign by which they may berecognized, and, what is more singular, no tradition concerning them. 

The day we reached Tarsus was the first of the Turkish fast-month ofRamazan, the inhabitants having seen the new moon the night before. AtAdana, where they did not keep such a close look-out, the fast had notcommenced. During its continuance, which is from twenty-eight totwenty-nine days, no Mussulman dares eat, drink, or smoke, from an hourbefore sunrise till half an hour after sunset. The Mohammedan months arelunar, and each month makes the whole round of the seasons, once inthirty-three years. When, therefore, the Ramazan comes in midsummer, as atpresent, the fulfilment of this fast is a great trial, even to thestrongest and most devout. Eighteen hours without meat or drink, and whatis still worse to a genuine Turk, without a pipe, is a rigid test offaith. The rich do the best they can to avoid it, by feasting all nightand sleeping all day, but the poor, who must perform their dailyavocations, as usual, suffer exceedingly. In walking through Tarsus I sawmany wretched faces in the bazaars, and the guide who accompanied us had apainfully famished air. Fortunately the Koran expressly permits invalids, children, and travellers to disregard the fast, so that although we eatand drink when we like, we are none the less looked upon as goodMussulmans. About dark a gun is fired and a rocket sent up from themosque, announcing the termination of the day's fast. The meals arealready prepared, the pipes filled, the coffee smokes in the _finjans_, and the echoes have not died away nor the last sparks of the rocket becomeextinct, before half the inhabitants are satisfying their hunger, thirstand smoke-lust. 

We left Tarsus this morning, and are now encamped among the pines of MountTaurus. The last flush of sunset is fading from his eternal snows, and Idrop my pen to enjoy the silence of twilight in this mountain solitude. 

Chapter XVIII. 

The Pass of Mount Taurus. 

 We enter the Taurus--Turcomans--Forest Scenery--the Palace of Pan--Khan Mezarluk--Morning among the Mountains--The Gorge of the Cydnus--The Crag of the Fortress--The Cilician Gate--Deserted Forts--A Sublime Landscape--The Gorge of the Sihoon--The Second Gate--Camp in the Defile--Sunrise--Journey up the Sihoon--A Change of Scenery--A Pastoral Valley--Kolü Kushla--A Deserted Khan--A Guest in Ramazan--Flowers--The Plain of Karamania--Barren Hills--The Town of Eregli--The Hadji again. 

 "Lo! where the pass expands Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks, And seems, with its accumulated crags, To overhang the world. " Shelley. 

Eregli, _in Karamania, June_ 22, 1852. 

Striking our tent in the gardens of Tarsus, we again crossed the Cydnus, and took a northern course across the plain. The long line of Taurus rosebefore us, seemingly divided into four successive ranges, the highest ofwhich was folded in clouds; only the long streaks of snow, filling theravines, being visible. The outlines of these ranges were very fine, thewaving line of the summits cut here and there by precipitous gorges--thegateways of rivers that came down to the plain. In about two hours, weentered the lower hills. They are barren and stony, with a white, chalkysoil; but the valleys were filled with myrtle, oleander, and lauristinusin bloom, and lavender grew in great profusion on the hill-sides. Theflowers of the oleander gave out a delicate, almond-like fragrance, andgrew in such dense clusters as frequently to hide the foliage. I amusedmyself with finding a derivation of the name of this beautiful plant, which may answer until somebody discovers a better one. Hero, when thecorpse of her lover was cast ashore by the waves, buried him under anoleander bush, where she was accustomed to sit daily, and lament over hisuntimely fate. Now, a foreign horticulturist, happening to pass by whenthe shrub was in blossom, was much struck with its beauty, and asked Herowhat it was called. But she, absorbed in grief, and thinking only of herlover, clasped her hands, and sighed out: "O Leander! O Leander!" whichthe horticulturist immediately entered in his note-book as the name of theshrub; and by that name it is known, to the present time. 

For two or three hours, the scenery was rather tame, the higher summitsbeing obscured with a thunder-cloud. Towards noon, however, we passed thefirst chain, and saw, across a strip of rolling land intervening, thegrand ramparts of the second, looming dark and large under the clouds. Acircular watch-tower of white stone, standing on the summit of apromontory at the mouth of a gorge on our right, flashed out boldlyagainst the storm. We stopped under an oak-tree to take breakfast; butthere was no water; and two Turks, who were resting while their horsesgrazed in the meadow, told us we should find a good spring half a milefurther. We ascended a long slope, covered with wheat-fields, wherenumbers of Turcoman reapers were busy at work, passed their black tents, surrounded with droves of sheep and goats, and reached a rude stonefountain of good water, where two companies of these people had stoppedto rest, on their way to the mountains. It was the time of noon prayer, and they went through their devotions with great solemnity. We nestleddeep in a bed of myrtles, while we breakfasted; for the sky was clouded, and the wind blew cool and fresh from the region of rain above us. Some ofthe Turcomans asked us for bread, and were very grateful when we gave itto them. 

In the afternoon, we came into a higher and wilder region, where the roadled through thickets of wild olive, holly, oak, and lauristinus, withoccasional groves of pine. What a joy I felt in hearing, once more, thegrand song of my favorite tree! Our way was a woodland road; a storm hadpassed over the region in the morning; the earth was still fresh andmoist, and there was an aromatic smell of leaves in the air. We turnedwestward into the entrance of a deep valley, over which hung aperpendicular cliff of gray and red rock, fashioned by nature so as toresemble a vast fortress, with windows, portals and projecting bastions. François displayed his knowledge of mythology, by declaring it to be thePalace of Pan. While we were carrying out the idea, by making chambers forthe Fauns and Nymphs in the basement story of the precipice, the pathwound around the shoulder of the mountain, and the glen spread away beforeus, branching up into loftier ranges, disclosing through its gateway ofcliffs, rising out of the steeps of pine forest, a sublime vista of bluemountain peaks, climbing to the topmost snows. It was a magnificent Alpinelandscape, more glowing and rich than Switzerland, yet equalling it in allthe loftier characteristics of mountain scenery. Another and greaterprecipice towered over us on the right, and the black eagles which hadmade their eyries in its niched and caverned vaults, were wheeling aroundits crest. A branch of the Cydnus foamed along the bottom of the gorge, and soma Turcoman boys were tending their herds on its banks. 

Further up the glen, we found a fountain of delicious water, beside thedeserted Khan of Mezarluk, and there encamped for the night. Our tent waspitched on the mountain side, near a fountain of the coolest, clearest andsweetest water I have seen in all the East. There was perfect silenceamong the mountains, and the place was as lonely as it was sublime. Thenight was cool and fresh; but I could not sleep until towards morning. When I opened my belated eyes, the tall peaks on the opposite side of theglen were girdled below their waists with the flood of a sparklingsunrise. The sky was pure as crystal, except a soft white fleece thatveiled the snowy pinnacles of Taurus, folding and unfolding, rising andsinking, as if to make their beauty still more attractive by the partialconcealment. The morning air was almost cold, but so pure and bracing--soaromatic with the healthy breath of the pines--that I took it down in thefullest possible draughts. 

We rode up the glen, following the course of the Cydnus, through sceneryof the wildest and most romantic character. The bases of the mountainswere completely enveloped in forests of pine, but their summits rose inprecipitous crags, many hundreds of feet in height, hanging above our veryheads. Even after the sun was five hours high, their shadows fell upon usfrom the opposite side of the glen. Mixed with the pine were occasionaloaks, an undergrowth of hawthorn in bloom, and shrubs covered with yellowand white flowers. Over these the wild grape threw its rich festoons, filling the air with exquisite fragrance. 

Out of this glen, we passed into another, still narrower and wilder. Theroad was the old Roman way, and in tolerable condition, though it hadevidently not been mended for many centuries. In half an hour, the passopened, disclosing an enormous peak in front of us, crowned with the ruinsof an ancient fortress of considerable extent. The position was almostimpregnable, the mountain dropping on one side into a precipice fivehundred feet in perpendicular height. Under the cliffs of the loftiestridge, there was a terrace planted with walnut-trees: a charming littlehamlet in the wilderness. Wild sycamore-trees, with white trunks andbright green foliage, shaded the foamy twists of the Cydnus, as it plungeddown its difficult bed. The pine thrust its roots into the nakedprecipices, and from their summits hung out over the great abysses below. I thought of OEnone's

 --"tall, dark pines, that fringed the craggy ledge High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Fostered the callow eaglet;"

and certainly she had on Mount Ida no more beautiful trees than these. 

We had doubled the Crag of the Fortress, when the pass closed before us, shut in by two immense precipices of sheer, barren rock, more than athousand feet in height. Vast fragments, fallen from above, choked up theentrance, whence the Cydnus, spouting forth in foam, leaped into thedefile. The ancient road was completely destroyed, but traces of it wereto be seen on the rocks, ten feet above the present bed of the stream, andon the broken masses which had been hurled below. The path wound withdifficulty among these wrecks, and then merged into the stream itself, aswe entered the gateway. A violent wind blew in our faces as we rodethrough the strait, which is not ten yards in breadth, while its wallsrise to the region of the clouds. In a few minutes we had traversed it, and stood looking back on the enormous gap. There were several Greektablets cut in the rock above the old road, but so defaced as to beillegible. This is undoubtedly the principal gate of the Taurus, and thepass through which the armies of Cyrus and Alexander entered Cilicia. 

Beyond the gate the mountains retreated, and we climbed up a little dell, past two or three Turcoman houses, to the top of a hill, whence opened aview of the principal range, now close at hand. The mountains in frontwere clothed with dark cedars to their very tops, and the snow-fieldsbehind them seemed dazzlingly bright and near. Our course for severalmiles now lay through a more open valley, drained by the upper waters ofthe Cydnus. On two opposing terraces of the mountain chains are twofortresses, built by Ibraham Pasha, but now wholly deserted. They arelarge and well-constructed works of stone, and surrounded by ruins ofstables, ovens, and the rude houses of the soldiery. Passing betweenthese, we ascended to the shelf dividing the waters of the Cydnus and theSihoon. From the point where the slope descends to the latter river, thereopened before me one of the most glorious landscapes I ever beheld. Istood at the extremity of a long hollow or depression between the tworanges of the Taurus--not a valley, for it was divided by deep clovenchasms, hemmed in by steeps overgrown with cedars. On my right rose asublime chain, soaring far out of the region of trees, and lifting itspeaked summits of gray rock into toe sky. Another chain, nearly as lofty, but not so broken, nor with such large, imposing features, overhung me onthe left; and far in front, filling up the magnificent vista--filling upall between the lower steeps, crowned with pine, and the round whiteclouds hanging on the verge of heaven--were the shining snows of theTaurus. Great God, how shall I describe the grandeur of that view! Howdraw the wonderful outlines of those mountains! How paint the airy hue ofviolet-gray, the soft white lights, the thousandfold pencillings of mellowshadow, the height, the depth, the far-reaching vastness of the landscape!

In the middle distance, a great blue gorge passed transversely across thetwo ranges and the region between. This, as I rightly conjectured, was thebed of the Sihoon. Our road led downward through groves of fragrantcedars, and we travelled thus for two hours before reaching the river. Taking a northward course up his banks, we reached the second of the _PylæCiliciæ_ before sunset. It is on a grander scale than the first gate, though not so startling and violent in its features. The bare walls oneither side fall sheer to the water, and the road, crossing the Sihoon bya lofty bridge of a single arch, is cut along the face of the rock. Nearthe bridge a subterranean stream, almost as large as the river, burstsforth from the solid heart of the mountain. On either side gigantic massesof rock, with here and there a pine to adorn their sterility, tower to theheight of 6, 000 feet, in some places almost perpendicular from summit tobase. They are worn and broken into all fantastic forms. There arepyramids, towers, bastions, minarets, and long, sharp spires, splinteredand jagged as the turrets of an iceberg. I have seen higher mountains, but I have never seen any which looked so high as these. We camped on anarrow plot of ground, in the very heart of the tremendous gorge. Asoldier, passing along at dusk, told us that a merchant and his servantwere murdered in the same place last winter, and advised us to keep watch. But we slept safely all night, while the stars sparkled over the chasm, and slips of misty cloud hung low on the thousand pinnacles of rock. 

When I awoke, the gorge lay in deep shadow; but high up on the westernmountain, above the enormous black pyramids that arose from the river, thetopmost pinnacles of rock sparkled like molten silver, in the full gush ofsunrise. The great mountain, blocking up the gorge behind us, was bathedalmost to its foot in the rays, and, seen through such a dark vista, wasglorified beyond all other mountains of Earth. The air was piercingly coldand keen, and I could scarcely bear the water of the Sihoon on mysun-inflamed face. There was a little spring not far off, from which weobtained sufficient water to drink, the river being too muddy. The springwas but a thread oozing from the soil; but the Hadji collected it inhandfuls, which he emptied into his water-skin, and then brought to us. 

The morning light gave a still finer effect to the manifold forms of themountains than that of the afternoon sun. The soft gray hue of the rocksshone clearly against the cloudless sky, fretted all over with the shadowsthrown by their innumerable spires and jutting points, and by the naturalarches scooped out under the cliffs. After travelling less than an hour, we passed the riven walls of the mighty gateway, and rode again under theshade of pine forests. The height of the mountains now graduallydiminished, and their sides, covered with pine and cedar, became lessbroken and abrupt. The summits, nevertheless, still retained the samerocky spine, shooting up into tall, single towers, or long lines of evenparapets Occasionally, through gaps between, we caught glimpses of thesnow-fields, dazzlingly high and white. 

After travelling eight or nine miles, we emerged from the pass, and leftthe Sihoon at a place called Chiftlik Khan--a stone building, with a smallfort adjoining, wherein fifteen splendid bronze cannon lay neglected ontheir broken and rotting carriages. As we crossed the stone bridge overthe river, a valley opened suddenly on the left, disclosing the wholerange of the Taurus, which we now saw on its northern side, a vast stretchof rocky spires, with sparkling snow-fields between, and long ravinesfilled with snow, extending far down between the dark blue cliffs and thedark green plumage of the cedars. 

Immediately after passing the central chain of the Taurus, the characterof the scenery changed. The heights were rounded, the rocky strata onlyappearing on the higher peaks, and the slopes of loose soil were deeplycut and scarred by the rains of ages. Both in appearance, especially inthe scattered growth of trees dotted over the dark red soil, and in theirformation, these mountains strongly resemble the middle ranges of theCalifornian Sierra Nevada. We climbed a long, winding glen, until we hadattained a considerable height, when the road reached a dividing ridge, giving us a view of a deep valley, beyond which a chain of barrenmountains rose to the height of some five thousand feet. As we descendedthe rocky path, a little caravan of asses and mules clambered up to meetus, along the brinks of steep gulfs. The narrow strip of bottom landalong the stream was planted with rye, now in head, and rolling in silverywaves before the wind. 

After our noonday halt, we went over the hills to another stream, whichcame from the north-west. Its valley was broader and greener than that wehad left, and the hills inclosing it had soft and undulating outlines. They were bare of trees, but colored a pale green by their thin clothingof grass and herbs. In this valley the season was so late, owing to itsheight above the sea, that the early spring-flowers were yet in bloom. Poppies flamed among the wheat, and the banks of the stream were brilliantwith patches of a creeping plant, with a bright purple blossom. Theasphodel grew in great profusion, and an ivy-leaved shrub, covered withflakes of white bloom, made the air faint with its fragrance. Stillfurther up, we came to orchards of walnut and plum trees, and vineyardsThere were no houses, but the innabitants, who were mostly Turcomans, livein villages during the winter, and in summer pitch their tents on themountains where they pasture their flocks. Directly over this quietpastoral, vale towered the Taurus, and I looked at once on its secludedloveliness and on the wintry heights, whose bleak and sublime heads weremantled in clouds. From no point is there a more imposing view of thewhole snowy range. Near the head of the valley we passed a large Turcomanencampment, surrounded with herds of sheep and cattle. 

We halted for the evening at a place called Kolü-Kushla---an immensefortress-village, resembling Baïas, and like it, wholly deserted. Near itthere is a small town of very neat houses, which is also deserted, theinhabitants having gone into the mountains with their flocks. I walkedthrough the fortress, which is a massive building of stone, about 500feet square, erected by Sultan Murad as a resting-place for the caravansto Mecca. It has two spacious portals, in which the iron doors are stillhanging, connected by a vaulted passage, twenty feet high and forty wide, with bazaars on each side. Side gateways open into large courts, surrounded with arched chambers. There is a mosque entire, with its pulpitand galleries, and the gilded crescent still glittering over its dome. Behind it is a bath, containing an entrance hall and half a dozenchambers, in which the water-pipes and stone tanks still remain. With alittle alteration, the building would make a capital Phalanstery, wherethe Fourierites might try their experiment without contact with Society. There is no field for them equal to Asia Minor--a glorious region, abounding in natural wealth, almost depopulated, and containing a greatnumber of Phalansteries ready built. 

We succeeded in getting some eggs, fowls, and milk from an old Turcomanwho had charge of the village. A man who rode by on a donkey sold us a bagof _yaourt_ (sour milk-curds), which was delicious, notwithstanding thesuspicious appearance of the bag. It was made before the cream had beenremoved, and was very rich and nourishing. The old Turcoman sat down andwatched us while we ate, but would not join us, as these wandering tribesare very strict in keeping Ramazan. When we had reached our dessert--aplate of fine cherries--another white-bearded and dignified gentlemanvisited us. We handed him the cherries, expecting that he would take a fewand politely return the dish: but no such thing. He coolly produced hishandkerchief, emptied everything into it, and marched off. He also did notventure to eat, although we pointed to the Taurus, on whose upper snowsthe last gleam of daylight was just melting away. 

We arose this morning in a dark, cloudy dawn. There was a heavy blackstorm hanging low in the west, and another was gathering its forces alongthe mountains behind us. A cold wind blew down the valley, and long pealsof thunder rolled grandly among the gorges of Taurus. An isolated hill, crowned with a shattered crag which bore a striking resemblance to aruined fortress, stood out black and sharp against the far, misty, sunlitpeaks. As far as the springs were yet undried, the land was covered withflowers. In one place I saw a large square plot of the most brilliantcrimson hue, burning amid the green wheat-fields, as if some Tyrian mantlehad been flung there. The long, harmonious slopes and rounded summits ofthe hills were covered with drifts of a beautiful purple clover, and adiminutive variety of the _achillea_, or yarrow, with glowing yellowblossoms. The leaves had a pleasant aromatic odor, and filled the air withtheir refreshing breath, as they were crushed under the hoofs of ourhorses. 

We had now reached the highest ridge of the hilly country along thenorthern base of Taurus, and saw, far and wide before us, the greatcentral plain of Karamania. Two isolated mountains, at forty or fiftymiles distance, broke the monotony of the desert-like level: Kara Dagh inthe west, and the snow-capped summits of Hassan Dagh in the north-east. Beyond the latter, we tried to catch a glimpse of the famous Mons Argseus, at the base of which is Kaisariyeh, the ancient Cæsarea of Cappadocia. This mountain, which is 13, 000 feet high, is the loftiest peak of AsiaMinor. The clouds hung low on the horizon, and the rains were falling, veiling it from our sight. 

Our road, for the remainder of the day, was over barren hills, coveredwith scanty herbage. The sun shone out intensely hot, and the glare of thewhite soil was exceedingly painful to my eyes. The locality of Eregli wasbetrayed, some time before we reached it, by its dark-green belt of fruittrees. It stands in the mouth of a narrow valley which winds down from theTaurus, and is watered by a large rapid stream that finally loses itselfin the lakes and morasses of the plain. There had been a heavy blackthunder-cloud gathering, and as we reached our camping-ground, under somefine walnut-trees near the stream, a sudden blast of cold wind swept overthe town, filling the air with dust. We pitched the tent in all haste, expecting a storm, but the rain finally passed to the northward. We thentook a walk through the town, which is a forlorn place. A spacious khan, built apparently for the Mecca pilgrims, is in ruins, but the mosque hasan exquisite minaret, eighty feet high, and still bearing traces of thedevices, in blue tiles, which once covered it. The shops were mostlyclosed, and in those which were still open the owners lay at full lengthon their bellies, their faces gaunt with fasting. They seemed annoyed atour troubling them, even with purchases. One would have thought that somefearful pestilence had fallen upon the town. The cobblers only, whosomewhat languidly plied their implements, seemed to retain a little life. The few Jews and Armenians smoked their pipes in a tantalizing manner, inthe very faces of the poor Mussulmans. We bought an oka of excellentcherries, which we were cruel enough to taste in the streets, before thehungry eyes of the suffering merchants. 

This evening the asses belonging to the place were driven in frompasture--four or five hundred in all; and such a show of curious asininespecimens as I never before beheld. A Dervish, who was with us inQuarantine, at Adana, has just arrived. He had lost his _teskeré_(passport), and on issuing forth purified, was cast into prison. Finallyhe found some one who knew him, and procured his release. He had come onfoot to this place in five days, suffering many privations, having beenforty-eight hours without food. He is bound to Konia, on a pilgrimage tothe tomb of Hazret Mevlana, the founder of the sect of dancing Dervishes. We gave him food, in return for which he taught me the formula of hisprayers. He tells me I should always pronounce the name of Allah when myhorse stumbles, or I see a man in danger of his life, as the word has asaving power. Hadji Youssuf, who has just been begging for an advance oftwenty piastres to buy grain for his horses, swore "by the pardon of God"that he would sell the lame horse at Konia and get a better one. We havelost all confidence in the old villain's promises, but the poor beastsshall not suffer for his delinquencies. 

Our tent is in a charming spot, and, from without, makes a picture to beremembered. The yellow illumination from within strikes on the under sidesof the walnut boughs, while the moonlight silvers them from above. Beyondgardens where the nightingales are singing, the tall minaret of Ereglistands revealed in the vapory glow. The night is too sweet and balmy forsleep, and yet I must close my eyes upon it, for the hot plains ofKaramania await us to-morrow. 

Chapter XIX. 

The Plains of Karamania. 

 The Plains of Karamania--Afternoon Heat--A Well--Volcanic Phenomena--Kara-bounar--A Grand Ruined Khan--Moonlight Picture--A Landscape of the Plains-Mirages--A Short Interview--The Village of Ismil---Third Day on the Plains--Approach to Konia. 

 "A weary waste, expanding to the skies. "--Goldsmith. 

Konia, Capital of Karamania, _Friday, June_ 25, 1854. 

François awoke us at the break of day, at Eregli, as we had a journey oftwelve hours before us. Passing through the town, we traversed a narrowbelt of garden and orchard land, and entered the great plain of Karamania. Our road led at first northward towards a range called Karadja Dagh, andthen skirted its base westward. After three hours' travel we passed avillage of neat, whitewashed houses, which were entirely deserted, all theinhabitants having gone off to the mountains. There were some herdsscattered over the plain, near the village. As the day wore on, the wind, which had been chill in the morning, ceased, and the air became hot andsultry. The glare from the white soil was so painful that I was obliged toclose my eyes, and so ran a continual risk of falling asleep and tumblingfrom my horse. Thus, drowsy and half unconscious of my whereabouts, I rodeon in the heat and arid silence of the plain until noon, when we reacheda well. It was a shaft, sunk about thirty feet deep, with a long, slopinggallery slanting off to the surface. The well was nearly dry, but bydescending the gallery we obtained a sufficient supply of cold, purewater. We breakfasted in the shaded doorway, sharing our provisions with aTurcoman boy, who was accompanying his father to Eregli with a load ofsalt. 

Our road now crossed a long, barren pass, between two parts of KaradjaDagh. Near the northern side there was a salt lake of one hundred yards indiameter, sunk in a deep natural basin. The water was intensely saline. Onthe other side of the road, and a quarter of a mile distant, is an extinctvolcano, the crater of which, near two hundred feet deep, is a salt lake, with a trachytic cone three hundred feet high rising from the centre. Fromthe slope of the mountain we overlooked another and somewhat deeper plain, extending to the north and west. It was bounded by broken peaks, all ofwhich betrayed a volcanic origin. Far before us we saw the tower on thehill of Kara-bounar, our resting-place for the night. The road thither wasover a barren plain, cheered here and there by patches of a cushion-likeplant, which was covered with pink blossoms. Mr. Harrison scared up somecoveys of the frankolin, a large bird resembling the pheasant, andenriched our larder with a dozen starlings. 

Kara-bounar is built on the slope of a mound, at the foot of which standsa spacious mosque, visible far over the plain. It has a dome, and twotall, pencil-like towers, similar to those of the Citadel-mosque of Cairo. Near it are the remains of a magnificent khan-fortress, said to have beenbuilt by the eunuch of one of the former Sultans. As there was no water inthe wells outside of the town, we entered the khan and pitched the tentin its grass-grown court. Six square pillars of hewn stone made an aisleto our door, and the lofty, roofless walls of the court, 100 by 150 feet, inclosed us. Another court, of similar size, communicated with it by abroad portal, and the remains of baths and bazaars lay beyond. A handsomestone fountain, with two streams of running water, stood in front of thekhan. We were royally lodged, but almost starved in our splendor, as onlytwo or three Turcomans remained out of two thousand (who had gone off withtheir herds to the mountains), and they were unable to furnish us withprovisions. But for our frankolins and starlings we should have gonefasting. 

The mosque was a beautiful structure of white limestone, and the galleriesof its minarets were adorned with rich arabesque ornaments. While themuezzin was crying his sunset-call to prayer, I entered the portico andlooked into the interior, which was so bare as to appear incomplete. As wesat in our palace-court, after dinner, the moon arose, lighting up theniches in the walls, the clusters of windows in the immense eastern gable, and the rows of massive columns. The large dimensions of the building gaveit a truly grand effect, and but for the whine of a distant jackal I couldhave believed that we were sitting in the aisles of a roofless Gothiccathedral, in the heart of Europe. François was somewhat fearful ofthieves, but the peace and repose of the place we've so perfect that Iwould not allow any such apprehensions to disturb me. In two minutes afterI touched my bed I was insensible, and I did not move a limb untilsunrise. 

Beyond Kara-bounar, there is a low, barren ridge, climbing which, weoverlooked an immense plain, uncultivated, apparently unfertile, andwithout a sign of life as far as the eye could reach. Kara Dagh, in thesouth, lifted nearer us its cluster of dark summits; to the north, thelong ridge of Üsedjik Dagh (the Pigmy Mountain) stretched like a cape intothe plain; Hassan Dagh; wrapped in a soft white cloud, receded behind us, and the snows of Taurus seemed almost as distant as when we first beheldthem from the Syrian Gates. We rode for four hours over the dead level, the only objects that met our eyes being an occasional herd of camels inthe distance. About noon, we reached a well, similar to that of theprevious day, but of recent construction. A long, steep gallery led downto the water, which was very cold, but had a villainous taste of lime, salt, and sulphur. 

After an hour's halt, we started again. The sun was intensely hot, and forhours we jogged on over the dead level, the bare white soil blinding oureyes with its glare. The distant hills were lifted above the horizon by amirage. Long sheets of blue water were spread along their bases, islandingthe isolated peaks, and turning into ships and boats the black specks ofcamels far away. But the phenomena were by no means on so grand a scale asI had seen in the Nubian Desert. On the south-western horizon, wediscerned the summits of the Karaman range of Taurus, covered with snow. In the middle of the afternoon, we saw a solitary tent upon the plain, from which an individual advanced to meet us. As he drew nearer, wenoticed that he wore white Frank pantaloons, similar to the Turkishsoldiery, with a jacket of brown cloth, and a heavy sabre. When he waswithin convenient speaking distance, he cried out: "Stop! why are yourunning away from me?" "What do you call running away?" rejoined François;"we are going on our journey. " "Where do you come from?" he then asked. "From there, " said François, pointing behind us "Where are you going?""There!" and the provoking Greek simply pointed forwards. "You haveneither faith nor religion!" said the man, indignantly; then, turning uponhis heel, he strode back across the plain. 

About four o'clock, we saw a long line of objects rising before us, but sodistorted by the mirage that it was impossible to know what they were. After a while, however, we decided that they were houses interspersed withtrees; but the trees proved to be stacks of hay and lentils, heaped on theflat roofs. This was Ismil, our halting-place. The houses were miserablemud huts; but the village was large, and, unlike most of those we haveseen this side of Taurus, inhabited. The people are Turcomans, and theirpossessions appear to be almost entirely in their herds. Immense numbersof sheep and goats were pasturing on the plain. There were several wellsin the place, provided with buckets attached to long swing-poles; thewater was very cold, but brackish. Our tent was pitched on the plain, on ahard, gravelly strip of soil. A crowd of wild-haired Turcoman boysgathered in front, to stare at us, and the shepherds quarrelled at thewells, as to which should take his turn at watering his flocks. In theevening a handsome old Turk visited us, and, finding that we were bound toConstantinople, requested François to take a letter to his son, who wassettled there. 

François aroused us this morning before the dawn, as we had a journey ofthirty-five miles before us. He was in a bad humor; for a man, whom he hadrequested to keep watch over his tent, while he went into the village, hadstolen a fork and spoon. The old Turk, who had returned as soon as wewere stirring, went out to hunt the thief, but did not succeed in findinghim. The inhabitants of the village were up long before sunrise, anddriving away in their wooden-wheeled carts to the meadows where they cutgrass. The old Turk accompanied us some distance, in order to show us anearer way, avoiding a marshy spot. Our road lay over a vast plain, seemingly boundless, for the lofty mountain-ranges that surrounded it onall sides were so distant and cloud-like, and so lifted from the horizonby the deceptive mirage, that the eye did not recognize their connectionwith it. The wind blew strongly from the north-west, and was so cold thatI dismounted and walked ahead for two or three hours. 

Before noon, we passed two villages of mud huts, partly inhabited, andwith some wheat-fields around them. We breakfasted at another well, whichfurnished us with a drink that tasted like iced sea-water. Thence we rodeforth again into the heat, for the wind had fallen by this time, and thesun shone out with great force. There was ever the same dead level, and werode directly towards the mountains, which, to my eyes, seemed nearly asdistant as ever. At last, there was a dark glimmer through the mirage, attheir base, and a half-hour's ride showed it to be a line of trees. Inanother hour, we could distinguish a minaret or two, and finally, wallsand the stately domes of mosques. This was Konia, the ancient Iconium, oneof the most renowned cities of Asia Minor. 

Chapter XX

Scenes in Konia. 

 Kpproach to Konia---Tomb of Hazret Mevlana--Lodgings in a Khan--An American Luxury--A Night-Scene in Ramazan--Prayers in the Mosque--Remains of the Ancient City--View from the Mosque--The Interior--A Leaning Minaret--The Diverting History of the Muleteers. 

 "But they shook off the dust on their feet, and came unto Iconium. "--Acts, xiii. 51. 

Konia (Ancient Iconium), _June_ 27, 1852. 

The view of Konia from the plain is not striking until one has approachedwithin a mile of the suburbs, when the group of mosques, with their heavycentral domes lifted on clusters of smaller ones, and their tall, light, glittering minarets, rising above the foliage of the gardens, against thebackground of airy hills, has a very pleasing effect. We approachedthrough a long line of dirty suburbs, which looked still more forlorn onaccount of the Ramazan. Some Turkish officials, in shabby Frank dresses, followed us to satisfy their curiosity by talking with our _Katurjees_, ormuleteers. Outside the city walls, we passed some very large barracks forcavalry, built by Ibrahim Pasha. On the plain north-east of the city, thebattle between him and the forces of the Sultan, resulting in the defeatof the latter, was fought. 

We next came upon two magnificent mosques, built of white limestone, witha multitude of leaden domes and lofty minarets, adorned with galleriesrich in arabesque ornaments. Attached to one of them is the tomb, ofHazret Mevlana, the founder of the sect of Mevlevi Dervishes, which isreputed one of the most sacred places in the East. The tomb is surmountedby a dome, upon which stands a tall cylindrical tower, reeded, withchannels between each projection, and terminating in a long, taperingcone. This tower is made of glazed tiles, of the most brilliant sea-bluecolor, and sparkles in the sun like a vast pillar of icy spar in somePolar grotto. It is a most striking and fantastic object, surrounded by acluster of minarets and several cypress-trees, amid which it seems placedas the central ornament and crown of the group. 

The aspect of the city was so filthy and uninviting that we preferredpitching our tent; but it was impossible to find a place without goingback upon the plain; so we turned into the bazaar, and asked the way to akhan. There was a tolerable crowd in the street, although many of theshops were shut. The first khan we visited was too filthy to enter; butthe second, though most unpromising in appearance, turned out to be betterthan it looked. The _oda-bashi_ (master of the rooms) thoroughly swept andsprinkled the narrow little chamber he gave us, laid clean mats upon thefloor, and, when our carpets and beds were placed within, its walls of mudlooked somewhat comfortable. Its single window, with an iron grating inlieu of glass, looked upon an oblong court, on the second story, surrounded by the rooms of Armenian merchants. The main court (the gate ofwhich is always closed at sunset) is two stories in height, with a roughwooden balcony running around it, and a well of muddy water in the centre. 

The oda-bashi lent us a Turkish table and supplied us with dinner fromhis own kitchen; kibabs, stewed beans, and cucumber salad. Mr. H. And I, forgetting the Ramazan, went out to hunt for an iced sherbet; but all thecoffee-shops were closed until sunset. The people stared at our Egyptiancostumes, and a fellow in official dress demanded my _teskeré_. Soon afterwe returned, François appeared with a splendid lump of ice in a basin andsome lemons. The ice, so the _khangee_ said, is taken from a lake amongthe mountains, which in winter freezes to the thickness of a foot. Behindthe lake is a natural cavern, which the people fill with ice, and thenclose up. At this season they take it out, day by day, and bring it downto the city. It is very pure and thick, and justifies the Turkish proverbin regard to Konia, which is celebrated for three excellent things:"_dooz, booz, küz_"--salt, ice, and girls. 

Soon after sunset, a cannon announced the close of the fast. We waited anhour or two longer, to allow the people time to eat, and then sallied outinto the streets. Every minaret in the city blazed with a crown of lightedlamps around its upper gallery, while the long shafts below, and thetapering cones above, topped with brazen crescents, shone fair in themoonlight. It was a strange, brilliant spectacle. In the square before theprincipal mosque we found a crowd of persons frolicking around thefountain, in the light of a number of torches on poles planted in theground. Mats were spread on the stones, and rows of Turks of all classessat thereon, smoking their pipes. Large earthen water-jars stood here andthere, and the people drank so often and so long that they seemeddetermined to provide against the morrow. The boys were having theiramusement in wrestling, shouting and firing off squibs, which they threwinto the crowd. We kicked off our slippers, sat down among the Turks, smoked a narghileh, drank a cup of coffee and an iced sherbet of raisinjuice, and so enjoyed the Ramazan as well as the best of them. 

Numbers of True Believers were drinking and washing themselves at thepicturesque fountain, and just as we rose to depart, the voice of aboy-muezzin, on one of the tallest minarets, sent down a musical call toprayer. Immediately the boys left off their sports and started on a runfor the great mosque, and the grave, gray-bearded Turks got up from themats, shoved on their slippers, and marched after them. We followed, getting a glimpse of the illuminated interior of the building, as wepassed; but the oda-bashi conducted us still further, to a smaller thoughmore beautiful mosque, surrounded with a garden-court. It was a trulymagical picture. We entered the gate, and passed on by a marble pavement, under trees and arbors of vines that almost shut out the moonlight, to apaved space, in the centre whereof was a beautiful fountain, in the purestSaracenic style. Its heavy, projecting cornices and tall pyramidal roofrested on a circle of elegant arches, surrounding a marble structure, whence the water gushed forth in a dozen sparkling streams. On three sidesit was inclosed by the moonlit trees and arbors; on the fourth by theouter corridor of the mosque, the door of entrance being exactly opposite. 

Large numbers of persons were washing their hands and feet at thefountain, after which they entered and knelt on the floor. We stoodunobserved in the corridor, and looked in on the splendidly illuminatedinterior and the crowd at prayer, all bending their bodies to the earth atregular intervals and murmuring the name of Allah. They resembled aplain, of reeds bending before the gusts of wind which precede a storm. When all had entered and were united in solemn prayer, we returned, passing the grand mosque. I stole up to the door, lifted the heavy carpetthat hung before it, and looked in. There was a Mevlevi Dervish standingin the entrance, but his eyes were lifted in heavenly abstraction, and hedid not see me. The interior was brilliantly lit by white and coloredlamps, suspended from the walls and the great central dome. It was animposing structure, simple in form, yet grand from its dimensions. Thefloor was covered with kneeling figures, and a deep voice, coming from theother end of the mosque, was uttering pious phrases in a kind of chant. Isatisfied my curiosity quickly, and we then returned to the khan. 

Yesterday afternoon I made a more thorough examination of the city. Passing through the bazaars, I reached the Serai, or Pasha's Palace, whichstands on the site of that of the Sultans of Iconium. It is a long, woodenbuilding, with no pretensions to architectural beauty. Near it there is alarge and ancient mosque, with a minaret of singular elegance. It is about120 feet high, with two hanging galleries; the whole built of blue and redbricks, the latter projecting so as to form quaint patterns or designs. Several ancient buildings near this mosque are surmounted with pyramidaltowers, resembling Pagodas of India. Following the long, crooked lanesbetween mud buildings, we passed these curious structures and reached theancient wall of the city. In one of the streets lay a marble lion, badlyexecuted, and apparently of the time of the Lower Empire. In the wall wereinserted many similar figures, with fragments of friezes and cornices. This is the work of the Seljook Kings, who, in building the wall, tookgreat pains to exhibit the fragments of the ancient city. The number ofaltars they have preserved is quite remarkable. On the square towers aresunken tablets, containing long Arabic inscriptions. 

The high walls of a ruined building in the southern part of the cityattracted us, and on going thither we found it to be an ancient mosque, standing on an eminence formed apparently of the debris of otherbuildings. Part of the wall was also ancient, and in some places showedthe marks of an earthquake. A long flight of steps led up to the door ofthe mosque, and as we ascended we were rewarded by the most charming viewof the city and the grand plain. Konia lay at our feet--a wide, stragglingarray of low mud dwellings, dotted all over with patches of gardenverdure, while its three superb mosques, with the many smaller tombs andplaces of worship, appeared like buildings left from some former and moremagnificent capital. Outside of this circle ran a belt of garden land, adorned with groves and long lines of fruit trees; still further, theplain, a sea of faded green, flecked with the softest cloud-shadows, andbeyond all, the beautiful outlines and dreamy tints of the differentmountain chains. It was in every respect a lovely landscape, and the cityis unworthy such surroundings. The sky, which in this region is of a pale, soft, delicious blue, was dotted with scattered fleeces of white clouds, and there was an exquisite play of light and shade over the hills. 

There were half a dozen men and boys about the door, amusing themselveswith bursting percussion caps on the stone. They addressed us as"_hadji_!" (pilgrims), begging for more caps. I told them I was not aTurk, but an Arab, which they believed at once, and requested me to enterthe mosque. The interior had a remarkably fine effect. It was a maze ofarches, supported by columns of polished black marble, forty in number. Inform it was nearly square, and covered with a flat, wooden roof. The floorwas covered with a carpet, whereon several persons were lying at fulllength, while an old man, seated in one of the most remote corners, wasreading in a loud, solemn voice. It is a peculiar structure, which Ishould be glad to examine more in detail. 

Not far from this eminence is a remarkable leaning minaret, more than ahundred feet in height, while in diameter it cannot be more than fifteenfeet. In design it is light and elegant, and the effect is not injured byits deviation from the perpendicular, which I should judge to be about sixfeet. From the mosque we walked over the mounds of old Iconium to theeastern wall, passing another mosque, wholly in ruin, but which must haveonce been more splendid than any now standing. The portal is the richestspecimen of Saracenic sculpture I have ever seen: a very labyrinth ofintricate ornaments. The artist must have seen the great portal of theTemple of the Sun at Baalbec. The minarets have tumbled down, the roof hasfallen in, but the walls are still covered with white and blue tiles, ofthe finest workmanship, resembling a mosaic of ivory and lapis lazuli. Some of the chambers seem to be inhabited, for two old men with whitebeards lay in the shade, and were not a little startled by our suddenappearance. 

We returned to the great mosque, which we had visited on the evening ofour arrival, and listened for some time to the voice of a mollah who waspreaching an afternoon sermon to a small and hungry congregation. We thenentered the court before the tomb of Hazret Mevlana. It was apparentlyforbidden ground to Christians, but as the Dervishes did not seem tosuspect us we walked about boldly, and were about to enter, when anindiscretion of my companion frustrated our plans. Forgetting his assumedcharacter, he went to the fountain and drank, although it was no laterthan the _asser_, or afternoon prayer. The Dervishes were shocked andscandalized by this violation of the fast, in the very court-yard of theirholiest mosque, and we judged it best to retire by degrees. We sent thismorning to request an interview with the Pasha, but he had gone to passthe day in a country palace, about three hours distant. It is a still, hot, bright afternoon, and the silence of the famished populace disposesus to repose. Our view is bounded by the mud walls of the khan, and Ialready long for the freedom of the great Karamanian Plain. Here, in theheart of Asia Minor, all life seems to stagnate. There is sleepeverywhere, and I feel that a wide barrier separates me from the livingworld. 

We have been detained here a whole day, through a chain of accidents, allresulting from the rascality of our muleteers on leaving Aleppo. The lamehorse they palmed upon us was unable to go further, so we obliged them tobuy another animal, which they succeeded in getting for 350 piastres. Weadvanced the money, although they were still in our debt, hoping to workour way through with the new horse, and thus avoid the risk of loss ordelay. But this morning at sunrise Hadji Youssuf comes with a woeful faceto say that the new horse has been stolen in the night, and we, who areready to start, must sit down and wait till he is recovered. I suspectedanother trick, but when, after the lapse of three hours, François foundthe hadji sitting on the ground, weeping, and Achmet beating his breast, it seemed probable that the story was true. All search for the horse beingvain, François went with them to the shekh of the horses, who promised, incase it should hereafter be found, to place it in the general pen, wherethey would be sure to get it on their return. The man who sold them thehorse offered them another for the lame one and 150 piastres, and therewas no other alternative but to accept it. But _we_ must advance the 150piastres, and so, in mid-journey, we have already paid them to the end, with the risk of their horses breaking down, or they, horses and all, absconding from us. But the knavish varlets are hardly bold enough forsuch a climax of villany. 

Chapter XXI. 

The Heart of Asia Minor. 

 Scenery of the Hills--Ladik, the Ancient Laodicea--The Plague of Gad-Flies--Camp at Ilgün--A Natural Warm Bath--The Gad-Flies Again--A Summer Landscape--Ak-Sheher--The Base of Sultan Dagh--The Fountain of Midas--A Drowsy Journey--The Town of Bolawadün. 

 "By the forests, lakes, and fountains, Though the many-folded mountains. " Shelley. 

Bolawadün, _July_ 1, 1852. 

Our men brought all the beasts into the court-yard of the khan at Konia, the evening before our departure, so that no more were stolen during thenight. The oda-bashi, indefatigable to the last in his attention to us, not only helped load the mules, but accompanied us some distance on ourway. All the merchants in the khan collected in the gallery to see usstart, and we made our exit in some state. The morning was clear, fresh, and delightful. Turning away from the city walls, we soon emerged from thelines of fruit-trees and interminable fields of tomb-stones, and came outupon the great bare plain of Karamania. A ride of three hours brought usto a long, sloping hill, which gave us a view of the whole plain, and itscircuit of mountains. A dark line in the distance marked the gardens ofKonia. On the right, near the centre of the plain, the lake, nowcontracted to very narrow limits, glimmered in the sun. Notwithstandingthe waste and unfertile appearance of the country, the soft, sweet skythat hangs over it, the pure, transparent air, the grand sweep of theplain, and the varied forms of the different mountain chains thatencompass it, make our journey an inspiring one. A descent of the hillssoon shut out the view; and the rest of the day's journey lay among them, skirting the eastern base of Allah Dagh. 

The country improved in character, as we advanced. The bottoms of the dryglens were covered with wheat, and shrubbery began to make its appearanceon the mountain-sides In the afternoon, we crossed a watershed, dividingKaramania from the great central plain of Asia Minor, and descended to avillage called Ladik, occupying the site of the ancient Laodicea, at thefoot of Allah Dagh. The plain upon which we came was greener and moreflourishing than that we had left. Trees were scattered here and there inclumps, and the grassy wastes, stretching beyond the grain-fields, weredotted with herds of cattle. Emir Dagh stood in the north-west, blue anddistant, while, towards the north and north-east, the plain extended tothe horizon--a horizon fifty miles distant--without a break. In thatdirection lay the great salt lake of Yüzler, and the strings of camels wemet on the road, laden with salt, were returning from it. Ladik issurrounded with poppy-fields, brilliant with white and purple blossoms. When the petals have fallen, the natives go carefully over the whole fieldand make incisions in every stalk, whence the opium exudes. 

We pitched our tent under a large walnut tree, which we found standing ina deserted inclosure. The graveyard of the village is studded with relicsof the ancient town. There are pillars, cornices, entablatures, jambs, altars, mullions and sculptured tablets, all of white marble, and many ofthem in an excellent state of preservation. They appear to date from theearly time of the Lower Empire, and the cross has not yet been effacedfrom some which serve as head-stones for the True Believers. I wasparticularly struck with the abundance of altars, some of which containedentire and legible inscriptions. In the town there is the same abundanceof ruins. The lid of a sarcophagus, formed of a single block of marble, now serves as a water-trough, and the fountain is constructed of ancienttablets. The town stands on a mound which appears to be composed entirelyof the debris of the former place, and near the summit there are manyholes which the inhabitants have dug in their search for rings, seals andother relics. 

The next day we made a journey of nine hours over a hilly country lyingbetween the ranges of Allah Dagh and Emir Dagh. There were wells ofexcellent water along the road, at intervals of an hour or two. The daywas excessively hot and sultry during the noon hours, and the flies wereso bad as to give great inconvenience to our horses. The animal I bestrodekicked so incessantly that I could scarcely keep my seat. His belly wasswollen and covered with clotted blood, from their bites. The hadji's mulebegan to show symptoms of illness, and we had great difficulty in keepingit on its legs. Mr. Harrison bled it in the mouth, as a last resource, andduring the afternoon it partly recovered. 

An hour before sunset we reached Ilgün, a town on the plain, at the footof one of the spurs of Emir Dagh. To the west of it there is a lake ofconsiderable size, which receives the streams that flow through the townand water its fertile gardens. We passed through the town and pitched ourtent upon a beautiful grassy meadow. Our customary pipe of refreshment wasnever more heartily enjoyed than at this place. Behind us was a barrenhill, at the foot of which was a natural hot bath, wherein a number ofwomen and children were amusing themselves. The afternoon heat had passedaway, the air was calm, sweet, and tempered with the freshness of comingevening, and the long shadows of the hills, creeping over the meadows, hadalmost reached the town. Beyond the line of sycamore, poplar and fig-treesthat shaded the gardens of Ilgün, rose the distant chain of Allah Dagh, and in the pale-blue sky, not far above it, the dim face of the gibbousmoon showed like the ghost of a planet. Our horses were feeding on thegreen meadow; an old Turk sat beside us, silent with fasting, and therewas no sound but the shouts of the children in the bath. Such hours asthese, after a day's journey made in the drowsy heat of an Eastern summer, are indescribably grateful. 

After the women had retired from the bath, we were allowed to enter. Theinterior consisted of a single chamber, thirty feet high, vaulted andalmost dark. In the centre was a large basin of hot water, filled by fourstreams which poured into it. A ledge ran around the sides, and niches inthe wall supplied places for our clothes. The bath-keeper furnished uswith towels, and we undressed and plunged in. The water was agreeably warm(about 90°), had a sweet taste, and a very slight sulphury smell. Thevaulted hall redoubled the slightest noise, and a shaven Turk, who kept uscompany, sang in his delight, that he might hear the echo of his ownvoice. When we went back to the tent we found our visitor lying on theground, trying to stay his hunger. It was rather too bad in us to lightour pipes, make a sherbet and drink and smoke in his face, while we jokedhim about the Ramazan; and he at last got up and walked off, the pictureof distress. 

We made an early start the next morning, and rode on briskly over therolling, grassy hills. A beautiful lake, with an island in it, lay at thefoot of Emir Dagh. After two hours we reached a guard-house, where our_teskerés_ were demanded, and the lazy guardsman invited us in to takecoffee, that he might establish a right to the backsheesh which he couldnot demand. He had seen us afar off, and the coffee was smoking in the_finjans_ when we arrived. The sun was already terribly hot, and thelarge, green gad-flies came in such quantities that I seemed to be ridingin the midst of a swarm of bees. My horse suffered very much, and struckout his hind feet so violently, in his endeavors to get rid of them, thathe racked every joint in my body. They were not content with sucking hisblood, but settling on the small segment of my calf, exposed between thebig Tartar boot and the flowing trowsers, bit through my stockings withfierce bills. I killed hundreds of them, to no purpose, and at last, torelieve my horse, tied a bunch of hawthorn to a string, by which I swungit under his belly and against the inner side of his flanks. In this way Igave him some relief--a service which he acknowledged by a grateful motionof his head. 

As we descended towards Ak-Sheher the country became exceedingly rich andluxuriant. The range of Sultan Dagh (the Mountain of the Sultan) rose onour left, its sides covered with a thick screen of shrubbery, and itshighest peak dotted with patches of snow; opposite, the lower range ofEmir Dagh (the Mountain of the Prince) lay blue and bare in the sunshine. The base of Sultan Dagh was girdled with groves of fruit-trees, stretching out in long lines on the plain, with fields of ripening wheatbetween. In the distance the large lake of Ak-Sheher glittered in the sun. Towards the north-west, the plain stretched away for fifty miles beforereaching the hills. It is evidently on a much lower level than the plainof Konia; the heat was not only greater, but the season was furtheradvanced. Wheat was nearly ready for cutting, and the poppy-fields where, the day previous, the men were making their first incisions for opium, here had yielded their harvest and were fast ripening their seed. Ak-Sheher is beautifully situated at the entrance of a deep gorge in themountains. It is so buried in its embowered gardens that little, exceptthe mosque, is seen as you approach it. It is a large place, and boasts afine mosque, but contains nothing worth seeing. The bazaar, after that ofKonia, was the largest we had seen since leaving Tarsus. The greater partof the shopkeepers lay at full length, dozing, sleeping, or staying theirappetites till the sunset gun. We found some superb cherries, and plentyof snow, which is brought down from the mountain. The natives were veryfriendly and good-humored, but seemed surprised at Mr. Harrison tastingthe cherries, although I told them we were upon a journey. Our tent waspitched under a splendid walnut tree, outside of the town. The greenmountain rose between us and the fading sunset, and the yellow moon washanging in the east, as we took our dinner at the tent-door. Turks wereriding homewards on donkeys, with loads of grass which they had beencutting in the meadows. The gun was fired, and the shouts of the childrenannounced the close of the day's fast, while the sweet, melancholy voiceof a boy muezzin called us to sunset prayer, from the minaret. 

Leaving Ak-Sheher this morning, we rode along the base of Sultan Dagh. Theplain which we overlooked was magnificent. The wilderness of shrubberywhich fringed the slopes of the mountain gave place to great orchards andgardens, interspersed with fields of grain, which extended far out on theplain, to the wild thickets and wastes of reeds surrounding the lake. Thesides of Sultan Dagh were terraced and cultivated wherever it waspracticable, and I saw some fields of wheat high up on the mountain. Therewere many, people in the road or laboring in the fields; and during theforenoon we passed several large villages. The country is more thicklyinhabited, and has a more thrifty and prosperous air than any part of AsiaMinor which I have seen. The people are better clad, have more open, honest, cheerful and intelligent faces, and exhibit a genuine courtesy andgood-will in their demeanor towards us. I never felt more perfectlysecure, or more certain of being among people whom I could trust. 

We passed under the summit of Sultan Dagh, which shone out so clear anddistinct in the morning sun, that I could scarcely realize its actualheight above the plain. From a tremendous gorge, cleft between the twohigher peaks, issued a large stream, which, divided into a hundredchannels, fertilizes a wide extent of plain. About two hours fromAk-Sheher we passed a splendid fountain of crystal water, gushing upbeside the road. I believe it is the same called by some travellers theFountain of Midas, but am ignorant wherefore the name is given it. We rodefor several hours through a succession of grand, rich landscapes. Asmaller lake succeeded to that of Ak-Sheher, Emir Dagh rose higher in thepale-blue sky, and Sultan Dagh showed other peaks, broken and striped withsnow; but around us were the same glorious orchards and gardens, the samegolden-green wheat and rustling phalanxes of poppies--armies of vegetableRound-heads, beside the bristling and bearded Cavaliers. The sun wasintensely hot during the afternoon, as we crossed the plain, and I becameso drowsed that it required an agony of exertion to keep from tumbling offmy horse. We here left the great post-road to Constantinople, and took aless frequented track. The plain gradually became a meadow, covered withshrub cypress, flags, reeds, and wild water-plants. There were vast wastesof luxuriant grass, whereon thousands of black buffaloes were feeding. Astone causeway, containing many elegant fragments of ancient sculpture, extended across this part of the plain, but we took a summer path besideit, through beds of iris in bloom--a fragile snowy blossom, with a lip ofthe clearest golden hue. The causeway led to a bare salt plain, beyondwhich we came to the town of Bolawadün, and terminated our day's journeyof forty miles. 

Bolawadün is a collection of mud houses, about a mile long, situated on aneminence at the western base of Emir Dagh. I went into the bazaar, whichwas a small place, and not very well supplied, though, as it was nearsunset, there was quite a crowd of people, and the bakers were shovellingout their fresh bread at a brisk rate. Every one took me for a goodEgyptian Mohammedan, and I was jostled right and left among the turbans, in a manner that certainly would not have happened me had I not also wornone. Mr. H. , who had fallen behind the caravan, came up after we hadencamped, and might have wandered a long time without finding us, but forthe good-natured efforts of the inhabitants to set him aright. Thisevening he knocked over a hedgehog, mistaking it for a cat. The poorcreature was severely hurt, and its sobs of distress, precisely like thoseof a little child, were to painful to hear, that we were obliged to haveit removed from the vicinity of the tent. 

Chapter XXII

The Forests of Phrygia. 

 The Frontier of Phrygia--Ancient Quarries and Tombs--We Enter the Pine Forests--A Guard-House--Encampments of the Turcomans--Pastoral Scenery--A Summer Village--The Valley of the Tombs--Rock Sepulchres of the Phrygian Kings--The Titan's Camp--The Valley of Kümbeh--A Land of Flowers--Turcoman Hospitality--The Exiled Effendis--The Old Turcoman--A Glimpse of Arcadia--A Landscape--Interested Friendship--The Valley of the Pursek--Arrival at Kiutahya. 

 "And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady. " Tennyson. 

Kiutahya, _July_ 5, 1852. 

We had now passed through the ancient provinces of Cilicia, Cappadocia, and Lycaonia, and reached the confines of Phrygia--a rude mountain region, which was never wholly penetrated by the light of Grecian civilization. Itis still comparatively a wilderness, pierced but by a single high-road, and almost unvisited by travellers, yet inclosing in its depths manycurious relics of antiquity. Leaving Bolawadün in the morning, we ascendeda long, treeless mountain-slope, and in three or four hours reached thedividing ridge---the watershed of Asia Minor, dividing the affluents ofthe Mediterranean and the central lakes from the streams that flow to theBlack Sea. Looking back, Sultan Dagh, along whose base we had travelledthe previous day, lay high and blue in the background, streaked withshining snow, and far away behind it arose a still higher peak, hoary withthe lingering winter. We descended into a grassy plain, shut in by a rangeof broken mountains, covered to their summits with dark-green shrubbery, through which the strata of marble rock gleamed like patches of snow. Thehills in front were scarred with old quarries, once worked for thecelebrated Phrygian marble. There was neither a habitation nor a humanbeing to be seen, and the landscape had a singularly wild, lonely, andpicturesque air. 

Turning westward, we crossed a high rolling tract, and entered a valleyentirely covered with dwarf oaks and cedars. In spite of the dusty road, the heat, and the multitude of gad-flies, the journey presented anagreeable contrast to the great plains over which we had been travellingfor many days. The opposite side of the glen was crowned with a tall crestof shattered rock, in which were many old Phrygian tombs. They were mostlysimple chambers, with square apertures. There were traces of many more, the rock having been blown up or quarried down--the tombs, instead ofprotecting it, only furnishing one facility the more for destruction. After an hour's rest at a fountain, we threaded the windings of the glento a lower plain, quite shut in by the hills, whose ribs of marble showedthrough the forests of oak, holly, cedar, and pine, which dotted them. Wewere now fully entered into the hill-country, and our road passed overheights and through hollows covered with picturesque clumps of foliage. Itresembled some of the wild western downs of America, and, but for thePhrygian tombs, whose doorways stared at us from every rock, seemed aslittle familiar with the presence of Man. 

Hadji Youssuf, in stopping to arrange some of the baggage, lost his holdof his mule, and in spite of every effort to secure her, the provokingbeast kept her liberty for the rest of the day. In vain did we head heroff, chase her, coax her, set traps for her: she was too cunning to betaken in, and marched along at her ease, running into every field ofgrain, stopping to crop the choicest bunches of grass, or walking demurelyin the caravan, allowing the hadji to come within arm's length before shekicked up her heels and dashed away again. We had a long chase through theclumps of oak and holly, but all to no purpose. The great green gad-fliesswarmed around us, biting myself as well as my horse. Hecatombs, crushedby my whip, dropped dead in the dust, but the ranks were immediatelyfilled from some invisible reserve. The soil was no longer bare, butentirely covered with grass and flowers. In one of the valleys I saw alarge patch of the crimson larkspur, so thick as to resemble a pool ofblood. While crossing a long, hot hill, we came upon a little arbor ofstones, covered with pine branches. It inclosed an ancient sarcophagus ofmarble, nearly filled with water. Beside it stood a square cup, with ahandle, rudely hewn out of a piece of pine wood. This was a charitableprovision for travellers, and constantly supplied by the Turcomans wholived in the vicinity. 

The last two hours of our journey that day were through a glorious forestof pines. The road lay in a winding glen, green and grassy, and covered tothe summits on both sides with beautiful pine trees, intermixed withcedar. The air had the true northern aroma, and was more grateful thanwine. Every turn of the glen disclosed a charming woodland view. It was awild valley of the northern hills, filled with the burning lustre of asummer sun, and canopied by the brilliant blue of a summer sky. There weresigns of the woodman's axe, and the charred embers of forest camp-fires. Ithought of the lovely _cañadas_ in the pine forests behind Monterey, andcould really have imagined myself there. Towards evening we reached asolitary guard-house, on the edge of the forest. The glen here opened alittle, and a stone fountain of delicious water furnished all that wewanted for a camping-place. The house was inhabited by three soldiers;sturdy, good-humored fellows, who immediately spread a mat in the shadefor us and made us some excellent coffee. A Turcoman encampment in theneighborhood supplied us with milk and eggs. 

The guardsmen were good Mussulmans, and took us for the same. One of themasked me to let him know when the sun was down, and I prolonged his fastuntil it was quite dark, when I gave him permission to eat. They all hadtolerable stallions for their service, and seemed to live pleasantlyenough, in their wild way. The fat, stumpy corporal, with his enormouslybroad pantaloons and automaton legs, went down to the fountain with hismusket, and after taking a rest and sighting full five minutes, fired at adove without hitting it. He afterwards joined us in a social pipe, and wesat on a carpet at the door of the guard-house, watching the splendidmoonrise through the pine boughs. When the pipes had burned out I went tobed, and slept a long, sweet sleep until dawn. 

We knew that the tombs of the Phrygian Kings could not be far off, and, onmaking inquiries of the corporal, found that he knew the place. It was notfour hours distant, by a by-road and as it would be impossible to reachit without a guide, he would give us one of his men, in consideration of afee of twenty piastres. The difficulty was evident, in a hilly, woodedcountry like this, traversed by a labyrinth of valleys and ravines, and sowe accepted the soldier. As we were about leaving, an old Turcoman, whosebeard was dyed a bright red, came up, saying that he knew Mr. H. Was aphysician, and could cure him of his deafness. The morning air was sweetwith the breath of cedar and pine, and we rode on through the woods andover the open turfy glades, in high spirits. We were in the heart of amountainous country, clothed with evergreen forests, except some openupland tracts, which showed a thick green turf, dotted all over withpark-like clumps, and single great trees. The pines were noble trunks, often sixty to eighty feet high, and with boughs disposed in all possiblepicturesqueness of form. The cedar frequently showed a solid white bole, three feet in diameter. 

We took a winding footpath, often a mere track, striking across the hillsin a northern direction. Everywhere we met the Turks of the plain, who arenow encamped in the mountains, to tend their flocks through the summermonths. Herds of sheep and goats were scattered over the greenpasture-slopes, and the idle herd-boys basked in the morning sun, playinglively airs on a reed flute, resembling the Arabic _zumarra_. Here andthere was a woodman, busy at a recently felled tree, and we met several ofthe creaking carts of the country, hauling logs. All that we saw had apleasant rural air, a smack of primitive and unsophisticated life. Fromthe higher ridges over which we passed, we could see, far to the east andwest, other ranges of pine-covered mountains, and in the distance thecloudy lines of loftier chains. The trunks of the pines were nearly allcharred, and many of the smaller trees dead, from the fires which, laterin the year, rage in these forests. 

After four hours of varied and most inspiring travel, we reached adistrict covered for the most part with oak woods--a more open thoughstill mountainous region. There was a summer village of Turks scatteredover the nearest slope--probably fifty houses in all, almost perfectcounterparts of Western log-cabins. They were built of pine logs, laidcrosswise, and covered with rough boards. These, as we were told, were thedwellings of the people who inhabit the village of Khosref Pasha Khanduring the winter. Great numbers of sheep and goats were browsing over thehills or lying around the doors of the houses. The latter were beautifulcreatures, with heavy, curved horns, and long, white, silky hair, thatentirely hid their eyes. We stopped at a house for water, which the manbrought out in a little cask. He at first proposed giving us _yaourt_, andhis wife suggested _kaïmak_ (sweet curds), which we agreed to take, but itproved to be only boiled milk. 

Leaving the village, we took a path leading westward, mounted a long hill, and again entered the pine forests. Before long, we came to a well-builtcountry-house, somewhat resembling a Swiss cottage. It was two storieshigh, and there was an upper balcony, with cushioned divans, overlooking athriving garden-patch and some fruit-trees. Three or four men were weedingin the garden, and the owner came up and welcomed us. A fountain ofice-cold water gushed into a stone trough at the door, making a temptingspot for our breakfast, but we were bent on reaching the tombs. There wereconvenient out-houses for fowls, sheep, and cattle. The herds were out, grazing along the edges of the forest, and we heard the shrill, joyousmelodies of the flutes blown by the herd-boys. 

We now reached a ridge, whence we looked down through the forest upon along valley, nearly half a mile wide, and bordered on the opposite side byranges of broken sandstone crags. This was the place we sought--the Valleyof the Phrygian Tombs. Already we could distinguish the hewn faces of therocks, and the dark apertures to the chambers within. The bottom of thevalley was a bed of glorious grass, blazoned with flowers, and redolent ofall vernal smells. Several peasants, finding it too hot to mow, had throwntheir scythes along the swarths, and were lying in the shade of an oak. Werode over the new-cut hay, up the opposite side, and dismounted at theface of the crags. As we approached them, the number of chambers hewn inthe rock, the doors and niches now open to the day, surmounted byshattered spires and turrets, gave the whole mass the appearance of agrand fortress in ruins. The crags, which are of a very soft, reddish-graysandstone, rise a hundred and fifty feet from their base, and theirsummits are worn by the weather into the most remarkable forms. 

The principal monument is a broad, projecting cliff, one side of which hasbeen cut so as to resemble the façade of a temple. The sculptured part isabout sixty feet high by sixty in breadth, and represents a solid wallwith two pilasters at the ends, upholding an architrave and pediment, which is surmounted by two large volutes. The whole face of the wall iscovered with ornaments resembling panel-work, not in regular squares, buta labyrinth of intricate designs. In the centre, at the bottom, is ashallow square recess, surrounded by an elegant, though plain moulding, but there is no appearance of an entrance to the sepulchral chamber, whichmay be hidden in the heart of the rock. There is an inscription in Greekrunning up one side, but it is of a later date than the work itself. Onone of the tombs there is an inscription: "To King Midas. " These relicsare supposed to date from the period of the Gordian Dynasty, about sevencenturies before Christ. 

A little in front of a headland, formed by the summit walls of two meetingvalleys, rises a mass of rocks one hundred feet high, cut into sepulchralchambers, story above story, with the traces of steps between them, leading to others still higher. The whole rock, which may be a hundred andfifty feet long by fifty feet broad, has been scooped out, leaving butnarrow partitions to separate the chambers of the dead. These chambers areall plain, but some are of very elegant proportions, with arched orpyramidal roofs, and arched recesses at the sides, containing sarcophagihewn in the solid stone. There are also many niches for cinerary urns. Theprincipal tomb had a portico, supported by columns, but the front is nowentirely hurled down, and only the elegant panelling and stone joists ofthe ceiling remain. The entire hill was a succession of tombs. There isnot a rock which does not bear traces of them. I might have countedseveral hundred within a stone's throw. The position of these curiousremains in a lonely valley, shut in on all sides by dark, pine-coveredmountains---two of which are crowned with a natural acropolis of rock, resembling a fortress--increases the interest with which they inspire thebeholder. The valley on the western side, with its bed of ripe wheat inthe bottom, its tall walls, towers, and pinnacles of rock, and its distantvista of mountain and forest, is the most picturesque in Phrygia. 

The Turcoman reapers, who came up to see us and talk with us, said thatthere were the remains of walls on the summit of the principal acropolisopposite us, and that, further up the valley, there was a chamber with twocolumns in front. Mr. Harrison and I saddled and rode off, passing along awall of fantastic rock-turrets, at the base of which was a natural column, about ten feet high, and five in diameter, almost perfectly round, andupholding an immense rock, shaped like a cocked hat. In crossing themeadow we saw a Turk sitting in the sun beside a spring, and busilyengaged in knitting a stocking. After a ride of two miles we found thechamber, hewn like the façade of a temple in an isolated rock, overlookingtwo valleys of wild meadow-land. The pediment and cornice were simple andbeautiful, but the columns had been broken away. The chambers wereperfectly plain, but the panel-work on the ceiling of the portico wasentire. 

After passing three hours in examining these tombs, we took the trackwhich our guide pointed out as the road to Kiutahya. We rode two hoursthrough the forest, and came out upon a wooded height, overlooking agrand, open valley, rich in grain-fields and pasture land. While I wascontemplating this lovely view, the road turned a corner of the ridge, andlo! before me there appeared (as I thought), above the tops of the pines, high up on the mountain side, a line of enormous tents. Those snow-whitecones, uprearing their sharp spires, and spreading out their broadbases--what could they be but an encampment of monster tents? Yet no; theywere pinnacles of white rock--perfect cones, from thirty to one hundredfeet in height, twelve in all, and ranged side by side along the edge ofthe cliff, with the precision of a military camp. They were snow-white, perfectly smooth and full, and their bases touched. What made thespectacle more singular, there was no other appearance of the same rock onthe mountain. All around them was the dark-green of the pines, out ofwhich they rose like drifted horns of unbroken snow. I named this singularphenomenon--which seems to have escaped the notice of travellers--TheTitan's Camp. 

In another hour we reached a fountain near the village of Kümbeh, andpitched our tents for the night. The village, which is half a mile inlength, is built upon a singular crag, which shoots up abruptly from thecentre of the valley, rising at one extremity to a height of more than ahundred feet. It was entirely deserted, the inhabitants having all goneoff to the mountains with their herds. The solitary muezzin, who cried the_mughreb_ at the close of the fast, and lighted the lamps on his minaret, went through with his work in most unclerical haste, now that there was noone to notice him. We sent Achmet, the _katurgee_, to the mountain camp ofthe villagers, to procure a supply of fowls and barley. 

We rose very early yesterday morning, shivering in the cold air of themountains, and just as the sun, bursting through the pines, looked downthe little hollow where our tents were pitched, set the caravan in motion. The ride down the valley was charming. The land was naturally rich andhighly cultivated, which made its desertion the more singular. Leagues ofwheat, rye and poppies spread around us, left for the summer warmth to doits silent work. The dew sparkled on the fields as we rode through them, and the splendor of the flowers in blossom was equal to that of the plainsof Palestine. There were purple, white and scarlet poppies; the richcrimson larkspur; the red anemone; the golden daisy; the pink convolvulus;and a host of smaller blooms, so intensely bright and dazzling in theirhues, that the meadows were richer than a pavement of precious jewels. Tolook towards the sun, over a field of scarlet poppies, was like looking ona bed of live coals; the light, striking through the petals, made themburn as with an inward fire. Out of this wilderness of gorgeous color, rose the tall spires of a larger plant, covered with great yellow flowers, while here and there the snowy blossoms of a clump of hawthorn sweetenedthe morning air. 

A short distance beyond Kümbeh, we passed another group of ancient tombs, one of which was of curious design. An isolated rock, thirty feet inheight by twenty in diameter, was cut so as to resemble a triangulartower, with the apex bevelled. A chamber, containing a sarcophagus, washewn out of the interior. The entrance was ornamented with double columnsin bas-relief, and a pediment. There was another arched chamber, cutdirectly through the base of the triangle, with a niche on each side, hollowed out at the bottom so as to form a sarcophagus. 

Leaving these, the last of the Phrygian tombs, we struck across the valleyand ascended a high range of hills, covered with pine, to an upland, wooded region. Here we found a summer village of log cabins, scatteredover a grassy slope. The people regarded us with some curiosity, and thewomen hastily concealed their faces. Mr. H. Rode up to a large new house, and peeped in between the logs. There were several women inside, whostarted up in great confusion and threw over their heads whatever articlewas most convenient. An old man, with a long white beard, neatly dressedin a green jacket and shawl turban, came out and welcomed us. I asked for_kaïmak_, which he promised, and immediately brought out a carpet andspread it on the ground. Then followed a large basin of kaïmak, withwooden spoons, three loaves of bread, and a plate of cheese. We seatedourselves on the carpet, and delved in with the spoons, while the old manretired lest his appetite should be provoked. The milk was excellent, norwere the bread and cheese to be despised. 

While we were eating, the Khowagee, or schoolmaster of the community, agenteel little man in a round white turban, came op to inquire of Françoiswho we were. "That effendi in the blue dress, " said he, "is the Bey, is henot?" "Yes, " said F. "And the other, with the striped shirt and whiteturban, is a writer?" [Here he was not far wrong. ] "But how is it that theeffendis do not speak Turkish?" he persisted. "Because, " said François, "their fathers were exiled by Sultan Mahmoud when they were smallchildren. They have grown up in Aleppo like Arabs, and have not yetlearned Turkish; but God grant that the Sultan may not turn his face awayfrom them, and that they may regain the rank their fathers once had inStamboul. " "God grant it!" replied the Khowagee, greatly interested in thestory. By this time we had eaten our full share of the kaïmak, which wasfinished by François and the katurgees. The old man now came up, mountedon a dun mare, stating that he was bound for Kiutahya, and was delightedwith the prospect of travelling in such good company, I gave one of hisyoung children some money, as the kaïmak was tendered out of purehospitality, and so we rode off. 

Our new companion was armed to the teeth, having a long gun with a heavywooden stock and nondescript lock, and a sword of excellent metal. It was, in fact, a weapon of the old Greek empire, and the cross was stillenamelled in gold at the root of the blade, in spite of all his efforts toscratch it out. He was something of a _fakeer_, having made a pilgrimageto Mecca and Jerusalem. He was very inquisitive, plying François withquestions about the government. The latter answered that we were notconnected with the government, but the old fellow shrewdly hinted that heknew better--we were persons of rank, travelling incognito. He was veryattentive to us, offering us water at every fountain, although he believedus to be good Mussulmans. We found him of some service as a guide, shortening our road by taking by-paths through the woods. 

For several hours we traversed a beautifully wooded region of hills. Graceful clumps of pine shaded the grassy knolls, where the sheep andsilky-haired goats were basking at rest, and the air was filled with awarm, summer smell, blown from the banks of golden broom. Now and then, from the thickets of laurel and arbutus, a shrill shepherd's reed pipedsome joyous woodland melody. Was it a Faun, astray among the hills? Greendells, open to the sunshine, and beautiful as dreams of Arcady, dividedthe groves of pine. The sky overhead was pure and cloudless, clasping thelandscape with its belt of peace and silence. Oh, that delightful region, haunted by all the bright spirits of the immortal Grecian Song! Chasedaway from the rest of the earth, here they have found a home--heresecret altars remain to them from the times that are departed!

Out of these woods, we passed into a lonely plain, inclosed by piny hillsthat brightened in the thin, pure ether. In the distance were someshepherds' tents, and musical goat-bells tinkled along the edges of thewoods. From the crest of a lofty ridge beyond this plain, we looked backover the wild solitudes wherein we had been travelling for two days--longranges of dark hills, fading away behind each other, with a perspectivethat hinted of the hidden gulfs between. From the western slope, a stillmore extensive prospect opened before us. Over ridges covered with forestsof oak and pine, we saw the valley of the Pursek, the ancient Thymbrius, stretching far away to the misty line of Keshish Dagh, The mountainsbehind Kintahya loomed up high and grand, making a fine feature in themiddle distance. We caught but fleeting glimpses of the view through thetrees; and then, plunging into the forest again, descended to a cultivatedslope, whereon there was a little village, now deserted. The graveyardbeside it was shaded with large cedar-trees, and near it there was afountain of excellent water. "Here, " said the old man, "you can wash andpray, and then rest awhile under the trees. " François excused us by sayingthat, while on a journey, we always bathed before praying; but, not toslight his faith entirely, I washed my hands and face before sitting downto our scanty breakfast of bread and water. 

Our path now led down through long, winding glens, over grown with oaks, from which the wild yellow honeysuckles fell in a shower of blossoms. Aswe drew near the valley, the old man began to hint that his presence hadbeen of great service to us, and deserved recompense. "God knows, " saidhe to François, "in what corner of the mountains you might now be, if Ihad not accompanied you. " "Oh, " replied François, "there are always plentyof people among the woods, who would have been equally as kind as yourselfin showing us the way. " He then spoke of the robbers in the neighborhood, and pointed out some graves by the road-side, as those of persons who hadbeen murdered. "But, " he added, "everybody in these parts knows me, andwhoever is in company with me is always safe. " The Greek assured him thatwe always depended on ourselves for our safety. Defeated on these tacks, he boldly affirmed that his services were worthy of payment. "But, " saidFrançois "you told us at the village that you had business in Kiutahya, and would be glad to join us for the sake of having company on the road. ""Well, then, " rejoined the old fellow, making a last effort, "I leave thematter to your politeness. " "Certainly, " replied the imperturbabledragoman, "we could not be so impolite as to offer money to a man of yourwealth and station; we could not insult you by giving you alms. " The oldTurcoman thereupon gave a shrug and a grunt, made a sullen good-bysalutation, and left us. 

It was nearly six o'clock when we reached the Pursek. There was no sign ofthe city, but we could barely discern an old fortress on the lofty cliffwhich commands the town. A long stone bridge crossed the river, which hereseparates into half a dozen channels. The waters are swift and clear, andwind away in devious mazes through the broad green meadows. We hurried on, thinking we saw minarets in the distance, but they proved to be poplars. The sun sank lower and lower, and finally went down before there was anytoken of our being in the vicinity of the city. Soon, however, a line oftiled roofs appeared along the slope of a hill on our left, and turningits base, we saw the city before us, filling the mouth of a deep valley orgorge, which opened from the mountains. 

But the horses are saddled, and François tells me it is time to put up mypen. We are off, over the mountains, to the Greek city of OEzani, inthe valley of the Rhyndacus. 

Chapter XXIII. 

Kiutahya and the Ruins of OEzani. 

 Entrance into Kiutahya--The New Khan--An Unpleasant Discovery--Kiutahya--The Citadel--Panorama from the Walls--The Gorge of the Mountains--Camp in a Meadow--The Valley of the Rhyndacus--Chavdür--The Ruins of OEzani--The Acropolis and Temple--The Theatre and Stadium--Ride down the Valley--Camp at Daghje Köi

 "There is a temple in ruin stands, Fashioned by long-forgotten hands; Two or three columns and many a stone, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown! Out upon Time! it will leave no more Of the things to come than the things before!"

Daghje Köi, on the Rhyndacus, _July_ 6, 1852. 

On entering Kiutahya, we passed the barracks, which were the residence ofKossuth and his companions in exile. Beyond them, we came to a broadstreet, down which flowed the vilest stream of filth of which even aTurkish city could ever boast. The houses on either side were two storieshigh, the upper part of wood, with hanging balconies, over which shot theeaves of the tiled roofs. The welcome cannon had just sounded, announcingthe close of the day's fast. The coffee-shops were already crowded withlean and hungry customers, the pipes were filled and lighted, and thecoffee smoked in the finjans. In half a minute such whiffs arose on allsides as it would have cheered the heart of a genuine smoker to behold. Out of these cheerful places we passed into other streets which wereentirely deserted, the inhabitants being at dinner. It had a weird, uncomfortable effect to ride through streets where the clatter of ourhorses' hoofs was the only sound of life. At last we reached the entranceto a bazaar, and near it a khan--a new khan, very neatly built, and with aspare room so much better than we expected, that we congratulatedourselves heartily. We unpacked in a hurry, and François ran off to thebazaar, from which he speedily returned with some roast kid, cucumbers, and cherries. We lighted two lamps, I borrowed the oda-bashi's narghileh, and François, learning that it was our national anniversary, procured us aflask of Greek wine, that we might do it honor. The beverage, however, resembled a mixture of vinegar and sealing-wax, and we contented ourselveswith drinking patriotic toasts, in two finjans of excellent coffee. But inthe midst of our enjoyment, happening to cast my eye on the walls, I saw asight that turned all our honey into gall. Scores on scores--nay, hundredson hundreds--of enormous bed-bugs swarmed on the plaster, and were alreadydescending to our beds and baggage. To sleep there was impossible, but wesucceeded in getting possession of one of the outside balconies, where wemade our beds, after searching them thoroughly. 

In the evening a merchant, who spoke a little Arabic, came up to me andasked: "Is not your Excellency's friend the _hakim pasha_" (chiefphysician). I did not venture to assent, but replied: "No; he is a_sowakh_" This was beyond his comprehension, and he went away with theimpression that Mr. H. Was much greater than a _hakim pasha_. I sleptsoundly on my out-doors bed, but was awakened towards morning by twotremendous claps of thunder, echoing in the gorge, and the rattling ofrain on the roof of the khan. 

I spent two or three hours next morning in taking a survey of Kiutahya. The town is much larger than I had supposed: I should judge it to containfrom fifty to sixty thousand inhabitants. The situation is remarkable, andgives a picturesque effect to the place when seen from above, which makesone forget its internal filth. It is built in the mouth of a gorge, andaround the bases of the hills on either side. The lofty mountains whichrise behind it supply it with perpetual springs of pure water. At everydozen steps you come upon a fountain, and every large street has a brookin the centre. The houses are all two and many of them three stories high, with hanging balconies, which remind me much of Switzerland. The bazaarsare very extensive, covering all the base of the hill on which stands theancient citadel. The goods displayed were mostly European cotton fabrics, _quincaillerie_, boots and slippers, pipe-sticks and silks. In the partsdevoted to the produce of the country, I saw very fine cherries, cucumbersand lettuce, and bundles of magnificent clover, three to four feet high. 

We climbed a steep path to the citadel, which covers the summit of anabrupt, isolated hill, connected by a shoulder with the great range. Thewalls are nearly a mile in circuit, consisting almost wholly of immensecircular buttresses, placed so near each other that they almost touch. Theconnecting walls are broken down on the northern side, so that from belowthe buttresses have the appearance of enormous shattered columns. They arebuilt of rough stones, with regular layers of flat, burnt bricks. On thehighest part of the hill stands the fortress, or stronghold, a place whichmust have been almost impregnable before the invention of cannon. Thestructure probably dates from the ninth or tenth century, but is built onthe foundations of more ancient edifices. The old Greek city of Cotyaeum(whence Kiutahya) probably stood upon this hill. Within the citadel is anupper town, containing about a hundred houses, the residence, apparentlyof poor families. 

From the circuit of the walls, on every side, there are grand views overthe plain, the city, and the gorges of the mountains behind. The valley ofthe Pursek, freshened by the last night's shower, spread out a sheet ofvivid green, to the pine-covered mountains which bounded it on all sides. Around the city it was adorned with groves and gardens, and, in thedirection of Brousa, white roads went winding away to other gardens andvillages in the distance. The mountains of Phrygia, through which we hadpassed, were the loftiest in the circle that inclosed the valley. The cityat our feet presented a thick array of red-tiled roofs, out of which rosehere and there the taper shaft of a minaret, or the dome of a mosque orbath. From the southern side of the citadel, we looked down into the gorgewhich supplies Kiutahya with water--a wild, desert landscape of whitecrags and shattered peaks of gray rock, hanging over a narrow winding bedof the greenest foliage. 

Instead of taking the direct road to Brousa, we decided to make a detourof two days, in order to visit the ruins of the old Greek city ofOEzani, which are thirty-six miles south of Kiutahya. Leaving atnoon, we ascended the gorge behind the city, by delightfully emboweredpaths, at first under the eaves of superb walnut-trees, and then throughwild thickets of willow, hazel, privet, and other shrubs, tangledtogether with the odorous white honeysuckle. Near the city, themountain-sides were bare white masses of gypsum and other rock, in manyplaces with the purest chrome-yellow hue; but as we advanced they wereclothed to the summit with copsewood. The streams that foamed down theseperennial heights were led into buried channels, to come to light again insparkling fountains, pouring into ever-full stone basins. The day was cooland cloudy, and the heavy shadows which hung on the great sides of themountain gateway, heightened, by contrast, the glory of the sunlit plainseen through them. 

After passing the summit ridge, probably 5, 000 feet above the sea, we cameupon a wooded, hilly region, stretching away in long misty lines to MuradDagh, whose head was spotted with snow. There were patches of wheat andrye in the hollows, and the bells of distant herds tinkled occasionallyamong the trees. There was no village on the road, and we were on the wayto one which we saw in the distance, when we came upon a meadow of goodgrass, with a small stream running through it. Here we encamped, sendingAchmet, the katurgee, to the village for milk and eggs. The ewes had justbeen milked for the suppers of their owners, but they went over the flockagain, stripping their udders, which greatly improved the quality of themilk. The night was so cold that I could scarcely sleep during the morninghours. There was a chill, heavy dew on the meadow; but when François awokeme at sunrise, the sky was splendidly clear and pure, and the early beamshad a little warmth in them. Our coffee, before starting, made withsheep's milk, was the richest I ever drank. 

After riding for two hours across broad, wild ridges, covered with cedar, we reached a height overlooking the valley of the Rhyndacus, or rather theplain whence he draws his sources--a circular level, ten or twelve milesin diameter, and contracting towards the west into a narrow dell, throughwhich his waters find outlet; several villages, each embowered in gardens, were scattered along the bases of the hills that inclose it. We took thewrong road, but were set aright by a herdsman, and after threading a lanebetween thriving grain-fields, were cheered by the sight of the Temple ofOEzani, lifted on its acropolis above the orchards of Chavdür, andstanding out sharp and clear against the purple of the hills. 

Our approach to the city was marked by the blocks of sculptured marblethat lined the way: elegant mouldings, cornices, and entablatures, throwntogether with common stone to make walls between the fields. The villageis built on both sides of the Rhyndacus; it is an ordinary Turkish hamlet, with tiled roofs and chimneys, and exhibits very few of the remains of theold city in its composition. This, I suspect, is owing to the great sizeof the hewn blocks, especially of the pillars, cornices, and entablatures, nearly all of which are from twelve to fifteen feet long. It is from thesize and number of these scattered blocks, rather than from the buildingswhich still partially exist, that one obtains an idea of the size andsplendor of the ancient OEzani. The place is filled with fragments, especially of columns, of which there are several hundred, nearly allfinely fluted. The Rhyndacus is still spanned by an ancient bridge ofthree arches, and both banks are lined with piers of hewn stone. Tallpoplars and massy walnuts of the richest green shade the clear waters, andthere are many picturesque combinations of foliage and ruin--death andlife--which would charm a painter's eye. Near the bridge we stopped toexamine a pile of immense fragments which have been thrown together by theTurks--pillars, cornices, altars, pieces of a frieze, with bulls' headsbound together by hanging garlands, and a large square block, with alegible tablet. It resembled an altar in form, and, from the word"_Artemidoron_" appeared to have belonged to some temple to Diana. 

Passing through the village we came to a grand artificial platform on itswestern side, called the Acropolis. It is of solid masonry, five hundredfeet square, and averaging ten feet in height. On the eastern side it issupported on rude though massive arches, resembling Etruscan workmanship. On the top and around the edges of this platform lie great numbers offluted columns, and immense fragments of cornice and architrave. In thecentre, on a foundation platform about eight feet high, stands a beautifulIonic temple, one hundred feet in length. On approaching, it appearednearly perfect, except the roof, and so many of the columns remainstanding that its ruined condition scarcely injures the effect. There areseventeen columns on the side and eight at the end, Ionic in style, fluted, and fifty feet in height. About half the cella remains, with anelegant frieze and cornice along the top, and a series of tablets, set inpanels of ornamental sculpture, running along the sides. The front of thecella includes a small open peristyle, with two composite Corinthiancolumns at the entrance, making, with those of the outer colonnade, eighteen columns standing. The tablets contain Greek inscriptions, perfectly legible, where the stone has not been shattered. Under thetemple there are large vaults, which we found filled up with young kids, who had gone in there to escape the heat of the sun. The portico wasoccupied by sheep, which at first refused to make room for us, and gavestrong olfactory evidence of their partiality for the temple as aresting-place. 

On the side of a hill, about three hundred yards to the north, are theremains of a theatre. Crossing some patches of barley and lentils, weentered a stadium, forming an extension of the theatre---that is, it tookthe same breadth and direction, so that the two might be considered as onegrand work, more than one thousand feet long by nearly four hundred wide. The walls of the stadium are hurled down, except an entrance of fivearches of massive masonry, on the western side. We rode up the artificialvalley, between high, grassy hills, completely covered with what at adistance resembled loose boards, but which were actually the long marbleseats of the stadium. Urging our horses over piles of loose blocks, wereached the base of the theatre, climbed the fragments that cumber themain entrance, and looked on the spacious arena and galleries within. Although greatly ruined, the materials of the whole structure remain, andmight be put together again. It is a grand wreck; the colossal fragmentswhich have tumbled from the arched proscenium fill the arena, and the rowsof seats, though broken and disjointed, still retain their original order. It is somewhat more than a semicircle, the radius being about one hundredand eighty feet. The original height was upwards of fifty feet, and therewere fifty rows of seats in all, each row capable of seating two hundredpersons, so that the number of spectators who could be accommodated waseight thousand. 

The fragments cumbering the arena were enormous, and highly interestingfrom their character. There were rich blocks of cornice, ten feet long;fluted and reeded pillars; great arcs of heavily-carved sculpture, whichappeared to have served as architraves from pillar to pillar, along theface of the proscenium, where there was every trace of having been acolonnade; and other blocks sculptured with figures of animals inalto-relievo. There were generally two figures on each block, and amongthose which could be recognized were the dog and the lion. Doors openedfrom the proscenium into the retiring-rooms of the actors, under whichwere the vaults where the beasts were kept. A young fox or jackal startedfrom his siesta as we entered the theatre, and took refuge under the looseblocks. Looking backwards through the stadium from the seats of thetheatre, we had a lovely view of the temple, standing out clear and brightin the midst of the summer plain, with the snow-streaked summits of MuradDagh in the distance. It was a picture which I shall long remember. Thedesolation of the magnificent ruins was made all the more impressive bythe silent, solitary air of the region around them. 

Leaving Chavdür in the afternoon, we struck northward, down the valley ofthe Rhyndacus, over tracts of rolling land, interspersed with groves ofcedar and pine. There were so many branch roads and crossings that wecould not fail to go wrong; and after two or three hours found ourselvesin the midst of a forest, on the broad top of a mountain, without any roadat all. There were some herdsmen tending their flocks near at hand, butthey could give us no satisfactory direction. We thereupon, took our owncourse, and soon brought up on the brink of a precipice, overhanging adeep valley. Away to the eastward we caught a glimpse of the Rhyndacus, and the wooden minaret of a little village on his banks. Following theedge of the precipice, we came at last to a glen, down which ran a roughfootpath that finally conducted us, by a long road through the forests, tothe village of Daghje Köi, where we are now encamped. 

The place seems to be devoted to the making of flints, and the streets arefilled with piles of the chipped fragments. Our tent is pitched on thebank of the river, in a barren meadow. The people tell us that the wholeregion round about has just been visited by a plague of grasshoppers, which have destroyed their crops. Our beasts have wandered off to thehills, in search for grass, and the disconsolate Hadji is hunting them. Achmet, the katurgee, lies near the fire, sick; Mr. Harrison complains offever, and François moves about languidly, with a dismal countenance. Sohere we are in the solitudes of Bithynia, but there is no God but God, andthat which is destined comes to pass. 

Chapter XXIV. 

The Mysian Olympus. 

 Journey Down the Valley--The Plague of Grasshoppers--A Defile--The Town of Taushanlü--The Camp of Famine--We leave the Rhyndacus--The Base of Olympus--Primeval Forests--The Guard-House--Scenery of the Summit--Forests of Beech--Saw-Mills--Descent of the Mountain--The View of Olympus--Morning--The Land of Harvest--Aineghiöl--A Showery Ride--The Plain of Brousa--The Structure of Olympus--We reach Brousa--The Tent is Furled. 

 "I looked yet farther and higher, and saw in the heavens a silvery cloud that stood fast, and still against the breeze; * * * * and so it was as a sign and a testimony--almost as a call from the neglected gods, that I now saw and acknowledged the snowy crown of the Mysian Olympus!" Kinglake. 

Brousa, _July_ 9, 1852. 

From Daghje Küi, there were two roads to Taushanlü, but the peopleinformed us that the one which led across the mountains was difficult tofind, and almost impracticable. We therefore took the river road, which wefound picturesque in the highest degree. The narrow dell of the Rhyndacuswound through a labyrinth of mountains, sometimes turning at sharp anglesbetween craggy buttresses, covered with forests, and sometimes broadeningout into a sweep of valley, where the villagers were working in companiesamong the grain and poppy fields. The banks of the stream were lined withoak, willow and sycamore, and forests of pine, descending from themountains, frequently overhung the road. We met numbers of peasants, going to and from the fields, and once a company of some twenty women, who, on seeing us, clustered together like a flock of frightened sheep, and threw their mantles over their heads. They had curiosity enough, however, to peep at us as we went by, and I made them a salutation, whichthey returned, and then burst into a chorus of hearty laughter. All thisregion was ravaged by a plague of grasshoppers. The earth was black withthem in many places, and our horses ploughed up a living spray, as theydrove forward through the meadows. Every spear of grass was destroyed, andthe wheat and rye fields were terribly cut up. We passed a large cragwhere myriads of starlings had built their nests, and every starling had agrasshopper in his mouth. 

We crossed the river, in order to pass a narrow defile, by which it forcesits way through the rocky heights of Dumanidj Dagh. Soon after passing theridge, a broad and beautiful valley expanded before us. It was about tenmiles in breadth, nearly level, and surrounded by picturesque ranges ofwooded mountains. It was well cultivated, principally in rye and poppies, and more thickly populated than almost any part of Europe. The tinned topsof the minarets of Taushanlü shone over the top of a hill in front, andthere was a large town nearly opposite, on the other bank of theRhyndacus, and seven small villages scattered about in various directions. Most of the latter, however, were merely the winter habitations of theherdsmen, who are now living in tents on the mountain tops. All over thevalley, the peasants were at work in the harvest-fields, cutting andbinding grain, gathering opium from the poppies, or weeding the youngtobacco. In the south, over the rim of the hills that shut in thispastoral solitude, rose the long blue summits of Urus Dagh. We rode intoTaushanlü, which is a long town, filling up a hollow between two stonyhills. The houses are all of stone, two stories high, with tiled roofs andchimneys, so that, but for the clapboarded and shingled minarets, it wouldanswer for a North-German village. 

The streets were nearly deserted, and even in the bazaars, which are ofsome extent, we found but few persons. Those few, however, showed alaudable curiosity with regard to us, clustering about us whenever westopped, and staring at us with provoking pertinacity. We had somedifficulty in procuring information concerning the road, the directionsbeing so contradictory that we were as much in the dark as ever. We losthalf an hour in wandering among the hills; and, after travelling fourhours over piny uplands, without finding the village of Kara Köi, encampedon a dry plain, on the western bank of the river. There was not a spear ofgrass for the beasts, everything being eaten up by the grasshoppers, andthere were no Turcomans near who could supply us with food. So we dined onhard bread and black coffee, and our forlorn beasts walked languidlyabout, cropping the dry stalks of weeds and the juiceless roots of thedead grass. 

We crossed the river next morning, and took a road following its course, and shaded with willows and sycamores. The lofty, wooded ranges of theMysian Olympus lay before us, and our day's work was to pass them. Afterpassing the village of Kara Köi, we left the valley of the Rhyndacus, andcommenced ascending one of the long, projecting spurs thrust out from themain chain of Olympus. At first we rode through thickets of scrubby cedar, but soon came to magnificent pine forests, that grew taller and sturdierthe higher we clomb. A superb mountain landscape opened behind us. Thevalleys sank deeper and deeper, and at last disappeared behind the greatridges that heaved themselves out of the wilderness of smaller hills. Allthese ridges were covered with forests; and as we looked backwards out ofthe tremendous gulf up the sides of which we were climbing, the scenerywas wholly wild and uncultivated. Our path hung on the imminent side of achasm so steep that one slip might have been destruction to both horse andrider. Far below us, at the bottom of the chasm, roared an invisibletorrent. The opposite side, vapory from its depth, rose like an immensewall against Heaven. The pines were even grander than those in the woodsof Phrygia. Here they grew taller and more dense, hanging their cloudyboughs over the giddy depths, and clutching with desperate roots to thealmost perpendicular sides of the gorges. In many places they were theprimeval forests of Olympus, and the Hamadryads were not yet frightenedfrom their haunts. 

Thus, slowly toiling up through the sublime wilderness, breathing thecold, pure air of those lofty regions, we came at last to a little stream, slowly trickling down the bed of the gorge. It was shaded, not by thepine, but by the Northern beech, with its white trunk and close, confidential boughs, made for the talks of lovers and the meditations ofpoets. Here we stopped to breakfast, but there was nothing for the poorbeasts to eat, and they waited for us droopingly, with their heads thrusttogether. While we sat there three camels descended to the stream, andafter them a guard with a long gun. He was a well-made man, with a brownface, keen, black eye, and piratical air, and would have made a good heroof modern romance. Higher up we came to a guard house, on a little clearedspace, surrounded by beech forests. It was a rough stone hut, with a whiteflag planted on a pole before it, and a miniature water-wheel, running aminiature saw at a most destructive rate, beside the door. 

Continuing our way, we entered on a region such as I had no idea could befound in Asia. The mountains, from the bottoms of the gorges to theirtopmost summits, were covered with the most superb forests of beech I eversaw--masses of impenetrable foliage, of the most brilliant green, touchedhere and there by the darker top of a pine. Our road was through a deep, dark shade, and on either side, up and down, we saw but a cool, shadowysolitude, sprinkled with dots of emerald light, and redolent with the odorof damp earth, moss, and dead leaves. It was a forest, the counterpart ofwhich could only be found in America--such primeval magnitude of growth, such wild luxuriance, such complete solitude and silence! Through theshafts of the pines we had caught glorious glimpses of the blue mountainworld below us; but now the beech folded us in its arms, and whispered inour ears the legends of our Northern home. There, on the ridges of theMysian Olympus, sacred to the bright gods of Grecian song, I found theinspiration of our darker and colder clime and age. "_O gloriosi spiritidegli boschi!_"

I could scarcely contain myself, from surprise and joy. François failed tofind French adjectives sufficient for his admiration, and even ourcheating katurgees were touched by the spirit of the scene. On eitherside, whenever a glimpse could be had through the boughs, we looked uponleaning walls of trees, whose tall, rounded tops basked in the sunshine, while their bases were wrapped in the shadows cast by themselves. Thus, folded over each other like scales, or feathers on a falcon's wing, theyclad the mountain. The trees were taller, and had a darker and more glossyleaf than the American beech. By and by patches of blue shone between theboughs before us, a sign that the summit was near, and before one o'clockwe stood upon the narrow ridge forming the crest of the mountain. Here, although we were between five and six thousand feet above the sea, thewoods of beech were a hundred feet in height, and shut out all view. Onthe northern side the forest scenery is even grander than on the southern. The beeches are magnificent trees, straight as an arrow, and from ahundred to a hundred and fifty feet in height. Only now and then could weget any view beyond the shadowy depths sinking below us, and then it wasonly to see similar mountain ranges, buried in foliage, and rolling farbehind each other into the distance. Twice, in the depth of the gorge, wesaw a saw-mill, turned by the snow-cold torrents. Piles of pine andbeechen boards were heaped around them, and the sawyers were busily plyingtheir lonely business. The axe of the woodman echoed but rarely throughthe gulfs, though many large trees lay felled by the roadside. The rock, which occasionally cropped out of the soil, was white marble, and therewas a shining precipice of it, three hundred feet high, on the oppositeside of the gorge. 

After four hours of steady descent, during the last hour of which wepassed into a forest entirely of oaks, we reached the first terrace at thebase of the mountain. Here, as I was riding in advance of the caravan, Imet a company of Turkish officers, who saluted me with an inclination ofthe most profound reverence. I replied with due Oriental gravity, whichseemed to justify their respect, for when they met François, who iseverywhere looked upon as a Turkish janissary, they asked: "Is not yourmaster a _Shekh el-Islàm_?" "You are right: he is, " answered theunscrupulous Greek. A Shekh el-Islàm is a sort of high-priest, corresponding in dignity to a Cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church. It israther singular that I am generally taken for a Secretary of some kind, ora Moslem priest, while my companion, who, by this time, has assumed theOriental expression, is supposed to be either medical or military. 

We had no sooner left the forests and entered the copsewood whichfollowed, than the blue bulk, of Olympus suddenly appeared in the west, towering far into the sky. It is a magnificent mountain, with a broadthough broken summit, streaked with snow. Before us, stretching awayalmost to his base, lay a grand mountain slope, covered with orchards andgolden harvest-fields. Through lanes of hawthorn and chestnut trees inblossom, which were overgrown with snowy clematis and made a shady roofabove our heads, we reached the little village of Orta Köi, and encampedin a grove of pear-trees. There was grass for our beasts, who were on thebrink of starvation, and fowls and cucumbers for ourselves, who had beenlimited to bread and coffee for two days. But as one necessity wasrestored, another disappeared. We had smoked the last of our deliciousAleppo tobacco, and that which the villagers gave us was of very inferiorquality. Nevertheless, the pipe which we smoked with them in the twilight, beside the marble fountain, promoted that peace of mind which is thesweetest preparative of slumber. 

François was determined to finish our journey to-day. He had apresentiment that we should reach Brousa, although I expected nothing ofthe kind. He called us long before the lovely pastoral valley in which welay had a suspicion of the sun, but just in time to see the first raysstrike the high head of Olympus. The long lines of snow blushed with anopaline radiance against the dark-blue of the morning sky, and all theforests and fields below lay still, and cool, and dewy, lapped in dreamsyet unrecalled by the fading moon. I bathed my face in the cold well thatperpetually poured over its full brim, drank the coffee which François hadalready prepared, sprang into the saddle, and began the last day of ourlong pilgrimage. The tent was folded, alas! for the last time; and nowfarewell to the freedom of our wandering life! Shall I ever feel it again?

The dew glistened on the chestnuts and the walnuts, on the wildgrape-vines and wild roses, that shaded our road, as we followed thecourse of an Olympian stream through a charming dell, into the great plainbelow. Everywhere the same bountiful soil, the same superb orchards, thesame ripe fields of wheat and barley, and silver rye. The peasants were atwork, men and women, cutting the grain with rude scythes, binding it intosheaves, and stacking it in the fields. As we rode over the plain, theboys came running out to us with handfuls of grain, saluting us from afar, bidding us welcome as pilgrims, wishing us as many years of prosperity asthere were kernels in their sheaves, and kissing the hands that gave themthe harvest-toll. The whole landscape had an air of plenty, peace, andcontentment. The people all greeted us cordially; and once a MevleviDervish and a stately Turk, riding in company, saluted me sorespectfully, stopping to speak with me, that I quite regretted beingobliged to assume an air of dignified reserve, and ride away from them. 

Ere long, we saw the two white minarets of Aineghiöl, above the line oforchards in front of us, and, in three hours after starting, reached theplace. It is a small town, not particularly clean, but with brisk-lookingbazaars. In one of the houses, I saw half-a-dozen pairs of superb antlers, the spoils of Olympian stags. The bazaar is covered with a trellised roof, overgrown with grape-vines, which hang enormous bunches of young grapesover the shop-boards. We were cheered by the news that Brousa was onlyeight hours distant, and I now began to hope that we might reach it. Wejogged on as fast as we could urge our weary horses, passed another beltof orchard land, paid more harvest-tolls to the reapers, and commencedascending a chain of low hills which divides the plain of Aineghiöl fromthat of Brousa. 

At a fountain called the "mid-day _konnàk_" we met some travellers comingfrom Brousa, who informed us that we could get there by the time of_asser_ prayer. Rounding the north-eastern base of Olympus, we now sawbefore us the long headland which forms his south-western extremity. Astorm was arising from the sea of Marmora, and heavy white clouds settledon the topmost summits of the mountain. The wind began to blow fresh andcool, and when we had reached a height overlooking the deep valley, in thebottom of which lies the picturesque village of Ak-su, there were longshowery lines coming up from the sea, and a filmy sheet of gray raindescended between us and Olympus, throwing his vast bulk far into thebackground. At Ak-su, the first shower met us, pouring so fast and thickthat we were obliged to put on our capotes, and halt under a walnut-treefor shelter. But it soon passed over, laying the dust, for the time, andmaking the air sweet and cool. 

We pushed forward over heights covered with young forests of oak, whichare protected by the government, in order that they may furnishship-timber. On the right, we looked down into magnificent valleys, opening towards the west into the the plain of Brousa; but when, in themiddle of the afternoon, we reached the last height, and saw the greatplain itself, the climax was attained. It was the crown of all that we hadyet seen. This superb plain or valley, thirty miles long, by five inbreadth, spread away to the westward, between the mighty mass of Olympuson the one side, and a range of lofty mountains on the other, the sides ofwhich presented a charming mixture of forest and cultivated land. Olympus, covered with woods of beech and oak, towered to the clouds that concealedhis snowy head; and far in advance, under the last cape he threw outtowards the sea, the hundred minarets of Brousa stretched in a white andglittering line, like the masts of a navy, whose hulls were buried in theleafy sea. No words can describe the beauty of the valley, the blending ofthe richest cultivation with the wildest natural luxuriance. Here weregardens and orchards; there groves of superb chestnut-trees in blossom;here, fields of golden grain or green pasture-land; there, Arcadianthickets overgrown with clematis and wild rose; here, lofty poplarsgrowing beside the streams; there, spiry cypresses looking down from theslopes: and all blended in one whole, so rich, so grand, so gorgeous, thatI scarcely breathed when it first burst upon me. 

And now we descended to its level, and rode westward along the base ofOlympus, grandest of Asian mountains. This after-storm view, although hishead was shrouded, was sublime. His base is a vast sloping terrace, leagues in length, resembling the nights of steps by which the ancienttemples were approached. From this foundation rise four mighty pyramids, two thousand feet in height, and completely mantled with forests. They arevery nearly regular in their form and size, and are flanked to the eastand west by headlands, or abutments, the slopes of which are longer andmore gradual, as if to strengthen the great structure. Piled upon the fourpyramids are others nearly as large, above whose green pinnacles appearstill other and higher ones, bare and bleak, and clustering thicklytogether, to uphold the great central dome of snow. Between the bases ofthe lowest, the streams which drain the gorges of the mountain issueforth, cutting their way through the foundation terrace, and wideningtheir beds downwards to the plain, like the throats of bugles, where, inwinter rains, they pour forth the hoarse, grand monotone of their Olympianmusic. These broad beds are now dry and stony tracts, dotted all over withclumps of dwarfed sycamores and threaded by the summer streams, shrunkenin bulk, but still swift, cold, and clear as ever. 

We reached the city before night, and François is glad to find hispresentiment fulfilled. We have safely passed through the untravelledheart of Asia Minor, and are now almost in sight of Europe. The camp-fireis extinguished; the tent is furled. We are no longer happy nomads, masquerading in Moslem garb. We shall soon become prosaic Christians, andmeekly hold out our wrists for the handcuffs of Civilization. Ah, prateas we will of the progress of the race, we are but forging additionalfetters, unless we preserve that healthy physical development, those purepleasures of mere animal existence, which are now only to be found amongour semi-barbaric brethren. Our progress is nervous, when it should bemuscular. 

Chapter XXV. 

Brousa and the Sea of Marmora. 

 The City of Brousa--Return to Civilization--Storm--The Kalputcha Hammam--A Hot Bath--A Foretaste of Paradise--The Streets and Bazaars of Brousa--The Mosque--The Tombs of the Ottoman Sultans--Disappearance of the Katurgees--We start for Moudania--The Sea of Marmora--Moudania--Passport Difficulties--A Greek Caïque--Breakfast with the Fishermen--A Torrid Voyage--The Princes' Islands--Prinkipo--Distant View of Constantinople--We enter the Golden Horn. 

 "And we glode fast o'er a pellucid plain Of waters, azure with the noontide ray. Ethereal mountains shone around--a fane Stood in the midst, beyond green isles which lay On the blue, sunny deep, resplendent far away. "

 Shelley. 

Constantinople, _Monday, July_ 12, 1852. 

Before entering Brousa, we passed the whole length of the town, which isbuilt on the side of Olympus, and on three bluffs or spurs which projectfrom it. The situation is more picturesque than that of Damascus, and fromthe remarkable number of its white domes and minarets, shooting upwardfrom the groves of chestnut, walnut, and cypress-trees, the city is evenmore beautiful. There are large mosques on all the most prominent points, and, near the centre of the city, the ruins of an ancient castle, builtupon a crag. The place, as we rode along, presented a shifting diorama ofdelightful views. The hotel is at the extreme western end of the city, notfar from its celebrated hot baths. It is a new building, in Europeanstyle, and being built high on the slope, commands one of the mostglorious prospects I ever enjoyed from windows made with hands. What acomfort it was to go up stairs into a clean, bright, cheerful room; todrop at full length on a broad divan; to eat a Christian meal; to smoke anarghileh of the softest Persian tobacco; and finally, most exquisite ofall luxuries, to creep between cool, clean sheets, on a curtained bed, andfind it impossible to sleep on account of the delicious novelty of thesensation!

At night, another storm came up from the Sea of Marmora. Tremendous pealsof thunder echoed in the gorges of Olympus and sharp, broad flashes oflightning gave us blinding glimpses of the glorious plain below. The rainfell in heavy showers, but our tent-life was just closed, and we satsecurely at our windows and enjoyed the sublime scene. 

The sun, rising over the distant mountains of Isnik, shone full in myface, awaking me to a morning view of the valley, which, freshened by thenight's thunder-storm, shone wonderfully bright and clear. After coffee, we went to see the baths, which are on the side of the mountain, a milefrom the hotel. The finest one, called the Kalputcha Hammam, is at thebase of the hill. The entrance hall is very large, and covered by twolofty domes. In the centre is a large marble urn-shaped fountain, pouringout an abundant flood of cold water. Out of this, we passed into animmense rotunda, filled with steam and traversed by long pencils of light, falling from holes in the roof. A small but very beautiful marble fountaincast up a jet of cold water in the centre. Beyond this was still anotherhall, of the same size, but with a circular basin, twenty-five feet indiameter, in the centre. The floor was marble mosaic, and the basin waslined with brilliantly-colored tiles. It was kept constantly full by thenatural hot streams of the mountain. There were a number of persons in thepool, but the atmosphere was so hot that we did not long disturb them byour curiosity. 

We then ascended to the Armenian bath, which is the neatest of all, but itwas given up to the women, and we were therefore obliged to go to aTurkish one adjoining. The room into which we were taken was so hot that aviolent perspiration immediately broke out all over my body, and by thetime the _dellèks_ were ready to rasp me, I was as limp as a wet towel, and as plastic as a piece of putty. The man who took me was sweated awayalmost to nothing; his very bones appeared to have become soft andpliable. The water was slightly sulphureous, and the pailfuls which hedashed over my head were so hot that they produced the effect of achill--a violent nervous shudder. The temperature of the springs is 180°Fahrenheit, and I suppose the tank into which he afterwards plunged memust have been nearly up to the mark. When, at last, I was laid on thecouch, my body was so parboiled that I perspired at all pores for full anhour--a feeling too warm and unpleasant at first, but presently merginginto a mood which was wholly rapturous and heavenly. I was like a softwhite cloud, that rests all of a summer afternoon on the peak of a distantmountain. I felt the couch on which I lay no more than the cloud mightfeel the cliffs on which it lingers so airily. I saw nothing but peaceful, glorious sights; spaces of clear blue sky; stretches of quiet lawns;lovely valleys threaded by the gentlest of streams; azure lakes, unruffledby a breath; calms far out on mid-ocean, and Alpine peaks bathed in theflush of an autumnal sunset. My mind retraced all our journey fromAleppo, and there was a halo over every spot I had visited. I dwelt withrapture on the piny hills of Phrygia, on the gorges of Taurus, on thebeechen solitudes of Olympus. Would to heaven that I might describe thosescenes as I then felt them! All was revealed to me: the heart of Naturelay bare, and I read the meaning and knew the inspiration of her everymood. Then, as my frame grew cooler, and the fragrant clouds of thenarghileh, which had helped my dreams, diminished, I was like that samesummer cloud, when it feels a gentle breeze and is lifted above the hills, floating along independent of Earth, but for its shadow. 

Brousa is a very long, straggling place, extending for three or four milesalong the side of the mountain, but presenting a very picturesqueappearance from every point. The houses are nearly all three stories high, built of wood and unburnt bricks, and each story projects over the other, after the manner of German towns of the Middle Ages. They have not thehanging balconies which I have found so quaint and pleasing in Kiutahya. But, especially in the Greek quarter, many of them are plastered andpainted of some bright color, which gives a gay, cheerful appearance tothe streets. Besides, Brousa is the cleanest Turkish town I have seen. Themountain streams traverse most of the streets, and every heavy rain washesthem out thoroughly. The whole city has a brisk, active air, and theworkmen appear both more skilful and more industrious than in the otherparts of Asia Minor. I noticed a great many workers in copper, iron, andwood, and an extensive manufactory of shoes and saddles. Brousa, however, is principally noted for its silks, which are produced in this valley, and others to the South and East. The manufactories are near the city. Ilooked over some of the fabrics in the bazaars, but found them nearly allimitations of European stuffs, woven in mixed silk and cotton, and evenmore costly than the silks of Damascus. 

We passed the whole length of the bazaars, and then, turning up one of theside streets on our right, crossed a deep ravine by a high stone bridge. Above and below us there were other bridges, under which a stream floweddown from the mountains. Thence we ascended the height, whereon stands thelargest and one of the oldest mosques in Brousa. The position isremarkably fine, commanding a view of nearly the whole city and the plainbelow it. We entered the court-yard boldly, François taking the precautionto speak to me only in Arabic, as there was a Turk within. Mr. H. Went tothe fountain, washed his hands and face, but did not dare to swallow adrop, putting on a most dolorous expression of countenance, as ifperishing with thirst. The mosque was a plain, square building, with alarge dome and two minarets. The door was a rich and curious specimen ofthe _stalactitic_ style, so frequent in Saracenic buildings. We peepedinto the windows, and, although the mosque, which does not appear to be incommon use, was darkened, saw enough to show that the interior was quiteplain. 

Just above this edifice stands a large octagonal tomb, surmounted by adome, and richly adorned with arabesque cornices and coatings of green andblue tiles. It stood in a small garden inclosure, and there was a sort ofporter's lodge at the entrance. As we approached, an old gray-bearded manin a green turban came out, and, on François requesting entrance for us, took a key and conducted us to the building. He had not the slightest ideaof our being Christians. We took off our slippers before touching thelintel of the door, as the place was particularly holy. Then, throwingopen the door, the old man lingered a few moments after we entered, so asnot to disturb our prayers--a mark of great respect. We advanced to theedge of the parapet, turned our faces towards Mecca, and imitated theusual Mohammedan prayer on entering a mosque, by holding both armsoutspread for a few moments, then bringing the hands together and bowingthe face upon them. This done, we leisurely examined the building, and theold man was ready enough to satisfy our curiosity. It was a rich andelegant structure, lighted from the dome. The walls were lined withbrilliant tiles, and had an elaborate cornice, with Arabic inscriptions ingold. The floor was covered with a carpet, whereon stood eight or tenancient coffins, surrounding a larger one which occupied a raised platformin the centre. They were all of wood, heavily carved, and many of thementirely covered with gilded inscriptions. These, according to the oldman, were the coffins of the Ottoman Sultans, who had reigned at Brousaprevious to the taking of Constantinople, with some members of theirfamilies. There were four Sultans, among whom were Mahomet I. , and acertain Achmet. Orchan, the founder of the Ottoman dynasty, is buriedsomewhere in Brousa, and the great central coffin may have been his. François and I talked entirely in Arabic, and the old man asked: "Who arethese Hadjis?" whereupon F. Immediately answered: "They are Effendis fromBaghdad. "

We had intended making the ascent of Olympus, but the summit was toothickly covered with clouds. On the morning of the second day, therefore, we determined to take up the line of march for Constantinople. The lastscene of our strange, eventful history with the katurgees had justtranspired, by their deserting us, being two hundred piastres in our debt. They left their khan on the afternoon after our arrival, ostensibly forthe purpose of taking their beasts out to pasture, and were never heard ofmore. We let them go, thankful that they had not played the trick sooner. We engaged fresh horses for Moudania, on the Sea of Marmora, anddispatched François in advance, to procure a caïque for Constantinople, while we waited to have our passports signed. But after waiting an hour, as there was no appearance of the precious documents, we started thebaggage also, under the charge of a _surroudjee_, and remained alone. Another hour passed by, and yet another, and the Bey was still occupied insleeping off his hunger. Mr. Harrison, in desperation, went to the office, and after some delay, received the passports with a visè, but not, as weafterwards discovered, the necessary one. 

It was four o'clock by the time we left Brousa. Our horses were stiff, clumsy pack-beasts; but, by dint of whips and the sharp shovel-stirrups, we forced them into a trot and made them keep it. The road was welltravelled, and by asking everybody we met: "_Bou yôl Moudania yedermi_?"("Is this the way to Moudania?"), we had no difficulty in finding it. Theplain in many places is marshy, and traversed by several streams. A lowrange of hills stretches across, and nearly closes it, the united watersfinding their outlet by a narrow valley to the north. From the top of thehill we had a grand view, looking back over the plain, with the long lineof Brousa's minarets glittering through the interminable groves at thefoot of the mountain Olympus now showed a superb outline; the clouds hungabout his shoulders, but his snowy head was bare. Before us lay a broad, rich valley, extending in front to the mountains of Moudania. The countrywas well cultivated, with large farming establishments here and there. 

The sun was setting as we reached the summit ridge, where stood a littleguard-house. As we rode over the crest, Olympus disappeared, and the Seaof Marmora lay before us, spreading out from the Gulf of Moudania, whichwas deep and blue among the hills, to an open line against the sunset. Beyond that misty line lay Europe, which I had not seen for nearly ninemonths, and the gulf below me was the bound of my tent and saddle life. But one hour more, old horse! Have patience with my Ethiopian thong, andthe sharp corners of my Turkish stirrups: but one hour more, and I promisenever to molest you again! Our path was downward, and I marvel that thepoor brute did not sometimes tumble headlong with me. He had been too longused to the pack, however, and his habits were as settled as a Turk's. Wepassed a beautiful village in a valley on the right, and came into olivegroves and vineyards, as the dusk was creeping on. It was a lovely countryof orchards and gardens, with fountains spouting by the wayside, andcountry houses perched on the steeps. In another hour, we reached thesea-shore. It was now nearly dark, but we could see the tower of Moudaniasome distance to the west. 

Still in a continual trot, we rode on; and as we drew near, Mr. H. Firedhis gun to announce our approach. At the entrance of the town, we foundthe sourrudjee waiting to conduct us. We clattered through the roughstreets for what seemed an endless length of time. The Ramazan gun hadjust fired, the minarets were illuminated, and the coffee-houses werefilled with people. Finally, François, who had been almost in despair atour non-appearance, hailed us with the welcome news that he had engaged acaïque, and that our baggage was already embarked. We only needed thevisès of the authorities, in order to leave. He took our teskerés to getthem, and we went upon the balcony of a coffee-house overhanging the sea, and smoked a narghileh. 

But here there was another history. The teskerés had not been properlyvisèd at Brousa, and the Governor at first decided to send us back. TakingFrançois, however, for a Turk, and finding that we had regularly passedquarantine, he signed them after a delay of an hour and a half, and weleft the shore, weary, impatient, and wolfish with twelve hours' fasting. A cup of Brousan beer and a piece of bread brought us into a better mood, and I, who began to feel sick from the rolling of the caïque, lay down onmy bed, which was spread at the bottom, and found a kind of uneasy sleep. The sail was hoisted at first, to get us across the mouth of the Gulf, butsoon the Greeks took to their oars. They were silent, however, and thoughI only slept by fits, the night wore away rapidly. As the dawn wasdeepening, we ran into a little bight in the northern side of apromontory, where a picturesque Greek village stood at the foot of themountains. The houses were of wood, with balconies overgrown withgrape-vines, and there was a fountain of cold, excellent water on the verybeach. Some Greek boatmen were smoking in the portico of a café on shore, and two fishermen, who had been out before dawn to catch sardines, wereemptying their nets of the spoil. Our men kindled a fire on the sand, androasted us a dish of the fish. Some of the last night's hunger remained, and the meal had enough of that seasoning to be delicious. 

After giving our men an hour's rest, we set off for the Princes' Islands, which now appeared to the north, over the glassy plain of the sea. TheGulf of Iskmid, or Nicomedia, opened away to the east, between twomountain headlands. The morning was intensely hot and sultry, and but forthe protection of an umbrella, we should have suffered greatly. There wasa fiery blue vapor on the sea, and a thunder-cloud hid the shores ofThrace. Now and then came a light puff of wind, whereupon the men wouldship the little mast, and crowd on an enormous quantity of sail. So, sailing and rowing, we neared the islands with the storm, but it advancedslowly enough to allow a sight of the mosques of St. Sophia and SultanAchmed, gleaming far and white, like icebergs astray on a torrid sea. Another cloud was pouring its rain over the Asian shore, and we made hasteto get to the landing at Prinkipo before it could reach us. From thesouth, the group of islands is not remarkable for beauty. Only four ofthem--Prinkipo, Chalki, Prote, and Antigone--are inhabited, the other fivebeing merely barren rocks. 

There is an ancient convent on the summit of Prinkipo, where the EmpressIrene--the contemporary of Charlemagne--is buried. The town is on thenorthern side of the island, and consists mostly of the summer residencesof Greek and Armenian merchants. Many of these are large and statelyhouses, surrounded with handsome gardens. The streets are shaded withsycamores, and the number of coffee-houses shows that the place is muchfrequented on festal days. A company of drunken Greeks were singing inviolation of all metre and harmony--a discord the more remarkable, sincenothing could be more affectionate than their conduct towards each other. Nearly everybody was in Frank costume, and our Oriental habits, especiallythe red Tartar boots, attracted much observation. I began to feel awkwardand absurd, and longed to show myself a Christian once more. 

Leaving Prinkipo, we made for Constantinople, whose long array of marbledomes and gilded spires gleamed like a far mirage over the waveless sea. It was too faint and distant and dazzling to be substantial. It was likeone of those imaginary cities which we build in a cloud fused in the lightof the setting sun. But as we neared the point of Chalcedon, running alongthe Asian shore, those airy piles gathered form and substance. Thepinnacles of the Seraglio shot up from the midst of cypress groves;fantastic kiosks lined the shore; the minarets of St. Sophia and SultanAchmed rose more clearly against the sky; and a fleet of steamers andmen-of-war, gay with flags, marked the entrance of the Golden Horn. Wepassed the little bay where St. Chrysostom was buried, the point ofChalcedon, and now, looking up the renowned Bosphorus, saw the Maiden'sTower, opposite Scutari. An enormous pile, the barracks of the Anatoliansoldiery, hangs over the high bank, and, as we row abreast of it, a freshbreeze comes up from the Sea of Marmora. The prow of the caïque is turnedacross the stream, the sail is set, and we glide rapidly and noiselesslyover the Bosphorus and into the Golden Horn, between the banks of theFrank and Moslem--Pera and Stamboul. Where on the earth shall we find apanorama more magnificent?

The air was filled with the shouts and noises of the great Orientalmetropolis; the water was alive with caïques and little steamers; and allthe world of work and trade, which had grown almost to be a fable, welcomed us back to its restless heart. We threaded our rather perilousway over the populous waves, and landed in a throng of Custom-Houseofficers and porters, on the wharf at Galata. 

Chapter XXVI. 

The Night of Predestination. 

 Constantinople in Ramazan--The Origin of the Fast--Nightly Illuminations--The Night of Predestination--The Golden Horn at Night--Illumination of the Shores--The Cannon of Constantinople--A Fiery Panorama--The Sultan's Caïque--Close of the Celebration--A Turkish Mob--The Dancing Dervishes. 

 "Skies full of splendid moons and shooting stars, And spouting exhalations, diamond fires. " Keats. 

Constantinople, _Wednesday, July_ 14, 1862. 

Constantinople, during the month of Ramazan, presents a very differentaspect from Constantinople at other times. The city, it is true, is muchmore stern and serious during the day; there is none of that gay, carelesslife of the Orient which you see in Smyrna, Cairo, and Damascus; but whenonce the sunset gun has fired, and the painful fast is at an end, thepicture changes as if by magic. In all the outward symbols of theirreligion, the Mussulmans show their joy at being relieved from what theyconsider a sacred duty. During the day, it is quite a science to keep theappetite dormant, and the people not only abstain from eating anddrinking, but as much as possible from the sight of food. In the bazaars, you see the famished merchants either sitting, propped back against theircushions, with the shawl about their stomachs, tightened so as to preventthe void under it from being so sensibly felt, or lying at full length inthe vain attempt to sleep. It is whispered here that many of the Turkswill both eat and smoke, when there is no chance of detection, but no onewould dare infringe the fast in public. Most of the mechanics and portersare Armenians, and the boatmen are Greeks. 

I have endeavored to ascertain the origin of this fast month. The SyrianChristians say that it is a mere imitation of an incident which happenedto Mahomet. The Prophet, having lost his camels, went day after dayseeking them in the Desert, taking no nourishment from the time of hisdeparture in the morning until his return at sunset. After having soughtthem thus daily, for the period of one entire moon, he found them, and intoken of joy, gave a three days' feast to the tribe, now imitated in thefestival of Bairam, which lasts for three days after the close of Ramazan. This reason, however, seems too trifling for such a rigid fast, and theTurkish tradition, that the Koran was sent down from heaven during thismonth, offers a more probable explanation. During the fast, theMussulmans, as is quite natural, are much more fanatical than at othertimes. They are obliged to attend prayers at the mosque every night, or tohave a _mollah_ read the Koran to them at their own houses. All theprominent features of their religion are kept constantly before theireyes, and their natural aversion to the Giaour, or Infidel, is increasedtenfold. I have heard of several recent instances in which strangers havebeen exposed to insults and indignities. 

At dusk the minarets are illuminated; a peal of cannon from the Arsenal, echoed by others from the forts along the Bosphorus, relieves thesuffering followers of the Prophet, and after an hour of silence, duringwhich they are all at home, feasting, the streets are filled with noisycrowds, and every coffee-shop is thronged. Every night there areilluminations along the water, which, added to the crowns of lightsparkling on the hundred minarets and domes, give a magical effect to thenight view of the city. Towards midnight there is again a season ofcomparative quiet, most of the inhabitants having retired to rest; but, about two hours afterwards a watchman comes along with a big drum, whichhe beats lustily before the doors of the Faithful, in order to arouse themin time to eat again before the daylight-gun, which announces thecommencement of another day's fast. 

Last night was the holiest night of Islam, being the twenty-fifth of thefast. It is called the _Leilet-el-Kadr, _ or Night of the Predestination, the anniversary of that on which the Koran was miraculously communicatedto the Prophet. On this night the Sultan, accompanied by his whole suite, attends service at the mosque, and on his return to the Seraglio, theSultana Valide, or Sultana-Mother, presents him with a virgin from one ofthe noble families of Constantinople. Formerly, St. Sophia was the theatreof this celebration, but this year the Sultan chose the Mosque ofTophaneh, which stands on the shore--probably as being nearer to hisimperial palace at Beshiktashe, on the Bosphorus. I consider myselffortunate in having reached Constantinople in season to witness thisceremony, and the illumination of the Golden Horn, which accompanies it. 

After sunset the mosques crowning the hills of Stamboul, the mosque ofTophaneh, on this side of the water, and the Turkish men-of-war andsteamers afloat at the mouth of the Golden Horn, began to blaze with morethan their usual brilliance. The outlines of the minarets and domes weredrawn in light on the deepening gloom, and the masts and yards of thevessel were hung with colored lanterns. From the battery in front of themosque and arsenal of Tophaneh a blaze of intense light streamed out overthe water, illuminating the gliding forms of a thousand caïques, and thedark hulls of the vessels lying at anchor. The water is the best placefrom which to view the illumination, and a party of us descended to thelanding-place. The streets of Tophaneh were crowded with swarms of Turks, Greeks and Armenians. The square around the fountain was brilliantlylighted, and venders of sherbet and kaïmak were ranged along thesidewalks. In the neighborhood of the mosque the crowd was so dense thatwe could with difficulty make our way through. All the open space next thewater was filled up with the clumsy _arabas_, or carriages of the Turks, in which sat the wives of the Pashas and other dignitaries. 

We took a caïque, and were soon pulled out into the midst of a multitudeof other caïques, swarming all over the surface of the Golden Horn. Theview from this point was strange, fantastic, yet inconceivably gorgeous. In front, three or four large Turkish frigates lay in the Bosphorus, theirhulls and spars outlined in fire against the dark hills and distanttwinkling lights of Asia. Looking to the west, the shores of the GoldenHorn were equally traced by the multitude of lamps that covered them, andon either side, the hills on which the city is built rose from thewater--masses of dark buildings, dotted all over with shafts and domes ofthe most brilliant light. The gateway on Seraglio Point was illuminated, as well as the quay in front of the mosque of Tophaneh, all the cannons ofthe battery being covered with lamps. The commonest objects shared in thesplendor, even a large lever used for hoisting goods being hung withlanterns from top to bottom. The mosque was a mass of light, and betweenthe tall minarets flanking it, burned the inscription, in Arabiccharacters, "Long life to you, O our Sovereign!"

The discharge of a cannon announced the Sultan's departure from hispalace, and immediately the guns on the frigates and the batteries on bothshores took up the salute, till the grand echoes, filling the hollowthroat of the Golden Horn, crashed from side to side, striking the hillsof Scutari and the point of Chalcedon, and finally dying away among thesummits of the Princes' Islands, out on the Sea of Marmora. The hulls ofthe frigates were now lighted up with intense chemical fires, and anabundance of rockets were spouted from their decks. A large Drummond lighton Seraglio Point, and another at the Battery of Tophaneh, poured theirrival streams across the Golden Horn, revealing the thousands of caïquesjostling each other from shore to shore, and the endless variety of gaycostumes with which they were filled. The smoke of the cannon hanging inthe air, increased the effect of this illumination, and became a screen ofauroral brightness, through which the superb spectacle loomed with largeand unreal features. It was a picture of air--a phantasmagoric spectacle, built of luminous vapor and meteoric fires, and hanging in the dark roundof space. In spite of ourselves, we became eager and excited, half fearingthat the whole pageant would dissolve the next moment, and leave no tracebehind. 

Meanwhile, the cannon thundered from a dozen batteries, and the rocketsburst into glittering rain over our heads. Grander discharges I neverheard; the earth shook and trembled under the mighty bursts of sound, andthe reverberation which rattled along the hill of Galata, broken by thescattered buildings into innumerable fragments of sound, resembled thecrash of a thousand falling houses. The distant echoes from Asia and theislands in the sea filled up the pauses between the nearer peals, and weseemed to be in the midst of some great naval engagement. But now thecaïque of the Sultan is discerned, approaching from the Bosphorus. Asignal is given, and a sunrise of intense rosy and golden radiancesuddenly lights up the long arsenal and stately mosque of Tophaneh, playsover the tall buildings on the hill of Pera, and falls with a fainterlustre on the Genoese watch-tower that overlooks Galata. It is impossibleto describe the effect of this magical illumination. The mosque, with itstaper minarets, its airy galleries, and its great central dome, is builtof compact, transparent flame, and in the shifting of the red and yellowfires, seems to flicker and waver in the air. It is as lofty, andgorgeous, and unsubstantial as the cloudy palace in Cole's picture of"Youth. " The long white front of the arsenal is fused in crimson heat, andburns against the dark as if it were one mass of living coal. And over allhangs the luminous canopy of smoke, redoubling its lustre on the waters ofthe Golden Horn, and mingling with the phosphorescent gleams that playaround the oars of the caïques. 

A long barge, propelled by sixteen oars, glides around the dark corner ofTophaneh, and shoots into the clear, brilliant space in front of themosque. It is not lighted, and passes with great swiftness towards thebrilliant landing-place. There are several persons seated under a canopyin the stern, and we are trying to decide which is the Sultan, when asecond boat, driven by twenty-four oarsmen, comes in sight. The men riseup at each stroke, and the long, sharp craft flies over the surface ofthe water, rather than forces its way through it. A gilded crown surmountsthe long, curved prow, and a light though superb canopy covers the stern. Under this, we catch a glimpse of the Sultan and Grand Vizier, as theyappear for an instant like black silhouettes against the burst of light onshore. 

After the Sultan had entered the mosque, the fires diminished and thecannon ceased, though the illuminated masts, minarets and gateways stillthrew a brilliant gleam over the scene. After more than an hour spent indevotion, he again entered his caïque and sped away to greet his new wife, amid a fresh discharge from the frigates and the batteries on both shores, and a new dawn of auroral splendor. We made haste to reach thelanding-place, in order to avoid the crowd of caïques; but, although wewere among the first, we came near being precipitated into the water, inthe struggle to get ashore. The market-place at Tophaneh was so crowdedthat nothing but main force brought us through, and some of our party hadtheir pockets picked. A number of Turkish soldiers and police-men weremixed up in the melee, and they were not sparing of blows when they camein contact with a Giaour. In making my way through, I found that acollision with one of the soldiers was inevitable, but I managed to plumpagainst him with such force as to take the breath out of his body, and wasout of his reach before he had recovered himself. I saw several Turkishwomen striking right and left in their endeavors to escape, and placetheir hands against the faces of those who opposed them, pushing themaside. This crowd was contrived by thieves, for the purpose of plunder, and, from what I have since learned, must have been very successful. 

I visited to-day the College of the Mevlevi Dervishes at Pera, andwitnessed their peculiar ceremonies. They assemble in a large hall, wherethey take their seats in a semi-circle, facing the shekh. After goingthrough several times with the usual Moslem prayer, they move in slowmarch around the room, while a choir in the gallery chants Arabic phrasesin a manner very similar to the mass in Catholic churches. I coulddistinguish the sentences "God is great, " "Praise be to God, " and othersimilar ejaculations. The chant was accompanied with a drum and flute, andhad not lasted long before the Dervishes set themselves in a rotarymotion, spinning slowly around the shekh, who stood in the centre. Theystretched both arms out, dropped their heads on one side, and glidedaround with a steady, regular motion, their long white gowns spread outand floating on the air. Their steps were very similar to those of themodern waltz, which, it is possible, may have been derived from the danceof the Mevlevis. Baron Von Hammer finds in this ceremony an imitation ofthe dance of the spheres, in the ancient Samothracian Mysteries; but I seeno reason to go so far back for its origin. The dance lasted for abouttwenty minutes, and the Dervishes appeared very much exhausted at theclose, as they are obliged to observe the fast very strictly. 

Chapter XXVII. 

The Solemnities of Bairam. 

 The Appearance of the New Moon--The Festival of Bairam--The Interior of the Seraglio--The Pomp of the Sultan's Court--Rescind Pasha--The Sultan's Dwarf--Arabian Stallions--The Imperial Guard--Appearance of the Sultan--The Inner Court--Return of the Procession--The Sultan on his Throne--The Homage of the Pashas--An Oriental Picture--Kissing the Scarf--The Shekh el-Islàm--The Descendant of the Caliphs--Bairam Commences. 

Constantinople, _Monday_, _July_ 19, 1852. 

Saturday was the last day of the fast-month of Ramazan, and yesterday thecelebration of the solemn festival of Bairam took place. The moon changedon Friday morning at 11 o'clock, but as the Turks have no faith inastronomy, and do not believe the moon has actually changed until they seeit, all good Mussulmen were obliged to fast an additional day. HadSaturday been cloudy, and the new moon invisible, I am not sure but thefast would have been still further prolonged. A good look-out was kept, however, and about four o'clock on Saturday afternoon some sharp eyes sawthe young crescent above the sun. There is a hill near Gemlik, on the Gulfof Moudania, about fifty miles from here, whence the Turks believe the newmoon can be first seen. The families who live on this hill are exemptedfrom taxation, in consideration of their keeping a watch for the moon, atthe close of Ramazan. A series of signals, from hill to hill, is inreadiness, and the news is transmitted to Constantinople in a very shorttime Then, when the muezzin proclaims the _asser_, or prayer two hoursbefore sunset, he proclaims also the close of Ramazan. All the batteriesfire a salute, and the big guns along the water announce the joyful newsto all parts of the city. The forts on the Bosphorus take up the tale, andboth shores, from the Black Sea to the Propontis, shake with the burden oftheir rejoicing. At night the mosques are illuminated for the last time, for it is only during Ramazan that they are lighted, or open for nightservice. 

After Ramazan, comes the festival of Bairam, which lasts three days, andis a season of unbounded rejoicing. The bazaars are closed, no Turk doesany work, but all, clothed in their best dresses, or in an entire new suitif they can afford it, pass the time in feasting, in paying visits, or inmaking excursions to the shores of the Bosphorus, or other favorite spotsaround Constantinople. The festival is inaugurated by a solemn stateceremony, at the Seraglio and the mosque of Sultan Achmed, whither theSultan goes in procession, accompanied by all the officers of theGovernment. This is the last remaining pageant which has been spared tothe Ottoman monarchs by the rigorous reforming measures of Sultan Mahmoud, and shorn as it is of much of its former splendor, it probably surpassesin brilliant effect any spectacle which any other European Court canpresent. The ceremonies which take place inside of the Seraglio were, until within three or four years, prohibited to Frank eyes, and travellerswere obliged to content themselves with a view of the procession, as itpassed to the mosque. Through the kindness of Mr. Brown, of the AmericanEmbassy, I was enabled to witness the entire solemnity, in all itsdetails. 

As the procession leaves the Seraglio at sunrise, we rose with the firststreak of dawn, descended to Tophaneh, and crossed to Seraglio Point, where the cavass of the Embassy was in waiting for us. He conducted usthrough the guards, into the garden of the Seraglio, and up the hill tothe Palace. The Capudan Pasha, or Lord High Admiral, had just arrived in asplendid caïque, and pranced up the hill before us on a magnificentstallion, whose trappings blazed with jewels and gold lace. The richuniforms of the different officers of the army and marine glittered farand near under the dense shadows of the cypress trees, and down the darkalleys where the morning twilight had not penetrated. We were ushered intothe great outer court-yard of the Seraglio, leading to the Sublime Porte. A double row of marines, in scarlet jackets and white trowsers, extendedfrom one gate to the other, and a very excellent brass band played "_Suonila tromba_" with much spirit. The groups of Pashas and other officers ofhigh rank, with their attendants, gave the scene a brilliant character offestivity. The costumes, except those of the secretaries and servants, were after the European model, but covered with a lavish profusion of goldlace. The horses were all of the choicest Eastern breeds, and the broadhousings of their saddles of blue, green, purple, and crimson cloth, wereenriched with gold lace, rubies, emeralds and turquoises. 

The cavass took us into a chamber near the gate, and commanding a view ofthe whole court. There we found Mr. Brown and his lady, with severalofficers from the U. S. Steamer San Jacinto. At this moment the sun, appearing above the hill of Bulgaria, behind Scutari, threw his earliestrays upon the gilded pinnacles of the Seraglio. The commotion in the longcourt-yard below increased. The marines were formed into exact line, thehorses of the officers clattered on the rough pavement as they dashedabout to expedite the arrangements, the crowd pressed closer to the lineof the procession, and in five minutes the grand pageant was set inmotion. As the first Pasha made his appearance under the dark archway ofthe interior gate, the band struck up the _Marseillaise_ (which is afavorite air among the Turks), and the soldiers presented arms. Thecourt-yard was near two hundred yards long, and the line of Pashas, eachsurrounded with the officers of his staff, made a most dazzling show. Thelowest in rank came first. I cannot recollect the precise order, nor thenames of all of them, which, in fact, are of little consequence, whilepower and place are such uncertain matters in Turkey. 

Each Pasha wore the red fez on his head, a frock-coat of blue cloth, thebreast of which was entirely covered with gold lace, while a broad band ofthe same decorated the skirts, and white pantaloons. One of the Ministers, Mehemet Ali Pasha, the brother-in-law of the Sultan, was formerly acooper's apprentice, but taken, when a boy, by the late Sultan Mahmoud, tobe a playmate for his son, on account of his extraordinary beauty. RescindPasha, the Grand Vizier, is a man of about sixty years of age. He isfrequently called Giaour, or Infidel, by the Turks, on account of hisliberal policy, which has made him many enemies. The expression of hisface denotes intelligence, but lacks the energy necessary to accomplishgreat reforms. His son, a boy of about seventeen, already possesses therank of Pasha, and is affianced to the Sultan's daughter, a child of ten, or twelve years old. He is a fat, handsome youth, with a sprightly face, and acted his part in the ceremonies with a nonchalance which made himappear graceful beside his stiff, dignified elders. 

After the Pashas came the entire household of the Sultan, including evenhis eunuchs, cooks, and constables. The Kislar Aga, or Chief Eunuch, atall African in resplendent costume, is one of the most importantpersonages connected with the Court. The Sultan's favorite dwarf, a littleman about forty years old and three feet high, bestrode his horse with asconsequential an air as any of them. A few years ago, this man took anotion to marry, and applied to the Sultan for a wife. The latter gave himpermission to go into his harem and take the one whom he could kiss. Thedwarf, like all short men, was ambitious to have a long wife. While theSultan's five hundred women, who knew the terms according to which thedwarf was permitted to choose, were laughing at the amorous mannikin, hewent up to one of the tallest and handsomest of them, and struck her asudden blow on the stomach. She collapsed with the pain, and before shecould recover he caught her by the neck and gave her the dreaded kiss. TheSultan kept his word, and the tall beauty is now the mother of the dwarfschildren. 

The procession grows more brilliant as it advances, and the profoundinclination made by the soldiers at the further end of the court, announces the approach of the Sultan himself. First come three led horses, of the noblest Arabian blood--glorious creatures, worthy to represent

 "The horse that guide the golden eye of heaven, And snort the morning from their nostrils, Making their fiery gait above the glades. "

Their eyes were more keen and lustrous than the diamonds which studdedtheir head-stalls, and the wealth of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires thatgleamed on their trappings would have bought the possessions of a GermanPrince. After them came the Sultan's body-guard, a company of tall, strongmen, in crimson tunics and white trousers, with lofty plumes of peacockfeathers in their hats. Some of them carried crests of green feathers, fastened upon long staves. These superb horses and showy guards are theonly relics of that barbaric pomp which characterized all Stateprocessions during the time of the Janissaries. In the centre of a hollowsquare of plume-bearing guards rode Abdul-Medjid himself, on a snow-whitesteed. Every one bowed profoundly as he passed along, but he neitherlooked to the right or left, nor made the slightest acknowledgment of thesalutations. Turkish etiquette exacts the most rigid indifference on thepart of the Sovereign, who, on all public occasions, never makes agreeting. Formerly, before the change of costume, the Sultan's turbanswere carried before him in the processions, and the servants who bore theminclined them to one side and the other, in answer to the salutations ofthe crowd. 

Sultan Abdul-Medjid is a man of about thirty, though he looks older. Hehas a mild, amiable, weak face, dark eyes, a prominent nose, and short, dark brown mustaches and beard. His face is thin, and wrinkles are alreadymaking their appearance about the corners of his mouth and eyes. But for acertain vacancy of expression, he would be called a handsome man. He sitson his horse with much ease and grace, though there is a slight stoop inhis shoulders. His legs are crooked, owing to which cause he appearsawkward when on his feet, though he wears a long cloak to conceal thedeformity. Sensual indulgence has weakened a constitution not naturallystrong, and increased that mildness which has now become a defect in hischaracter. He is not stern enough to be just, and his subjects are lessfortunate under his easy rule than under the rod of his savage father, Mahmoud. He was dressed in a style of the utmost richness and elegance. Hewore a red Turkish fez, with an immense rosette of brilliants, and a long, floating plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. The diamond in the centre ofthe rosette is of unusual size; it was picked up some years ago in theHippodrome, and probably belonged to the treasury of the Greek Emperors. The breast and collar of his coat were one mass of diamonds, and sparkledin the early sun with a thousand rainbow gleams. His mantle of dark-bluecloth hung to his knees, concealing the deformity of his legs. He worewhite pantaloons, white kid gloves, and patent leather boots, thrust intohis golden stirrups. 

A few officers of the Imperial household followed behind the Sultan, andthe procession then terminated. Including the soldiers, it contained fromtwo to three thousand persons. The marines lined the way to the mosque ofSultan Achmed, and a great crowd of spectators filled up the streets andthe square of the Hippodrome. Coffee was served to us, after which we wereall conducted into the inner court of the Seraglio, to await the return ofthe cortège. This court is not more than half the size of the outer one, but is shaded with large sycamores, embellished with fountains, andsurrounded with light and elegant galleries, in pure Saracenic style. Thepicture which it presented was therefore far richer and morecharacteristic of the Orient than the outer court, where the architectureis almost wholly after Italian models. The portals at either end restedon slender pillars, over which projected broad eaves, decorated withelaborate carved and gilded work, and above all rose a dome, surmounted bythe Crescent. On the right, the tall chimneys of the Imperial kitchenstowered above the walls. The sycamores threw their broad, cool shadowsover the court, and groups of servants, in gala dresses, loitered aboutthe corridors. 

After waiting nearly half an hour, the sound of music and the appearanceof the Sultan's body-guard proclaimed the return of the procession. Itcame in reversed order, headed by the Sultan, after whom followed theGrand Vizier and other Ministers of the Imperial Council, and the Pashas, each surrounded by his staff of officers. The Sultan dismounted at theentrance to the Seraglio, and disappeared through the door. He was absentfor more than half an hour, during which time he received thecongratulations of his family, his wives, and the principal personages ofhis household, all of whom came to kiss his feet. Meanwhile, the Pashasranged themselves in a semicircle around the arched and gilded portico. The servants of the Seraglio brought out a large Persian carpet, whichthey spread on the marble pavement. The throne, a large square seat, richly carved and covered with gilding, was placed in the centre, and adazzling piece of cloth-of-gold thrown over the back of it. When theSultan re-appeared, he took his seat thereon, placing his feet on a smallfootstool. The ceremony of kissing his feet now commenced. The first whohad this honor was the Chief of the Emirs, an old man in a green robe, embroidered with pearls. He advanced to the throne, knelt, kissed theSultan's patent-leather boot, and retired backward from the presence. 

The Ministers and Pashas followed in single file, and, after they hadmade the salutation, took their stations on the right hand of the throne. Most of them were fat, and their glittering frock-coats were buttoned sotightly that they seemed ready to burst. It required a great effort forthem to rise from their knees. During all this time, the band was playingoperatic airs, and as each Pasha knelt, a marshal, or master ofceremonies, with a silver wand, gave the signal to the Imperial Guard, whoshouted at the top of their voices: "Prosperity to our Sovereign! May helive a thousand years!" This part of the ceremony was really grand andimposing. All the adjuncts were in keeping: the portico, wrought in richarabesque designs; the swelling domes and sunlit crescents above; thesycamores and cypresses shading the court; the red tunics and peacockplumes of the guard; the monarch himself, radiant with jewels, as he satin his chair of gold--all these features combined to form a statelypicture of the lost Orient, and for the time Abdul-Medjid seemed the truerepresentative of Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid. 

After the Pashas had finished, the inferior officers of the Army, Navy, and Civil Service followed, to the number of at least a thousand. Theywere not considered worthy to touch the Sultan's person, but kissed hisgolden scarf, which was held out to them by a Pasha, who stood on the leftof the throne. The Grand Vizier had his place on the right, and the Chiefof the Eunuchs stood behind him. The kissing of the scarf occupied anhour. The Sultan sat quietly during all this time, his face expressing atotal indifference to all that was going on. The most skilfulphysiognomist could not have found in it the shadow of an expression. Ifthis was the etiquette prescribed for him, he certainly acted it withmarvellous skill and success. 

The long line of officers at length came to an end, and I fancied that thesolemnities were now over; but after a pause appeared the _Shekhel-Islàm, _ or High Priest of the Mahometan religion. His authority inreligious matters transcends that of the Sultan, and is final andirrevocable. He was a very venerable man, of perhaps seventy-five years ofage, and his tottering steps were supported by two mollahs. He was dressedin a long green robe, embroidered with gold and pearls, over which hiswhite beard flowed below his waist. In his turban of white cambric wastwisted a scarf of cloth-of-gold. He kissed the border of the Sultan'smantle, which salutation was also made by a long line of the chief priestsof the mosques of Constantinople, who followed him. These priests weredressed in long robes of white, green, blue, and violet, many of them withcollars of pearls and golden scarfs wound about their turbans, the richfringes falling on their shoulders. They were grave, stately men, withlong gray beards, and the wisdom of age and study in their deep-set eyes. 

Among the last who came was the most important personage of all. This wasthe Governor of Mecca (as I believe he is called), the nearest descendantof the Prophet, and the successor to the Caliphate, in case the family ofOthman becomes extinct. Sultan Mahmoud, on his accession to the throne, was the last descendant of Orchan, the founder of the Ottoman Dynasty, thethrone being inherited only by the male heirs. He left two sons, who areboth living, Abdul-Medjid having departed from the practice of hispredecessors, each of whom slew his brothers, in order to make his ownsovereignty secure. He has one son, Muzad, who is about ten years old, sothat there are now three males of the family of Orchan. In case of theirdeath, the Governor of Mecca would become Caliph, and the sovereigntywould be established in his family. He is a swarthy Arab, of about fifty, with a bold, fierce face. He wore a superb dress of green, the sacredcolor, and was followed by his two sons, young men of twenty andtwenty-two. As he advanced to the throne, and was about to kneel and kissthe Sultan's robe, the latter prevented him, and asked politely after hishealth--the highest mark of respect in his power to show. The old Arab'sface gleamed with such a sudden gush of pride and satisfaction, that noflash of lightning could have illumined it more vividly. 

The sacred writers, or transcribers of the Koran, closed the procession, after which the Sultan rose and entered the Seraglio. The crowd slowlydispersed, and in a few minutes the grand reports of the cannon onSeraglio Point announced the departure of the Sultan for his palace on theBosphorus. The festival of Bairam was now fairly inaugurated, and allStamboul was given up to festivity. There was no Turk so poor that he didnot in some sort share in the rejoicing. Our Fourth could scarcely showmore flags, let off more big guns or send forth greater crowds ofexcursionists than this Moslem holiday. 

Chapter XXVIII. 

The Mosques of Constantinople. 

 Sojourn at Constantinople--Semi-European Character of the City--The Mosque--Procuring a Firman--The Seraglio--The Library--The Ancient Throne-Room--Admittance to St. Sophia--Magnificence of the Interior--The Marvellous Dome--The Mosque of Sultan Achmed--The Sulemanye--Great Conflagrations--Political Meaning of the Fires--Turkish Progress--Decay of the Ottoman Power. 

 "Is that indeed Sophia's far-famed dome, Where first the Faith was led in triumph home, Like some high bride, with banner and bright sign, And melody, and flowers?" Audrey de Vere. 

Constantinople, _Tuesday, August_ 8, 1852. 

The length of my stay in Constantinople has enabled me to visit manyinteresting spots in its vicinity, as well as to familiarize myself withthe peculiar features of the great capital. I have seen the beautifulBosphorus from steamers and caïques; ridden up the valley of Buyukdere, and through the chestnut woods of Belgrade; bathed in the Black Sea, underthe lee of the Symplegades, where the marble altar to Apollo still invitesan oblation from passing mariners; walked over the flowery meadows besidethe "Heavenly Waters of Asia;" galloped around the ivy-grown walls whereDandolo and Mahomet II. Conquered, and the last of the Palæologi fell; anddreamed away many an afternoon-hour under the funereal cypresses of Pera, and beside the Delphian tripod in the Hippodrome. The historic interestof these spots is familiar to all, nor; with one exception, have theirnatural beauties been exaggerated by travellers. This exception is thevillage of Belgrade, over which Mary Montague went into raptures, and setthe fashion for tourists ever since. I must confess to having been wofullydisappointed. The village is a miserable cluster of rickety houses, on anopen piece of barren land, surrounded by the forests, or rather thickets, which keep alive the springs that supply Constantinople with water. Wereached there with appetites sharpened by our morning's ride, expecting tofind at least a vender of _kibabs_ (bits of fried meat) in so renowned aplace; but the only things to be had were raw salt mackerel, and breadwhich belonged to the primitive geological formation. 

The general features of Constantinople and the Bosphorus are so wellknown, that I am spared the dangerous task of painting scenes which havebeen colored by abler pencils. Von Hammer, Lamartine, Willis, Miss Pardoe, Albert Smith, and thou, most inimitable Thackeray! have made Pera andScutari, the Bazaars and Baths, the Seraglio and the Golden Horn, asfamiliar to our ears as Cornhill and Wall street. Besides, Constantinopleis not the true Orient, which is to be found rather in Cairo, in Aleppo, and brightest and most vital, in Damascus. Here, we tread European soil;the Franks are fast crowding out the followers of the Prophet, andStamboul itself, were its mosques and Seraglio removed, would differlittle in outward appearance from a third-rate Italian town. The Sultanlives in a palace with a Grecian portico; the pointed Saracenic arch, thearabesque sculptures, the latticed balconies, give place to clumsyimitations of Palladio, and every fire that sweeps away a recollection ofthe palmy times of Ottoman rule, sweeps it away forever. 

But the Mosque--that blossom of Oriental architecture, with its crowningdomes, like the inverted bells of the lotus, and its reed-like minarets, its fountains and marble courts--can only perish with the faith ittypifies. I, for one, rejoice that, so long as the religion of Islamexists (and yet, may its time be short!), no Christian model can shape itshouses of worship. The minaret must still lift its airy tower for themuezzin; the dome must rise like a gilded heaven above the prayers of theFaithful, with its starry lamps and emblazoned phrases; the fountain mustcontinue to pour its waters of purification. A reformation of the Moslemfaith is impossible. When it begins to give way, the whole fabric mustfall. Its ceremonies, as well as its creed, rest entirely on therecognition of Mahomet as the Prophet of God. However the Turks may changein other respects, in all that concerns their religion they must continuethe same. 

Until within a few years, a visit to the mosques, especially the moresacred ones of St. Sophia and Sultan Achmed, was attended with muchdifficulty. Miss Pardoe, according to her own account, risked her life inorder to see the interior of St. Sophia, which she effected in thedisguise of a Turkish Effendi. I accomplished the same thing, a few dayssince, but without recourse to any such romantic expedient. Mr. Brown, theinterpreter of the Legation, procured a firman from the Grand Vizier, onbehalf of the officers of the San Jacinto, and kindly invited me, withseveral other American and English travellers, to join the party. Duringthe month of Ramazan, no firmans are given, and as at this time there arefew travellers in Constantinople, we should otherwise have been subjectedto a heavy expense. The cost of a firman, including backsheesh to thepriests and doorkeepers, is 700 piastres (about $33). 

We crossed the Golden Horn in caïques, and first visited the gardens andpalaces on Seraglio Point. The Sultan at present resides in his summerpalace of Beshiktashe, on the Bosphorus, and only occupies the SeraiBornou, as it is called, during the winter months. The Seraglio covers theextremity of the promontory on which Constantinople is built, and isnearly three miles in circuit. The scattered buildings erected bydifferent Sultans form in themselves a small city, whose domes and pointedturrets rise from amid groves of cypress and pine. The sea-wall is linedwith kiosks, from whose cushioned windows there are the loveliest views ofthe European and Asian shores. The newer portion of the palace, where theSultan now receives the ambassadors of foreign nations, shows theinfluence of European taste in its plan and decorations. It is by no meansremarkable for splendor, and suffers by contrast with many of the privatehouses in Damascus and Aleppo. The building is of wood, the wallsornamented with detestable frescoes by modern Greek artists, and except asmall but splendid collection of arms, and some wonderful specimens ofArabic chirography, there is nothing to interest the visitor. 

In ascending to the ancient Seraglio, which was founded by Mahomet II. , onthe site of the palace of the Palæologi, we passed the Column ofTheodosius, a plain Corinthian shaft, about fifty feet high. The Seragliois now occupied entirely by the servants and guards, and the greater partof it shows a neglect amounting almost to dilapidation. The Saraceniccorridors surrounding its courts are supported by pillars of marble, granite, and porphyry, the spoils of the Christian capital. We wereallowed to walk about at leisure, and inspect the different compartments, except the library, which unfortunately was locked. This library was for along time supposed to contain many lost treasures of ancientliterature--among other things, the missing books of Livy--but the recentresearches of Logothetos, the Prince of Samos, prove that there is littleof value, among its manuscripts. Before the door hangs a wooden globe, which is supposed to be efficacious in neutralizing the influence of theEvil Eye. There are many ancient altars and fragments of pillars scatteredabout the courts, and the Turks have even commenced making a collection ofantiquities, which, with the exception of two immense sarcophagi of redporphyry, contains nothing of value. They show, however, one of the brazenheads of the Delphian tripod in the Hippodrome, which, they say, Mahometthe Conqueror struck off with a single blow of his sword, on enteringConstantinople. 

The most interesting portion of the Seraglio is the ancient throne-room, now no longer used, but still guarded by a company of white eunuchs. Thethrone is an immense, heavy bedstead, the posts of which are thicklyincrusted with rubies, turquoises, emeralds, and sapphires. There is afunnel-shaped chimney-piece in the room, a master-work of BenevenutoCellini. There, half a century ago, the foreign ambassadors werepresented, after having been bathed, fed, and clothed with a rich mantlein the outer apartments. They were ushered into the imperial presence, supported by a Turkish official on either side, in order that they mightshow no signs of breaking down under the load of awe and reverence theywere supposed to feel. In the outer Court, adjoining the Sublime Porte, isthe Chapel of the Empress Irene, now converted into an armory, which, forits size, is the most tasteful and picturesque collection of weapons Ihave ever seen. It is especially rich in Saracenic armor, and containsmany superb casques of inlaid gold. In a large glass case in the chancel, one sees the keys of some thirty or forty cities, with the date of theircapture. It is not likely that another will ever be added to the list. 

We now passed out through the Sublime Porte, and directed our steps to thefamous _Aya Sophia_--the temple dedicated by Justinian to the DivineWisdom. The repairs made to the outer walls by the Turks, and the additionof the four minarets, have entirely changed the character of the building, without injuring its effect. As a Christian Church, it must have been lessimposing than in its present form. A priest met us at the entrance, andafter reading the firman with a very discontented face, informed us thatwe could not enter until the mid-day prayers were concluded. After takingoff our shoes, however, we were allowed to ascend to the galleries, whencewe looked down on the bowing worshippers. Here the majesty of the renownededifice, despoiled as it now is, bursts at once upon the eye. Thewonderful flat dome, glittering with its golden mosaics, and the sacredphrase from the Koran: "_God is the Light of the Heavens and the Earth_, "swims in the air, one hundred and eighty feet above the marble pavement. On the eastern and western sides, it rests on two half domes; which againrise from or rest upon a group of three small half-domes, so that theentire roof of the mosque, unsupported by a pillar, seems to have beendropped from above on the walls, rather than to have been built up fromthem. Around the edifice run an upper and a lower gallery, which alonepreserve the peculiarities of the Byzantine style. These galleries aresupported by the most precious columns which ancient art could afford:among them eight shafts of green marble, from the Temple of Diana, atEphesus; eight of porphyry, from the Temple of the Sun, at Baalbek;besides Egyptian granite from the shrines of Isis and Osiris, andPentelican marble from the sanctuary of Pallas Athena. Almost the whole ofthe interior has been covered with gilding, but time has softened itsbrilliancy, and the rich, subdued gleam of the walls is in perfect harmonywith the varied coloring of the ancient marbles. 

Under the dome, four Christian seraphim, executed in mosaic, have beenallowed to remain, but the names of the four archangels of the Moslemfaith are inscribed underneath. The bronze doors are still the same, theTurks having taken great pains to obliterate the crosses with which theywere adorned. Around the centre of the dome, as on that of Sultan Achmed, may be read, in golden letters, and in all the intricacy of Arabicpenmanship, the beautiful verse:--"God is the Light of the Heavens and theEarth. His wisdom is a light on the wall, in which burns a lamp coveredwith glass. The glass shines like a star, the lamp is lit with the oil ofa blessed tree. No Eastern, no Western oil, it shines for whoever wills. "After the prayers were over, and we had descended to the floor of themosque, I spent the rest of my time under the dome, fascinated by itsmarvellous lightness and beauty. The worshippers present looked at us withcuriosity, but without ill-will; and before we left, one of the priestscame slyly with some fragments of the ancient gilded mosaic, which, he washeathen enough to sell, and we to buy. 

From St. Sophia we went to Sultan Achmed, which faces the Hippodrome, andis one of the stateliest piles of Constantinople. It is avowedly animitation of St. Sophia, and the Turks consider it a more wonderful work, because the dome is seven feet higher. It has six minarets, exceeding inthis respect all the mosques of Asia. The dome rests on four immensepillars, the bulk of which quite oppresses the light galleries runningaround the walls. This, and the uniform white color of the interior, impairs the effect which its bold style and imposing dimensions wouldotherwise produce. The outside view, with the group of domes swellinggrandly above the rows of broad-armed sycamores, is much moresatisfactory. In the tomb of Sultan Achmed, in one corner of the court, wesaw his coffin, turban, sword, and jewelled harness. I had just beenreading old Sandys' account of his visit to Constantinople, in 1610, during this Sultan's reign, and could only think of him as Sandysrepresents him, in the title-page to his book, as a fat man, with bloatedcheeks, in a long gown and big turban, and the words underneath:--"_Achmed, sive Tyrannus. _"

The other noted mosques of Constantinople are the _Yeni Djami, _ or Mosqueof the Sultana Valide, on the shore of the Golden Horn, at the end of thebridge to Galata; that of Sultan Bajazet; of Mahomet II. , the Conqueror, and of his son, Suleyman the Magnificent, whose superb mosque welldeserves this title. I regret exceedingly that our time did not allow usto view the interior, for outwardly it not only surpasses St. Sophia, andall other mosques in the city, but is undoubtedly one of the purestspecimens of Oriental architecture extant. It stands on a broad terrace, on one of the seven hills of Stamboul, and its exquisitely proportioneddomes and minarets shine as if crystalized in the blue of the air. It is atype of Oriental, as the Parthenon is of Grecian, and the CologneCathedral of Gothic art. As I saw it the other night, lit by the flames ofa conflagration, standing out red and clear against the darkness, I feltinclined to place it on a level with either of those renowned structures. It is a product of the rich fancy of the East, splendidly ornate, and notwithout a high degree of symmetry--yet here the symmetry is that ofornament alone, and not the pure, absolute proportion of forms, which wefind in Grecian Art. It requires a certain degree of enthusiasm--nay, aslight inebriation of the imaginative faculties--in order to feel thesentiment of this Oriental Architecture. If I rightly express all that itsays to me, I touch the verge of rapsody. The East, in almost all itsaspects, is so essentially poetic, that a true picture of it must bepoetic in spirit, if not in form. 

Constantinople has been terribly ravaged by fires, no less than fifteenhaving occurred during the past two weeks. Almost every night the sky hasbeen reddened by burning houses, and the minarets of the seven hillslighted with an illumination brighter than that of the Bairam. All thespace from the Hippodrome to the Sea of Marmora has been swept away; thelard, honey, and oil magazines on the Golden Horn, with the bazaarsadjoining; several large blocks on the hill of Galata, with the College ofthe Dancing Dervishes; a part of Scutari, and the College of the HowlingDervishes, all have disappeared; and to-day, the ruins of 3, 700 houses, which were destroyed last night, stand smoking in the Greek quarter, behind the aqueduct of Valens. The entire amount of buildings consumed inthese two weeks is estimated at between _five and six thousand_! The fireon the hill of Galata threatened to destroy a great part of the suburb ofPera. It came, sweeping over the brow of the hill, towards my hotel, turning the tall cypresses in the burial ground into shafts of angryflame, and eating away the crackling dwellings of hordes of hapless Turks. I was in bed; from a sudden attack of fever, but seeing the other guestspacking up their effects and preparing to leave, I was obliged to do thesame; and this, in my weak state, brought on such a perspiration that theailment left me, The officers of the United States steamer _San Jacinto_, and the French frigate _Charlemagne_, came to the rescue with their menand fire-engines, and the flames were finally quelled. The proceedings ofthe Americans, who cut holes in the roofs and played through them upon thefires within, were watched by the Turks with stupid amazement. "Máshallah!" said a fat Bimbashi, as he stood sweltering in the heat; "TheFranks are a wonderful people. "

To those initiated into the mysteries of Turkish politics, these fires aremore than accidental; they have a most weighty significance. They indicateeither a general discontent with the existing state of affairs, or else apowerful plot against the Sultan and his Ministry. Setting fire to housesis, in fact, the Turkish method of holding an "indignation meeting, " andfrom the rate with which they are increasing, the political crisis must benear at hand. The Sultan, with his usual kindness of heart, has sent largequantities of tents and other supplies to the guiltless sufferers; but noamount of kindness can soften the rancor of these Turkish intrigues. Reschid Pasha, the present Grand Vizier, and the leader of the party ofProgress, is the person against whom this storm of opposition is nowgathering. 

In spite of all efforts, the Ottoman Power is rapidly wasting away. Thelife of the Orient is nerveless and effete; the native strength of therace has died out, and all attempts to resuscitate it by the adoption ofEuropean institutions produce mere galvanic spasms, which leave it moreexhausted than before. The rosy-colored accounts we have had of TurkishProgress are for the most part mere delusions. The Sultan is awell-meaning but weak man, and tyrannical through his very weakness. Hadhe strength enough to break through the meshes of falsehood and venalitywhich are woven so close about him, he might accomplish some solid good. But Turkish rule, from his ministers down to the lowest _cadi_, is amonstrous system of deceit and corruption. These people have not the mostremote conception of the true aims of government; they only seek to enrichthemselves and their parasites, at the expense of the people and thenational treasury. When we add to this the conscript system, which isdraining the provinces of their best Moslem subjects, to the advantage ofthe Christians and Jews, and the blindness of the Revenue Laws, whichimpose on domestic manufactures double the duty levied on foreignproducts, it will easily be foreseen that the next half-century, or less, will completely drain the Turkish Empire of its last lingering energies. 

Already, in effect, Turkey exists only through the jealousy of theEuropean nations. The treaty of Unkiar-iskelessi, in 1833, threw her intothe hands of Russia, although the influence of England has of late yearsreigned almost exclusively in her councils. These are the two powers whoare lowering at each other with sleepless eyes, in the Dardanelles and theBosphorus. The people, and most probably the government, is stronglypreposessed in favor of the English; but the Russian Bear has a heavy paw, and when he puts it into the scale, all other weights kick the beam. Itwill be a long and wary struggle, and no man can prophecy the result. TheTurks are a people easy to govern, were even the imperfect laws, now inexistence, fairly administered. They would thrive and improve under abetter state of things; but I cannot avoid the conviction that theregeneration of the East will never be effected at their hands. 

Chapter XXIX. 

Farewell to the Orient--Malta. 

 Embarcation--Farewell to the Orient--Leaving Constantinople--A Wreck--The Dardanelles--Homeric Scenery--Smyrna Revisited--The Grecian Isles--Voyage to Malta--Detention--La Valetta--The Maltese--The Climate--A Boat for Sicily. 

 "Farewell, ye mountains, By glory crowned Ye sacred fountains Of Gods renowned; Ye woods and highlands, Where heroes dwell; Ye seas and islands, Farewell! Farewell!"

 Frithiof's Saga. 

In The Dardanelles, _Saturday, August_ 7, 1852. 

At last, behold me fairly embarked for Christian Europe, to which I badeadieu in October last, eager for the unknown wonders of the Orient. Sincethen, nearly ten months have passed away, and those wonders are nowfamiliar as every-day experiences. I set out, determined to be satisfiedwith no slight taste of Eastern life, but to drain to the bottom itsbeaker of mingled sunshine and sleep. All this has been accomplished; andif I have not wandered so far, nor enriched myself with such variedknowledge of the relics of ancient history, as I might have purposed orwished, I have at least learned to know the Turk and the Arab, beensoothed by the patience inspired by their fatalism, and warmed by thegorgeous gleams of fancy that animate their poetry and religion. Theseten months of my life form an episode which seems to belong to a separateexistence. Just refined enough to be poetic, and just barbaric enough tobe freed from all conventional fetters, it is as grateful to brain andsoul, as an Eastern bath to the body. While I look forward, not withoutpleasure, to the luxuries and conveniences of Europe, I relinquish with asigh the refreshing indolence of Asia. 

We have passed between the Castles of the two Continents, guarding themouth of the Dardanelles, and are now entering the Grecian Sea. To-morrow, we shall touch, for a few hours, at Smyrna, and then turn westward, on thetrack of Ulysses and St. Paul. Farewell, then, perhaps forever, to thebright Orient! Farewell to the gay gardens, the spicy bazaars, to theplash of fountains and the gleam of golden-tipped minarets! Farewell tothe perfect morn's, the balmy twilights, the still heat of the blue noons, the splendor of moon and stars! Farewell to the glare of the white crags, the tawny wastes of dead sand, the valleys of oleander, the hills ofmyrtle and spices! Farewell to the bath, agent of purity and peace, andparent of delicious dreams--to the shebook, whose fragrant fumes arebreathed from the lips of patience and contentment--to the narghileh, crowned with that blessed plant which grows in the gardens of Shiraz, while a fountain more delightful than those of Samarcand bubbles in itscrystal bosom I Farewell to the red cap and slippers, to the big turban, the flowing trousers, and the gaudy shawl--to squatting on broad divans, to sipping black coffee in acorn cups, to grave faces and _salaamaleikooms_, and to aching of the lips and forehead! Farewell to theevening meal in the tent door, to the couch on the friendly earth, to theyells of the muleteers, to the deliberate marches of the plodding horse, and the endless rocking of the dromedary that knoweth his master!Farewell, finally, to annoyance without anger, delay without vexation, indolence without ennui, endurance without fatigue, appetite withoutintemperance, enjoyment without pall!

La Valetta, Malta, _Saturday, August_ 14, 1852. 

My last view of Stamboul was that of the mosques of St. Sophia and SultanAchmed, shining faintly in the moonlight, as we steamed down the Sea ofMarmora. The _Caire_ left at nine o'clock, freighted with the news ofReschid Pasha's deposition, and there were no signs of conflagration inall the long miles of the city that lay behind us. So we speculated nomore on the exciting topics of the day, but went below and took a vaporbath in our berths; for I need not assure you that the nights on theMediterranean at this season are anything but chilly. And here I must notethe fact, that the French steamers, while dearer than the Austrian, aremore cramped in their accommodations, and filled with a set of mostuncivil servants. The table is good, and this is the only thing to becommended. In all other respects, I prefer the Lloyd vessels. 

Early next morning, we passed the promontory of Cyzicus, and the Island ofMarmora, the marble quarries of which give name to the sea. As we wereapproaching the entrance to the Dardanelles, we noticed an Austrian brigdrifting in the current, the whiff of her flag indicating distress. Herrudder was entirely gone, and she was floating helplessly towards theThracian coast. A boat was immediately lowered and a hawser carried to herbows, by which we towed her a short distance; but our steam engine didnot like this drudgery, and snapped the rope repeatedly, so that at lastwe were obliged to leave her to her fate. The lift we gave, however, hadits effect, and by dexterous maneuvering with the sails, the captainbrought her safely into the harbor of Gallipoli, where she dropped anchorbeside us. 

Beyond Gallipoli, the Dardanelles contract, and the opposing continentsrise into lofty and barren hills. In point of natural beauty, this straitis greatly inferior to the Bosphorus. It lacks the streams and woodedvalleys which open upon the latter. The country is but partiallycultivated, except around the town of Dardanelles, near the mouth of thestrait. The site of the bridge of Xerxes is easily recognized, theconformation of the different shores seconding the decision ofantiquarians. Here, too, are Sestos and Abydos, of passionate and poeticmemory. But as the sun dipped towards the sea, we passed out of the narrowgateway. On our left lay the plain of Troy, backed by the blue range ofMount Ida. The tamulus of Patroclus crowned a low bluff looking on thesea. On the right appeared the long, irregular island of Imbros, and thepeaks of misty Samothrace over and beyond it. Tenedos was before us. Thered flush of sunset tinged the grand Homeric landscape, and lingered andlingered on the summit of Ida, as if loth to depart. I paced the deckuntil long after it was too dark to distinguish it any more. 

The next morning we dropped anchor in the harbor of Smyrna, where weremained five hours. I engaged a donkey, and rode out to the CaravanBridge, where the Greek driver and I smoked narghilehs and drank coffee inthe shade of the acacias. I contrasted my impressions with those of myfirst visit to Smyrna last October--my first glimpse of Oriental ground. Then, every dog barked at me, and all the horde of human creatures whoprey upon innocent travellers ran at my heels, but now, with my brown faceand Turkish aspect of grave indifference, I was suffered to pass asquietly as my donkey-driver himself. Nor did the latter, nor the ready_cafidji_, who filled our pipes on the banks of the Meles, attempt toovercharge me--a sure sign that the Orient had left its seal on my face. Returning through the city, the same mishap befel me which travellersusually experience on their first arrival. My donkey, while dashing atfull speed through a crowd of Smyrniotes in their Sunday dresses, slippedup in a little pool of black mud, and came down with a crash. I flew overhis head and alighted firmly on my feet, but the spruce young Greeks, whose snowy fustanelles were terribly bespattered, came off much worse. The donkey shied back, levelled his ears and twisted his head on one side, awaiting a beating, but his bleeding legs saved him. 

We left at two o'clock, touched at Scio in the evening, and the nextmorning at sunrise lay-to in the harbor of Syra. The Piræus was onlytwelve hours distant; but after my visitation of fever in Constantinople, I feared to encounter the pestilential summer heats of Athens. Besides, Ihad reasons for hastening with all speed to Italy and Germany. At teno'clock we weighed anchor again and steered southwards, between the groupsof the Cyclades, under a cloudless sky and over a sea of the brightestblue. The days were endurable under the canvas awning of our quarter-deck, but the nights in our berths were sweat-baths, which left us so limp andexhausted that we were almost fit to vanish, like ghosts, at daybreak. 

Our last glimpse of the Morea--Cape Matapan--faded away in the moonlight, and for _two_ days we travelled westward over the burning sea. On theevening of the 11th, the long, low outline of Malta rose gradually againstthe last flush of sunset, and in two hours thereafter, we came to anchorin Quarantine Harbor. The quarantine for travellers returning from theEast, which formerly varied from fourteen to twenty-one days, is nowreduced to one day for those arriving from Greece or Turkey, and threedays for those from Egypt and Syria. In our case, it was reduced tosixteen hours, by an official courtesy. I had intended proceeding directlyto Naples; but by the contemptible trickery of the agents of the Frenchsteamers--a long history, which it is unnecessary to recapitulate--am lefthere to wait ten days for another steamer. It is enough to say that thereare six other travellers at the same hotel, some coming fromConstantinople, and some from Alexandria, in the same predicament. Becausea single ticket to Naples costs some thirty or forty francs less than bydividing the trip into two parts, the agents in those cities refuse togive tickets further than Malta to those who are not keen enough to seethrough the deception. I made every effort to obtain a second ticket intime to leave by the branch steamer for Italy, but in vain. 

La Valetta is, to my eyes, the most beautiful small city in the world. Itis a jewel of a place; not a street but is full of picturesque effects, and all the look-outs, which you catch at every turn, let your eyes resteither upon one of the beautiful harbors on each side, or the distanthorizon of the sea. The streets are so clean that you might eat yourdinner off the pavement; the white balconies and cornices of the houses, all cleanly cut in the soft Maltese stone, stand out in intense reliefagainst the sky, and from the manifold reflections and counterreflections, the shadows (where there are any) become a sort of milderlight. The steep sides of the promontory, on which the city is built, areturned into staircases, and it is an inexhaustible pastime to watch thegroups, composed of all nations who inhabit the shores of theMediterranean, ascending and descending. The Auberges of the old Knights, the Palace of the Grand Master, the Church of St. John, and other relicsof past time, but more especially the fortifications, invest the placewith a romantic interest, and I suspect that, after Venice and Granada, there are few cities where the Middle Ages have left more impressivetraces of their history. 

The Maltese are contented, and appear to thrive under the Englishadministration. They are a peculiar people, reminding me of the Arab evenmore than the Italian, while a certain rudeness in their build and motionssuggests their Punic ancestry. Their language is a curious compound ofArabic and Italian, the former being the basis. I find that I canunderstand more than half that is said, the Arabic terminations beingapplied to Italian words. I believe it has never been successfully reducedto writing, and the restoration of pure Arabic has been proposed, withmuch reason, as preferable to an attempt to improve or refine it. Italianis the language used in the courts of justice and polite society, and isspoken here with much more purity than either in Naples or Sicily. 

The heat has been so great since I landed that I have not ventured outsideof the city, except last evening to an amateur theatre, got up by thenon-commissioned officers and privates in the garrison. The performanceswere quite tolerable, except a love-sick young damsel who spoke with arough masculine voice, and made long strides across the stage when sherushed into her lover's arms. I am at a loss to account for the exhaustingcharacter of the heat. The thermometer shows 90° by day, and 80° to 85° bynight--a much lower temperature than I have found quite comfortable inAfrica and Syria. In the Desert 100° in the shade is rather bracing thanotherwise; here, 90° renders all exercise, more severe than smoking apipe, impossible. Even in a state of complete inertia, a shirt-collar willfall starchless in five minutes. 

Rather than waste eight more days in this glimmering half-existence, Ihave taken passage in a Maltese _speronara_, which sails this evening forCatania, in Sicily, where the grand festival of St. Agatha, which takesplace once in a hundred years, will be celebrated next week. The trippromises a new experience, and I shall get a taste, slight though it be, of the golden Trinacria of the ancients. Perhaps, after all, this delaywhich so vexes me (bear in mind, I am no longer in the Orient!) may bemeant solely for my good. At least, Mr. Winthrop, our Consul here, who hasbeen exceedingly kind and courteous to me, thinks it a rare good fortunethat I shall see the Catanian festa. 

Chapter XXX. 

The Festival of St. Agatha. 

 Departure from Malta--The Speronara--Our Fellow-Passengers--The First Night on Board--Sicily--Scarcity of Provisions--Beating in the Calabrian Channel--The Fourth Morning--The Gulf of Catania--A Sicilian Landscape--The Anchorage--The Suspected List--The Streets of Catania--Biography of St. Agatha--The Illuminations--The Procession of the Veil--The Biscari Palace--The Antiquities of Catania--The Convent of St. Nicola. 

 "The morn is full of holiday, loud bells With rival clamors ring from every spire; Cunningly-stationed music dies and swells In echoing places; when the winds respire, Light flags stream out like gauzy tongues of fire. "--Keats. 

Catania, Sicily, _Friday_, _August_ 20, 1852. 

I went on board the _speronara_ in the harbor of La Valetta at theappointed hour (5 P. M. ), and found the remaining sixteen passengersalready embarked. The captain made his appearance an hour later, with ourbill of health and passports, and as the sun went down behind the brownhills of the island, we passed the wave-worn rocks of the promontory, dividing the two harbors, and slowly moved off towards Sicily. 

The Maltese _speronara_ resembles the ancient Roman galley more than anymodern craft. It has the same high, curved poop and stern, the same shortmasts and broad, square sails. The hull is too broad for speed, but thisadds to the security of the vessel in a gale. With a fair wind, it rarelymakes more than eight knots an hour, and in a calm, the sailors (if nottoo lazy) propel it forward with six long oars. The hull is painted in afanciful style, generally blue, red, green and white, with bright redmasts. The bulwarks are low, and the deck of such a convexity that it isquite impossible to walk it in a heavy sea. Such was the vessel to which Ifound myself consigned. It was not more than fifty feet long, and of lesscapacity than a Nile _dahabiyeh_. There was a sort of deck cabin, or crib, with two berths, but most of the passengers slept in the hold. For apassage to Catania I was obliged to pay forty francs, the owner swearingthat this was the regular price; but, as I afterwards discovered, theMaltese only paid thirty-six francs for the whole trip. However, theCaptain tried to make up the money's worth in civilities, and wasincessant in his attentions to "your Lordships, " as he styled myself andmy companion, Cæsar di Cagnola, a young Milanese. 

The Maltese were tailors and clerks, who were taking a holiday trip towitness the great festival of St. Agatha. With two exceptions, they were awild and senseless, though good-natured set, and in spite of sea-sickness, which exercised them terribly for the first two days, kept up a constantjabber in their bastard Arabic from morning till night. As is usual insuch a company, one of them was obliged to serve as a butt for the rest, and "Maestro Paolo, " as they termed him, wore such a profoundly seriousface all the while, from his sea-sickness, that the fun never came to anend. As they were going to a religious festival, some of them had broughttheir breviaries along with them; but I am obliged to testify that, afterthe first day, prayers were totally forgotten. The sailors, however, worelinen bags, printed with a figure of the Madonna, around their necks. 

The sea was rather rough, but Cæsar and I fortified our stomachs with abottle of English ale, and as it was dark by this time, sought ourresting-places for the night. As we had paid double, _places_ were assuredus in the coop on deck, but beds were not included in the bargain. TheMaltese, who had brought mattresses and spread a large Phalansteriau bedin the hold, fared much better. I took one of my carpet bags for a pillowand lay down on the planks, where I succeeded in getting a little sleepbetween the groans of the helpless land-lubbers. We had the _ponente_, orwest-wind, all night, but the speronara moved sluggishly, and in themorning it changed to the _greco-levante, _ or north-east. No land was insight; but towards noon, the sky became clearer, and we saw the southerncoast of Sicily--a bold mountain-shore, looming phantom-like in thedistance. Cape Passaro was to the east, and the rest of the day was spentin beating up to it. At sunset, we were near enough to see the villagesand olive-groves of the beautiful shore, and, far behind the nearermountains, ninety miles distant, the solitary cone of Etna. 

The second night passed like the first, except that our bruised limbs wererather more sensitive to the texture of the planks. We crawled out of ourcoop at dawn, expecting to behold Catania in the distance; but there wasCape Passaro still staring us in the face. The Maltese were patient, andwe did not complain, though Cæsar and I began to make nice calculations asto the probable duration of our two cold fowls and three loaves of bread. The promontory of Syracuse was barely visible forty miles ahead; but thewind was against us, and so another day passed in beating up the easterncoast. At dusk, we overtook another speronara which had left Malta twohours before us, and this was quite a triumph to our captain, All the oarswere shipped, the sailors and some of the more courageous passengers tookhold, and we shot ahead, scudding rapidly along the dark shores, to thesound of the wild Maltese songs. At length, the promontory was gained, andthe restless current, rolling down from Scylla and Charybdis, tossed ourlittle bark from wave to wave with a recklessness that would have made anyone nervous but an old sailor like myself. 

"To-morrow morning, " said the Captain, "we shall sail into Catania;" butafter a third night on the planks, which were now a little softer, we roseto find ourselves abreast of Syracuse, with Etna as distant as ever. Thewind was light, and what little we made by tacking was swept away by thecurrent, so that, after wasting the whole forenoon, we kept a straightcourse across the mouth of the channel, and at sunset saw the CalabrianMountains. This move only lost us more ground, as it happened. Cæsar and Imournfully and silently consumed our last fragment of beef, with theremaining dry crusts of bread, and then sat down doggedly to smoke and seewhether the captain would discover our situation. But no; while we weresupplied, the whole vessel was at our Lordships' command, and now that wewere destitute, he took care to make no rash offers. Cæsar, at last, withan imperial dignity becoming his name, commanded dinner. It came, and thepork and maccaroni, moistened with red Sicilian wine, gave us patience foranother day. 

The fourth morning dawned, and--Great Neptune be praised!--we wereactually within the Gulf of Catania. Etna loomed up in all his sublimebulk, unobscured by cloud or mist, while a slender jet of smoke, risingfrom his crater, was slowly curling its wreaths in the clear air, as ifhappy to receive the first beam of the sun. The towers of Syracuse, whichhad mocked us all the preceding day, were no longer visible; theland-locked little port of Augusta lay behind us; and, as the windcontinued favorable, ere long we saw a faint white mark at the foot of themountain. This was Catania. The shores of the bay were enlivened witholive-groves and the gleam of the villages, while here and there a singlepalm dreamed of its brothers across the sea. Etna, of course, had themonarch's place in the landscape, but even his large, magnificent outlinescould not usurp all my feeling. The purple peaks to the westward andfarther inland, had a beauty of their own, and in the gentle curves withwhich they leaned towards each other, there was a promise of the flowerymeadows of Enna. The smooth blue water was speckled with fishing-boats. Wehailed one, inquiring when the _festa_ was to commence; but, mistaking ourquestion, they answered: "Anchovies. " Thereupon, a waggish Malteseinformed them that Maestro Paolo thanked them heartily. All the otherboats were hailed in the name of Maestro Paolo, who, having recovered fromhis sea-sickness, took his bantering good-humoredly. 

Catania presented a lovely picture, as we drew near the harbor. Planted atthe very foot of Etna, it has a background such as neither Naples norGenoa can boast. The hills next the sea are covered with gardens andorchards, sprinkled with little villages and the country palaces of thenobles--a rich, cultured landscape, which gradually merges into theforests of oak and chestnut that girdle the waist of the great volcano. But all the wealth of southern vegetation cannot hide the footsteps ofthat Ruin, which from time to time visits the soil. Half-way up, themountain-side is dotted with cones of ashes and cinders, some covered withthe scanty shrubbery which centuries have called forth, some barren andrecent; while two dark, winding streams of sterile lava descend to thevery shore, where they stand congealed in ragged needles and pyramids. Part of one of these black floods has swept the town, and, tumbling intothe sea, walls one side of the port. 

We glided slowly past the mole, and dropped anchor a few yards from theshore. There was a sort of open promenade planted with trees, in front ofus, surrounded with high white houses, above which rose the dome of theCathedral and the spires of other churches. The magnificent palace ofPrince Biscari was on our right, and at its foot the Customs and Revenueoffices. Every roof, portico, and window was lined with lamps, a triumphalarch spanned the street before the palace, and the landing-place at theoffices was festooned with crimson and white drapery, spangled with gold. While we were waiting permission to land, a scene presented itself whichrecalled the pagan days of Sicily to my mind. A procession came in sightfrom under the trees, and passed along the shore. In the centre was bornea stately shrine, hung with garlands, and containing an image of St. Agatha. The sound of flutes and cymbals accompanied it, and a band ofchildren, bearing orange and palm branches, danced riotously before. Hadthe image been Pan instead of St. Agatha, the ceremonies would have beenquite as appropriate. 

The speronara's boat at last took us to the gorgeous landing place, wherewe were carefully counted by a fat Sicilian official, and declared freefrom quarantine. We were then called into the Passport Office where theMaltese underwent a searching examination. One of the officers sat withthe Black Book, or list of suspected persons of all nations, open beforehim, and looked for each name as it was called out. Another scanned thefaces of the frightened tailors, as if comparing them with certainrevolutionary visages in his mind. Terrible was the keen, detective glanceof his eye, and it went straight through the poor Maltese, who vanishedwith great rapidity when they were declared free to enter the city. Atlast, they all passed the ordeal, but Cæsar and I remained, looking in atthe door. "There are still these two Frenchmen, " said the captain. "I amno Frenchman, " I protested; "I am an American. " "And I, " said Cæsar, "aman Austrian subject. " Thereupon we received a polite invitation to enter;the terrible glance softened into a benign, respectful smile; he of theBlack Book ran lightly over the C's and T's, and said, with a courteousinclination: "There is nothing against the signori. " I felt quite relievedby this; for, in the Mediterranean, one is never safe from spies, and noperson is too insignificant to escape the ban, if once suspected. 

Calabria was filled to overflowing with strangers from all parts of theTwo Sicilies, and we had some difficulty in finding very bad and dearlodgings. It was the first day of the _festa, _ and the streets werefilled with peasants, the men in black velvet jackets and breeches, withstockings, and long white cotton caps hanging on the shoulders, and thewomen with gay silk shawls on their heads, after the manner of the Mexican_reboza_. In all the public squares, the market scene in Masaniello wasacted to the life. The Sicilian dialect is harsh and barbarous, and theoriginal Italian is so disguised by the admixture of Arabic, Spanish, French, and Greek words, that even my imperial friend, who was a bornItalian, had great difficulty in understanding the people. 

I purchased a guide to the festa, which, among other things, contained abiography of St. Agatha. It is a beautiful specimen of pious writing, andI regret that I have not space to translate the whole of it. Agatha was abeautiful Catanian virgin, who secretly embraced Christianity during thereign of Nero. Catania was then governed by a prætor named Quintianus, who, becoming enamored of Agatha, used the most brutal means to compel herto submit to his desires, but without effect. At last, driven to thecruelest extremes, he cut off her breasts, and threw her into prison. Butat midnight, St. Peter, accompanied by an angel, appeared to her, restoredthe maimed parts, and left her more beautiful than ever. Quintianus thenordered a furnace to be heated, and cast her therein. A terribleearthquake shook the city; the sun was eclipsed; the sea rolled backwards, and left its bottom dry; the prætor's palace fell in ruins, and he, pursued by the vengeance of the populace, fled till he reached the riverSimeto, where he was drowned in attempting to cross. "The thunders of thevengeance of God, " says the biography, "struck him down into theprofoundest Hell. " This was in the year 252. 

The body was carried to Constantinople in 1040, "although the Catanianswept incessantly at their loss;" but in 1126, two French knights, namedGilisbert and Goselin, were moved by angelic influences to restore it toits native town, which they accomplished, "and the eyes of the Cataniansagain burned with joy. " The miracles effected by the saint are numberless, and her power is especially efficacious in preventing earthquakes anderuptions of Mount Etna. Nevertheless, Catania has suffered more fromthese causes than any other town in Sicily. But I would that all saintshad as good a claim to canonization as St. Agatha. The honors of such afestival as this are not out of place, when paid to such youth, beauty, and "heavenly chastity, " as she typifies. 

The guide, which I have already consulted, gives a full account of thefesta, in advance, with a description of Catania. The author says: "If thyheart is not inspired by gazing on this lovely city, it is a fatalsign--thou wert not born to feel the sweet impulses of the Beautiful!"Then, in announcing the illuminations and pyrotechnic displays, heexclaims: "Oh, the amazing spectacle! Oh, how happy art thou, that thoubeholdest it! I What pyramids of lamps! What myriads of rockets! Whatwonderful temples of flame! The Mountain himself is astonished at such adisplay. " And truly, except the illumination of the Golden Horn on theNight of Predestination, I have seen nothing equal to the spectaclepresented by Catania, during the past three nights. The city, which hasbeen built up from her ruins more stately than ever, was in a blaze oflight--all her domes, towers, and the long lines of her beautiful palacesrevealed in the varying red and golden flames of a hundred thousand lampsand torches. Pyramids of fire, transparencies, and illuminated triumphalarches filled the four principal streets, and the fountain in theCathedral square gleamed like a jet of molten silver, spinning up from oneof the pores of Etna. At ten o'clock, a gorgeous display of fireworksclosed the day's festivities, but the lamps remained burning nearly allnight. 

On the second night, the grand Procession of the Veil took place. Iwitnessed this imposing spectacle from the balcony of Prince Gessina'spalace. Long lines of waxen torches led the way, followed by a militaryband, and then a company of the highest prelates, in their most brilliantcostumes, surrounding the Bishop, who walked under a canopy of silk andgold, bearing the miraculous veil of St. Agatha. I was blessed with adistant view of it, but could see no traces of the rosy hue left upon itby the flames of the Saint's martyrdom. Behind the priests came the_Intendente_ of Sicily, Gen. Filangieri, the same who, three years ago, gave up Catania to sack and slaughter. He was followed by the Senate ofthe City, who have just had the cringing cowardice to offer him a ball onnext Sunday night. If ever a man deserved the vengeance of an outragedpeople, it is this Filangieri, who was first a Liberal, when the causepromised success, and then made himself the scourge of the vilest ofkings. As he passed me last night in his carriage of State, while themusic pealed in rich rejoicing strains, that solemn chant with which themonks break upon the revellers, in "Lucrezia Borgia, " came into my mind:

 "La gioja del profani 'E un fumo passagier'--"

[the rejoicing of the profane is a transitory mist. ] I heard, under thedin of all these festivities, the voice of that Retribution which even nowlies in wait, and will not long be delayed. 

To-night Signor Scavo, the American Vice-Consul, took me to the palace ofPrince Biscari, overlooking the harbor, in order to behold the granddisplay of fireworks from the end of the mole. The showers of rockets andcolored stars, and the temples of blue and silver fire, were repeated inthe dark, quiet bosom of the sea, producing the most dazzling andstartling effects. There was a large number of the Catanese nobilitypresent, and among them a Marchesa Gioveni, the descendant of the bloodyhouse of Anjou. Prince Biscari is a benign, courtly old man, and greatlyesteemed here. His son is at present in exile, on account of the part hetook in the late revolution. During the sack of the city under Filangieri, the palace was plundered of property to the amount of ten thousanddollars. The museum of Greek and Roman antiquities attached to it, andwhich the house of Biscari has been collecting for many years, is probablythe finest in Sicily. The state apartments were thrown open this evening, and when I left, an hour ago, the greater portion of the guests were goingthrough mazy quadrilles on the mosaic pavements. 

Among the antiquities of Catania which I have visited, are theAmphitheatre, capable of holding 15, 000 persons, the old Greek Theatre, the same in which Alcibiades made his noted harangue to the Catanians, theOdeon, and the ancient Baths. The theatre, which is in tolerablepreservation, is built of lava, like many of the modern edifices in thecity. The Baths proved to me, what I had supposed, that the Oriental Bathof the present day is identical with that of the Ancients. Why soadmirable an institution has never been introduced into Europe (except inthe _Bains Chinois_ of Paris) is more than I can tell. From the pavementof these baths, which is nearly twenty feet below the surface of theearth, the lava of later eruptions has burst up, in places, in hard blackjets. The most wonderful token of that flood which whelmed Catania twohundred years ago, is to be seen at the Grand Benedictine Convent of SanNicola, in the upper part of the city. Here the stream of lava dividesitself just before the Convent, and flows past on both sides, leaving thebuilding and gardens untouched. The marble courts, the fountains, thesplendid galleries, and the gardens of richest southern bloom andfragrance, stand like an epicurean island in the midst of the terriblestony waves, whose edges bristle with the thorny aloe and cactus. Themonks of San Nicola are all chosen from the Sicilian nobility, and live acomfortable life of luxury and vice. Each one has his own carriage, horses, and servants, and each his private chambers outside of the conventwalls and his kept concubines. These facts are known and acknowledged bythe Catanians, to whom they are a lasting scandal. 

It is past midnight, and I must close. Cæsar started this afternoon, alone, for the ascent of Etna. I would have accompanied him, but my onlychance of reaching Messina in time for the next steamer to Naples is thediligence which leaves here to-morrow. The mountain has been covered withclouds for the last two days, and I have had no view at all comparable tothat of the morning of my arrival. To-morrow the grand procession of theBody of St. Agatha takes place, but I am quite satisfied with three daysof processions and horse races, and three nights of illuminations. 

I leave in the morning, with a Sicilian passport, my own availing menothing, after landing. 

Chapter XXXI. 

The Eruption of Mount Etna. 

 The Mountain Threatens--The Signs Increase--We Leave Catania--Gardens Among the Lava--Etna Labors--Aci Reale--The Groans of Etna--The Eruption--Gigantic Tree of Smoke--Formation of the New Crater--We Lose Sight of the Mountain--Arrival at Messina--Etna is Obscured--Departure. 

 -------"the shattered side Of thundering Ætna, whose combustible And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a singed bottom. " Milton. 

Messina, Sicily, _Monday, August_ 23, 1852. 

The noises of the festival had not ceased when I closed my letter atmidnight, on Friday last. I slept soundly through the night, but wasawakened before sunrise by my Sicilian landlord. "O, Excellenza! have youheard the Mountain? He is going to break out again; may the holy SantaAgatha protect us!" It is rather ill-timed on the part of the Mountain, was my involuntary first thought, that he should choose for a new eruptionprecisely the centennial festival of the only Saint who is supposed tohave any power over him. It shows a disregard of female influence not atall suited to the present day, and I scarcely believe that he seriouslymeans it. Next came along the jabbering landlady: "I don't like his looks. It was just so the last time. Come, Excellenza, you can see him from theback terrace. " The sun was not yet risen, but the east was bright withhis coming, and there was not a cloud in the sky. All the features of Etnawere sharply sculptured in the clear air. From the topmost cone, a thickstream of white smoke was slowly puffed out at short intervals, and rolledlazily down the eastern side. It had a heavy, languid character, and Ishould have thought nothing of the appearance but for the alarm of myhosts. It was like the slow fire of Earth's incense, burning on that grandmountain altar. 

I hurried off to the Post Office, to await the arrival of the diligencefrom Palermo. The office is in the Strada Etnea, the main street ofCatania, which runs straight through the city, from the sea to the base ofthe mountain, whose peak closes the long vista. The diligence was an hourlater than usual, and I passed the time in watching the smoke whichcontinued to increase in volume, and was mingled, from time to time, withjets of inky blackness. The postilion said he had seen fires and heardloud noises during the night. According to his account, the disturbancescommenced about midnight. I could not but envy my friend Cæsar, who wasprobably at that moment on the summit, looking down into the seethingfires of the crater. 

At last, we rolled out of Catania. There were in the diligence, besidesmyself, two men and a woman, Sicilians of the secondary class. The roadfollowed the shore, over rugged tracts of lava, the different epochs ofwhich could be distinctly traced in the character of the vegetation. Thelast great flow (of 1679) stood piled in long ridges of terriblesterility, barely allowing the aloe and cactus to take root in the hollowsbetween. The older deposits were sufficiently decomposed to nourish theolive and vine; but even here, the orchards were studded with pyramids ofthe harder fragments, which are laboriously collected by the husbandmen. In the few favored spots which have been untouched for so many ages that atolerable depth of soil has accumulated, the vegetation has all therichness and brilliancy of tropical lands. The palm, orange, andpomegranate thrive luxuriantly, and the vines almost break under theirheavy clusters. The villages are frequent and well built, and the hillsare studded, far and near, with the villas of rich proprietors, mostlybuildings of one story, with verandahs extending their whole length. Looking up towards Etna, whose base the road encircles, the views aregloriously rich and beautiful. On the other hand is the blue Mediterraneanand the irregular outline of the shore, here and there sending forthpromontories of lava, cooled by the waves into the most fantastic forms. 

We had sot proceeded far before a new sign called my attention to themountain. Not only was there a perceptible jar or vibration in the earth, but a dull, groaning sound, like the muttering of distant thunder, beganto be heard. The smoke increased in volume, and, as we advanced further tothe eastward, and much nearer to the great cone, I perceived that itconsisted of two jets, issuing from different mouths. A broad stream ofvery dense white smoke still flowed over the lip of the topmost crater anddown the eastern side. As its breadth did not vary, and the edges weredistinctly defined, it was no doubt the sulphureous vapor rising from ariver of molten lava. Perhaps a thousand yards below, a much strongercolumn of mingled black and white smoke gushed up, in regular beats orpants, from a depression in the mountain side, between two small, extinctcones. All this part of Etna was scarred with deep chasms, and in thebottoms of those nearest the opening, I could see the red gleam of fire. The air was perfectly still, and as yet there was no cloud in the sky. 

When we stopped to change horses at the town of Aci Reale, I first feltthe violence of the tremor and the awful sternness of the sound. The smokeby this time seemed to be gathering on the side towards Catania, and hungin a dark mass about half-way down the mountain. Groups of the villagerswere gathered in the streets which looked upwards to Etna, and discussingthe chances of an eruption. "Ah, " said an old peasant, "the Mountain knowshow to make himself respected. When he talks, everybody listens. " Thesound was the most awful that ever met my ears. It was a hard, painfulmoan, now and then fluttering like a suppressed sob, and had, at the sametime, an expression of threatening and of agony. It did not come from Etnaalone. It had no fixed location; it pervaded all space. It was in the air, in the depths of the sea, in the earth under my feet--everywhere, in fact;and as it continued to increase in violence, I experienced a sensation ofpositive pain. The people looked anxious and alarmed, although they saidit was a good thing for all Sicily; that last year they had been inconstant fear from earthquakes, and that an eruption invariably left theisland quiet for several years. It is true that, during the past year, parts of Sicily and Calabria have been visited with severe shocks, occasioning much damage to property. A merchant of this city informed meyesterday that his whole family had slept for two months in the vaults ofhis warehouse, fearing that their residence might be shaken down in thenight. 

As we rode along from Aci Reale to Taormina, all the rattling of thediligence over the rough road could not drown the awful noise. There was astrong smell of sulphur in the air, and the thick pants of smoke from thelower crater continued to increase in strength. The sun was fierce andhot, and the edges of the sulphureous clouds shone with a dazzlingwhiteness. A mounted soldier overtook us, and rode beside the diligence, talking with the postillion. He had been up to the mountain, and wastaking his report to the Governor of the district. The heat of the day andthe continued tremor of the air lulled me into a sort of doze, when I wassuddenly aroused by a cry from the soldier and the stopping of thediligence. At the same time, there was a terrific peal of sound, followedby a jar which must have shaken the whole island. We looked up to Etna, which was fortunately in full view before us. An immense mass ofsnow-white smoke had burst up from the crater and was risingperpendicularly into the air, its rounded volumes rapidly whirling oneover the other, yet urged with such impetus that they only rolled outwardsafter they had ascended to an immense height. It might have been oneminute or five--for I was so entranced by this wonderful spectacle that Ilost the sense of time--but it seemed instantaneous (so rapid and violentwere the effects of the explosion), when there stood in the air, based onthe summit of the mountain, a mass of smoke four or five miles high, andshaped precisely like the Italian pine tree. 

Words cannot paint the grandeur of this mighty tree. Its trunk of columnedsmoke, one side of which was silvered by the sun, while the other, inshadow, was lurid with red flame, rose for more than a mile before it sentout its cloudy boughs. Then parting into a thousand streams, each ofwhich again threw out its branching tufts of smoke, rolling and waving inthe air, it stood in intense relief against the dark blue of the sky. Itsrounded masses of foliage were dazzlingly white on one side, while, in theshadowy depths of the branches, there was a constant play of brown, yellow, and crimson tints, revealing the central shaft of fire. It waslike the tree celebrated in the Scandinavian sagas, as seen by the motherof Harold Hardrada--that tree, whose roots pierced through the earth, whose trunk was of the color of blood, and whose branches filled theuttermost corners of the heavens. 

This outburst seemed to have relieved the mountain, for the tremors werenow less violent, though the terrible noise still droned in the air, andearth, and sea. And now, from the base of the tree, three white streamsslowly crept into as many separate chasms, against the walls of whichplayed the flickering glow of the burning lava. The column of smoke andflame was still hurled upwards, and the tree, after standing about tenminutes--a new and awful revelation of the active forces ofNature--gradually rose and spread, lost its form, and, slowly moved by alight wind (the first that disturbed the dead calm of the day), bent overto the eastward. We resumed our course. The vast belt of smoke at lastarched over the strait, here about twenty miles wide, and sank towards thedistant Calabrian shore. As we drove under it, for some miles of our way, the sun was totally obscured, and the sky presented the singular spectacleof two hemispheres of clear blue, with a broad belt of darkness drawnbetween them. There was a hot, sulphureous vapor in the air, and showersof white ashes fell, from time to time. We were distant about twelvemiles, in a straight line, from the crater; but the air was so clear, even under the shadow of the smoke, that I could distinctly trace thedownward movement of the rivers of lava. 

This was the eruption, at last, to which all the phenomena of the morninghad been only preparatory. For the first time in ten years the depths ofEtna had been stirred, and I thanked God for my detention at Malta, andthe singular hazard of travel which had brought me here, to his very base, to witness a scene, the impression of which I shall never lose, to mydying day. Although the eruption may continue and the mountain pour forthfiercer fires and broader tides of lava, I cannot but think that the firstupheaval, which lets out the long-imprisoned forces, will not be equalledin grandeur by any later spectacle. 

After passing Taormina, our road led us under the hills of the coast, andalthough I occasionally caught glimpses of Etna, and saw the reflection offires from the lava which was filling up his savage ravines, the smoke atlast encircled his waist, and he was then shut out of sight by theintervening mountains. We lost a bolt in a deep valley opening on the sea, and during our stoppage I could still hear the groans of the Mountain, though farther off and less painful to the ear. As evening came on, thebeautiful hills of Calabria, with white towns and villages on their sides, gleamed in the purple light of the setting sun. We drove around headlandafter headland, till the strait opened, and we looked over the harbor ofMessina to Capo Faro, and the distant islands of the Tyrrhene Sea. 

 * * * * *

I leave this afternoon for Naples and Leghorn. I have lost already so muchtime between Constantinople and this place, that I cannot give up tendays more to Etna. Besides, I am so thoroughly satisfied with what I haveseen, that I fear no second view of the eruption could equal it. Etnacannot be seen from here, nor from a nearer point than a mountain six oreight miles distant. I tried last evening to get a horse and ride out toit, in order to see the appearance of the eruption by night; but everyhorse, mule and donkey in the place was engaged, except a miserable lamemule, for which five dollars was demanded. However, the night happened tobe cloudy so that I could have seen nothing. 

My passport is finally _en règle_. It has cost the labors of myself and anable-bodied valet-de-place since yesterday morning, and the expenditure offive dollars and a half, to accomplish this great work. I have just beenrighteously abusing the Neapolitan Government to a native merchant whom, from his name, I took to be a Frenchman, but as I am off in an hour ortwo, hope to escape arrest. Perdition to all Tyranny!

Chapter XXXII. 

Gibraltar. 

 Unwritten Links of Travel--Departure from Southampton--The Bay of Biscay--Cintra--Trafalgar--Gibraltar at Midnight--Landing--Search for a Palm-Tree--A Brilliant Morning--The Convexity of the Earth--Sun-Worship--The Rock. 

 ------"to the north-west, Cape St. Vincent died away, Sunset ran, a burning blood-red, blushing into Cadiz Bay. In the dimmest north-east distance dawned Gibraltar, grand and gray. "

 Browning. 

Gibraltar, _Saturday, November_ 6, 1852. 

I leave unrecorded the links of travel which connected Messina andGibraltar. They were over the well-trodden fields of Europe, where littleground is left that is not familiar. In leaving Sicily I lost theSaracenic trail, which I had been following through the East, and firstfind it again here, on the rock of Calpe, whose name, _Djebel el-Tarik_(the Mountain of Tarik), still speaks of the fiery race whose ruleextended from the unknown ocean of the West to "Ganges and Hydaspes, Indian streams. " In Malta and Sicily, I saw their decaying watch-towers, and recognized their sign-manual in the deep, guttural, masculine wordsand expressions which they have left behind them. I now design followingtheir footsteps through the beautiful _Belàd-el-Andaluz_, which, to theeye of the Melek Abd-er-rahmàn, was only less lovely than the plains ofDamascus. 

While in Constantinople, I received letters which opened to me wider andricher fields of travel than I had already traversed. I saw a possibilityof exploring the far Indian realms, the shores of farthest Cathay and thefamed Zipango of Marco Polo. Before entering on this new sphere ofexperiences, however, it was necessary for me to visit Italy, Germany, andEngland. I sailed from Messina to Leghorn, and travelled thence, by way ofFlorence, Venice, and the Tyrol, to Munich. After three happy weeks atGotha, and among the valleys of she Thüringian Forest, I went to London, where business and the preparation for my new journeys detained me two orthree weeks longer. Although the comforts of European civilization werepleasant, as a change, after the wild life of the Orient, the autumnalrains of England soon made me homesick for the sunshine I had left. Theweather was cold, dark, and dreary, and the oppressive, sticky atmosphereof the bituminous metropolis weighed upon me like a nightmare. Heartilytired of looking at a sun that could show nothing brighter than a redcopper disk, and of breathing an air that peppered my face with particlesof soot, I left on the 28th of October. It was one of the dismalest daysof autumn; the meadows of Berkshire were flooded with broad, muddystreams, and the woods on the hills of Hampshire looked brown and sodden, as if slowly rotting away. I reached Southampton at dusk, but there thesky was neither warmer nor clearer, so I spent the evening over a coalfire, all impatience for the bright beloved South, towards which my facewas turned once more. 

The _Madras_ left on the next day, at 2 P. M. , in the midst of a cheerlessrain, which half blotted out the pleasant shores of Southampton Water, andthe Isle of Wight. The _Madras_ was a singularly appropriate vessel forone bound on such a journey as mine. The surgeon was Dr. Mungo Park, andone of my room-mates was Mr. R. Crusoe. It was a Friday, which boded nogood for the voyage; but then my journey commenced with my leaving Londonthe day previous, and Thursday is a lucky day among the Arabs. I caught awatery view of the gray cliffs of the Needles, when dinner was announced, but many were those (and I among them) who commenced that meal, and didnot stay to finish it. 

Is there any piece of water more unreasonably, distressingly, disgustinglyrough and perverse than the British Channel? Yes: there is one, and butone--the Bay of Biscay. And as the latter succeeds the former, without apause between, and the head-winds never ceased, and the rain continuallypoured, I leave you to draw the climax of my misery. Four days and fournights in a berth, lying on your back, now dozing dull hour after hour, now making faint endeavors to eat, or reading the feeblest novel everwritten, because the mind cannot digest stronger aliment--can there be agreater contrast to the wide-awake life, the fiery inspiration, of theOrient? My blood became so sluggish and my mind so cloudy and befogged, that I despaired of ever thinking clearly or feeling vividly again. "Thewinds are rude" in Biscay, Byron says. They are, indeed: very rude. Theymust have been raised in some most disorderly quarter of the globe. Theypitched the waves right over our bulwarks, and now and then dashed abucketful of water down the cabin skylight, swamping the ladies' cabin, and setting scores of bandboxes afloat. Not that there was the leastactual danger; but Mrs. ---- would not be persuaded that we were not onthe brink of destruction, and wrote to friends at home a voluminousaccount of her feelings. There was an Irishman on board, bound to Italy, with his sister. It was his first tour, and when asked why he did not godirect, through France, he replied, with brotherly concern, that he wasanxious his sister should see the Bay of Biscay. 

This youth's perceptions were of such an emerald hue, that a lot of wickedEnglishmen had their own fun out of him. The other day, he was trying toshave, to the great danger of slicing off his nose, as the vessel wasrolling fearfully. "Why don't you have the ship headed to the wind?" saidone of the Englishmen, who heard his complaints; "she will then liesteady, and you can shave beautifully. " Thereupon the Irishman sent one ofthe stewards upon deck with a polite message to the captain, begging himto put the vessel about for five minutes. 

Towards noon of the fifth day, we saw the dark, rugged mountains thatguard the north-western corner of the Spanish Peninsula. We passed the Bayof Corunna, and rounding the bold headland of Finisterre, left theBiscayan billows behind us. But the sea was still rough and the skyclouded, although the next morning the mildness of the air showed thechange in our latitude. About noon that day, we made the Burlings, acluster of rocks forty miles north of Lisbon, and just before sunset, atransient lifting of the clouds revealed the Rock of Cintra, at the mouthof the Tagus. The tall, perpendicular cliffs, and the mountain slopesbehind, covered with gardens, orchards, and scattered villas and hamlets, made a grand though dim picture, which was soon hidden from our view. 

On the 4th, we were nearly all day crossing the mouth of the Bay ofCadiz, and only at sunset saw Cape Trafalgar afar off, glimmering throughthe reddish haze. I remained on deck, as there were patches of starlightin the sky. After passing the light-house at Tarifa, the Spanish shorecontinued to be visible. In another hour, there was a dim, cloudy outlinehigh above the horizon, on our right. This was the Lesser Atlas, inMorocco. And now, right ahead, distinctly visible, though fifteen milesdistant, lay a colossal lion, with his head on his outstretched paws, looking towards Africa. If I had been brought to the spot blindfolded, Ishould have known what it was. The resemblance is certainly very striking, and the light-house on Europa Point seemed to be a lamp held in his paws. The lights of the city and fortifications rose one by one, glitteringalong the base, and at midnight we dropped anchor before them on thewestern side. 

I landed yesterday morning. The mists, which had followed me from England, had collected behind the Rock, and the sun, still hidden by its huge bulk, shone upwards through them, making a luminous background, against whichthe lofty walls and jagged ramparts of this tremendous naturalfortification were clearly defined. I announced my name, and the length oftime I designed remaining, at a little office on the quay, and was thenallowed to pass into the city. A number of familiar white turbans met meon entering, and I could not resist the temptation of cordially salutingthe owners in their own language. The town is long and narrow, lyingsteeply against the Rock. The houses are white, yellow and pink, as inSpanish towns, but the streets are clean and well paved. There is asquare, about the size of an ordinary building-lot, where a sort ofmarket of dry goods and small articles is held The "Club-House Hotel"occupies one side of it; and, as I look out of my window upon it, I seethe topmost cliffs of the Rock above me, threatening to topple down from aheight of 1, 500 feet. 

My first walk in Gibraltar was in search of a palm-tree. After threadingthe whole length of the town, I found two small ones in a garden, in thebottom of the old moat. The sun was shining, and his rays seemed to fallwith double warmth on their feathery crests. Three brown Spaniards, bare-armed, were drawing water with a pole and bucket, and filling thelittle channels which conveyed it to the distant vegetables. The seaglittered blue below; an Indian fig-tree shaded me; but, on the rockbehind, an aloe lifted its blossoming stem, some twenty feet high, intothe sunshine. To describe what a weight was lifted from my heart wouldseem foolish to those who do not know on what little things the whole toneof our spirits sometimes depends. 

But if an even balance was restored yesterday, the opposite scale kickedthe beam this morning. Not a speck of vapor blurred the spotless crystalof the sky, as I walked along the hanging paths of the Alameda. The seawas dazzling ultra-marine, with a purple lustre; every crag and notch ofthe mountains across the bay, every shade of brown or gray, or the greenof grassy patches, was drawn and tinted with a pencil so exquisitelydelicate as almost to destroy the perspective. The white houses ofAlgeciras, five miles off, appeared close at hand: a little toy-town, backed by miniature hills. Apes' Hill, the ancient Abyla, in Africa, advanced to meet Calpe, its opposing pillar, and Atlas swept away to theeast ward, its blue becoming paler and paler, till the powers of visionfinally failed. From the top of the southern point of the Rock, I saw themountain-shore of Spain, as far as Malaga, and the snowy top of one of theSierra Nevada. Looking eastward to the horizon line of the Mediterranean, my sight extended so far, in the wonderful clearness of the air, that theconvexity of the earth's surface was plainly to be seen. The sea, insteadof being a plane, was slightly convex, and the sky, instead of restingupon it at the horizon, curved down beyond it, as the upper side of a horncurves over the lower, when one looks into the mouth. There is none of themany aspects of Nature more grand than this, which is so rarely seen, thatI believe the only person who has ever described it is Humboldt, who sawit, looking from the Silla de Caraccas over the Caribbean Sea. It givesyou the impression of standing on the edge of the earth, and looking offinto space. From the mast-head, the ocean appears either flat or slightlyconcave, and æronauts declare that this apparent concavity becomes moremarked, the higher they ascend. It is only at those rare periods when theair is so miraculously clear as to produce the effect of _noair_--rendering impossible the slightest optical illusion--that our eyescan see things as they really are. So pure was the atmosphere to-day, that, at meridian, the moon, although a thin sickle, three days distantfrom the sun, shone perfectly white and clear. 

As I loitered in the Alameda, between thick hedges of ever-bloominggeraniums, clumps of heliotrope three feet high, and luxuriant masses ofivy, around whose warm flowers the bees clustered and hummed, I could onlythink of the voyage as a hideous dream. The fog and gloom had been in myown eyes and in my own brain, and now the blessed sun, shining full in myface, awoke me. I am a worshipper of the Sun. I took off my hat to him, asI stood there, in a wilderness of white, crimson, and purple flowers, andlet him blaze away in my face for a quarter of an hour. And as I walkedhome with my back to him, I often turned my face from side to side that Imight feel his touch on my cheek. How a man can live, who is sentenced toa year's imprisonment, is more than I can understand. 

But all this (you will say) gives you no picture of Gibraltar. The Rock isso familiar to all the world, in prints and descriptions, that I findnothing new to say of it, except that it is by no means so barren a rockas the island of Malta, being clothed, in many places, with beautifulgroves and the greenest turf; besides, I have not yet seen therock-galleries, having taken passage for Cadiz this afternoon. When Ireturn--as I hope to do in twenty days, after visiting Seville andGranada--I shall procure permission to view all the fortifications, andlikewise to ascend to the summit. 

Chapter XXXIII. 

Cadiz And Seville. 

 Voyage to Cadiz--Landing--The City--Its Streets--The Women of Cadiz--Embarkation for Seville--Scenery of the Guadalquivir--Custom House Examination--The Guide--The Streets of Seville--The Giralda--The Cathedral of Seville--The Alcazar-Moorish Architecture--Pilate's House--Morning View from the Giralda--Old Wine--Murillos--My Last Evening in Seville. 

 "The walls of Cadiz front the shore, And shimmer o'er the sea. "

 R. H. Stoddard. 

 "Beautiful Seville! Of which I've dreamed, until I saw its towers In every cloud that hid the setting sun. "

 George H. Boker. 

Seville, _November_ 10, 1852. 

I left Gibraltar on the evening of the 6th, in the steamer Iberia. Thepassage to Cadiz was made in nine hours, and we came to anchor in theharbor before day-break. It was a cheerful picture that the rising sunpresented to us. The long white front of the city, facing the East, glowedwith a bright rosy lustre, on a ground of the clearest blue. The tongue ofland on which Cadiz stands is low, but the houses are lifted by the heavysea-wall which encompasses them. The main-land consists of a range of lowbut graceful hills, while in the south-east the mountains of Ronda rise atsome distance. I went immediately on shore, where my carpet-bag was seizedupon by a boy, with the rich brown complexion of one Murillo's beggars, who trudged off with it to the gate. After some little detention there, Iwas conducted to a long, deserted, barn-like building, where I waited halfan hour before the proper officer came. When the latter had taken hisprivate toll of my contraband cigars, the brown imp conducted me toBlanco's English Hotel, a neat and comfortable house on the Alameda. 

Cadiz is soon seen. Notwithstanding its venerable age of three thousandyears--having been founded by Hercules, who figures on itscoat-of-arms--it is purely a commercial city, and has neither antiquities, nor historic associations that interest any but Englishmen. It iscompactly built, and covers a smaller space than accords with my ideas ofits former splendor. I first walked around the sea-ramparts, enjoying theglorious look-off over the blue waters. The city is almost insulated, thetriple line of fortifications on the land side being of but triflinglength. A rocky ledge stretches out into the sea from the northern point, and at its extremity rises the massive light-house tower, 170 feet high. The walls toward the sea were covered with companies of idle anglers, fishing with cane rods of enormous length. On the open, waste spacesbetween the bastions, boys had spread their limed cords to catch singingbirds, with chirping decoys placed here and there in wicker cages. Numbersof boatmen and peasants, in their brown jackets, studded with tags andbugles, and those round black caps which resemble smashed bandboxes, loitered about the walls or lounged on the grass in the sun. 

Except along the Alameda, which fronts the bay, the exterior of the cityhas an aspect of neglect and desertion. The interior, however, atones forthis in the gay and lively air of its streets, which, though narrow, areregular and charmingly clean. The small plazas are neatness itself, andone is too content with this to ask for striking architectural effects. The houses are tall and stately, of the most dazzling whiteness, andthough you could point out no one as a pattern of style, the generaleffect is chaste and harmonious. In fact, there are two or three streetswhich you would almost pronounce faultless. The numbers of hangingbalconies and of court-yards paved with marble and surrounded with elegantcorridors, show the influence of Moorish taste. There is not amean-looking house to be seen, and I have no doubt that Cadiz is the bestbuilt city of its size in the world. It lies, white as new-fallen snow, like a cluster of ivory palaces, between sea and sky. Blue and silver areits colors, and, as everybody knows, there can be no more charmingcontrast. 

I visited both the old and new cathedrals, neither of which isparticularly interesting. The latter is unfinished, and might have been afine edifice had the labor and money expended on its construction beendirected by taste. The interior, rich as it is in marbles and sculpture, has a heavy, confused effect. The pillars dividing the nave from theside-aisles are enormous composite masses, each one consisting of sixCorinthian columns, stuck around and against a central shaft. Moresatisfactory to me was the Opera-House, which I visited in the evening, and where the dazzling array of dark-eyed Gaditanas put a stop toarchitectural criticism. The women of Cadiz are noted for their beauty andtheir graceful gait. Some of them are very beautiful, it is true; butbeauty is not the rule among them. Their gait, however, is the mostgraceful possible, because it is perfectly free and natural. Thecommonest serving-maid who walks the streets of Cadiz would put to shame awhole score of our mincing and wriggling belles. 

Honest old Blanco prepared me a cup of chocolate by sunrise next morning, and accompanied me down to the quay, to embark for Seville. A furious windwas blowing from the south-east, and the large green waves raced andchased one another incessantly over the surface of the bay. I took a heavycraft, which the boatmen pushed along under cover of the pier, until theyreached the end, when the sail was dropped in the face of the wind, andaway we shot into the watery tumult. The boat rocked and bounced over theagitated surface, running with one gunwale on the waves, and sheets ofbriny spray broke over me. I felt considerably relieved when I reached thedeck of the steamer, but it was then diversion enough to watch those whofollowed. The crowd of boats pitching tumultuously around the steamer, jostling against each other, their hulls gleaming with wet, as they roseon the beryl-colored waves, striped with long, curded lines of wind-blownfoam, would have made a fine subject for the pencil of Achenbach. 

At last we pushed off, with a crowd of passengers fore and aft, and apyramid of luggage piled around the smoke-pipe. There was a party of fourEnglishmen on board, and, on making their acquaintance, I found one ofthem to be a friend to some of my friends--Sir John Potter, theprogressive ex-Mayor of Manchester. The wind being astern, we ran rapidlyalong the coast, and in two hours entered the mouth of the Guadalquivir. [This name comes from the Arabic _wadi el-kebeer_--literally, the GreatValley. ] The shores are a dead flat. The right bank is a dreary forest ofstunted pines, abounding with deer and other game; on the left is thedilapidated town of San Lucar, whence Magellan set sail on his firstvoyage around the world. A mile further is Bonanza, the port of Xeres, where we touched and took on board a fresh lot of passengers. Thenceforth, for four hours, the scenery of the Guadalquivir had a most distressingsameness. The banks were as flat as a board, with here and there astraggling growth of marshy thickets. Now and then we passed a herdsman'shut, but there were no human beings to be seen, except the peasants whotended the large flocks of sheep and cattle. A sort of breakfast wasserved in the cabin, but so great was the number of guests that I had muchdifficulty in getting anything to eat. The waiters were models of calmnessand deliberation. 

As we approached Seville, some low hills appeared on the left, near theriver. Dazzling white villages were planted at their foot, and all theslopes were covered with olive orchards, while the banks of the streamwere bordered with silvery birch trees. This gave the landscape, in spiteof the African warmth and brightness of the day, a gray and almost wintryaspect. Soon the graceful Giralda, or famous Tower of Seville, arose inthe distance; but, from the windings of the river, we were half an hour inreaching the landing-place. One sees nothing of the far-famed beauty ofSeville, on approaching it. The boat stops below the Alameda, where thepassengers are received by Custom-House officers, who, in my case, did notverify the stories told of them in Cadiz. I gave my carpet-bag to a boy, who conducted me along the hot and dusty banks to the bridge over theGuadalquivir, where he turned into the city. On passing the gate, twoloafer-like guards stopped my baggage, notwithstanding it had already beenexamined. "What!" said I, "do you examine twice on entering Seville?""Yes, " answered one; "twice, and even three times;" but added in a lowertone, "it depends entirely on yourself. " With that he slipped behind me, and let one hand fall beside my pocket. The transfer of a small coin wasdexterously made, and I passed on without further stoppage to the Fonda deMadrid. 

Sir John Potter engaged Antonio Bailli, the noted guide of Seville, whoprofesses to have been the cicerone of all distinguished travellers, fromLord Byron and Washington Irving down to Owen Jones, and I readilyaccepted his invitation to join the party. Bailli is recommended by Fordas "fat and good-humored" Fat he certainly is, and very good-humored whenspeaking of himself, but he has been rather spoiled by popularity, and ismuch too profuse in his critical remarks on art and architecture. Nevertheless, as my stay in Seville is limited, I have derived no slightadvantage from his services. 

On the first morning I took an early stroll through the streets. Thehouses are glaringly white, like those of Cadiz, but are smaller and havenot the same stately exteriors. The windows are protected by irongratings, of florid patterns, and, as many of these are painted green, thegeneral effect is pleasing. Almost every door opens upon a _patio_, orcourtyard, paved with black and white marble and adorned with flowers andfountains. Many of these remain from the time of the Moors, and are stillsurrounded by the delicate arches and brilliant tile-work of that period. The populace in the streets are entirely Spanish--the jaunty _majo_ inhis queer black cap, sash, and embroidered jacket, and the nut-brown, dark-eyed damsel, swimming along in her mantilla, and armed with theirresistible fan. 

We went first to the Cathedral, built on the site of the great mosque ofAbou Youssuf Yakoub. The tall Giralda beckoned to us over the tops of theintervening buildings, and finally a turn in the street brought us to theancient Moorish gateway on the northern side. This is an admirablespecimen of the horse-shoe arch, and is covered with elaborate tracery. Itoriginally opened into the court, or _hàram_, of the mosque, which stillremains, and is shaded by a grove of orange trees. The Giralda, to my eye, is a more perfect tower than the Campanile of Florence, or that of SanMarco, at Venice, which is evidently an idea borrowed from it. The Moorishstructure, with a base of fifty feet square, rises to the height of twohundred and fifty feet. It is of a light pink color, and the sides, whichare broken here and there by exquisitely proportioned double Saracenicarches, are covered from top to bottom with arabesque tracery, cut instrong relief. Upon this tower, a Spanish architect has placed a taperingspire, one hundred feet high, which fortunately harmonizes with thegeneral design, and gives the crowning grace to the work. 

The Cathedral of Seville may rank as one of the grandest Gothic piles inEurope. The nave lacks but five feet of being as high as that of St. Peter's, while the length and breadth of the edifice are on a commensuratescale. The ninety-three windows of stained glass fill the interior with asoft and richly-tinted light, mellower and more gentle than the sombretwilight of the Gothic Cathedrals of Europe. The wealth lavished on thesmaller chapels and shrines is prodigious, and the high altar, inclosedwithin a gilded railing fifty feet high, is probably the most enormousmass of wood-carving in existence. The Cathedral, in fact, is encumberedwith its riches. While they bewilder you as monuments of human labor andpatience, they detract from the grand simplicity of the building. Thegreat nave, on each side of the transept, is quite blocked up, so that thechoir and magnificent royal chapel behind it have almost the effect ofdetached edifices. 

We returned again this morning, remaining two hours, and succeeded inmaking a thorough survey, including a number of trashy pictures andbarbarously rich shrines. Murillo's "Guardian Angel" and the "Vision ofSt. Antonio" are the only gems. The treasury contains a number of sacredvessels of silver, gold and jewels--among other things, the keys ofMoorish Seville, a cross made of the first gold brought from the New-Worldby Columbus, and another from that robbed in Mexico by Cortez. TheCathedral won my admiration more and more. The placing of the numerouswindows, and their rich coloring, produce the most glorious effects oflight in the lofty aisles, and one is constantly finding new vistas, newcombinations of pillar, arch and shrine. The building is in itself atreasury of the grandest Gothic pictures. 

From the Cathedral we went to the Alcazar _(El-Kasr), _ or Palace of theMoorish Kings. We entered by a long passage, with round arches on eitherside, resting on twin pillars, placed at right angles to the line of thearch, as one sees both in Saracenic and Byzantine structures. Finally, oldBailli brought us into a dull, deserted court-yard, where we weresurprised by the sight of an entire Moorish façade, with its pointedarches, its projecting roof, its rich sculptured ornaments and itsilluminations of red, blue, green and gold. It has been lately restored, and now rivals in freshness and brilliancy any of the rich houses ofDamascus. A doorway, entirely too low and mean for the splendor of thewalls above it, admitted us into the first court. On each side of thepassage are the rooms of the guard and the Moorish nobles. Within, all ispure Saracenic, and absolutely perfect in its grace and richness. It isthe realization of an Oriental dream; it is the poetry and luxury of theEast in tangible forms. Where so much depends on the proportion andharmony of the different parts--on those correspondences, the union ofwhich creates that nameless soul of the work, which cannot be expressed inwords--it is useless to describe details. From first to last--the chambersof state; the fringed arches; the open tracery, light and frail as thefrost-stars crystallized on a window-pane; the courts, fit to bevestibules to Paradise; the audience-hall, with its wondrous sculptures, its columns and pavement of marble, and its gilded dome; the garden, gorgeous with its palm, banana, and orange-trees--all were in perfectkeeping, all jewels of equal lustre, forming a diadem which still lends aroyal dignity to the phantom of Moorish power. 

We then passed into the gardens laid out by the Spanish monarchs--trim, mathematical designs, in box and myrtle, with concealed fountainsspringing up everywhere unawares in the midst of the paven walks; yetstill made beautiful by the roses and jessamines that hung in rankclusters over the marble balustrades, and by the clumps of tall orangetrees, bending to earth under the weight of their fruitage. We afterwardvisited Pilate's House, as it is called--a fine Spanish-Moresco palace, now belonging to the Duke of Medina Coeli. It is very rich and elegant, but stands in the same relation to the Alcazar as a good copy does to theoriginal picture. The grand staircase, nevertheless, is a marvel of tilework, unlike anything else in Seville, and exhibits a genius in theinvention of elaborate ornamental patterns, which is truly wonderful. Anumber of workmen were busy in restoring the palace, to fit it for theresidence of the young Duke. The Moorish sculptures are reproduced inplaster, which, at least, has a better effect than the fatal whitewashunder which the original tints of the Alcazar are hidden. In the courtsstand a number of Roman busts--Spanish antiquities, and therefore not ofgreat merit--singularly out of place in niches surrounded by Arabicdevices and sentences from the Koran. 

This morning, I climbed the Giralda. The sun had just risen, and the claywas fresh and crystal-clear. A little door in the Cathedral, near the footof the tower, stood open, and I entered. A rather slovenly Sevillaña hadjust completed her toilet, but two children were still in undress. However, she opened a door in the tower, and I went up without hindrance. The ascent is by easy ramps, and I walked four hundred yards, or nearly aquarter of a mile, before reaching the top of the Moorish part. Thepanoramic view was superb. To the east and west, the Great Valley made alevel line on a far-distant horizon. There were ranges of hills in thenorth and south, and those rising near the city, clothed in a gray mantleof olive-trees, were picturesquely crowned with villages. TheGuadalquivir, winding in the most sinuous mazes, had no longer a turbidhue; he reflected the blue morning sky, and gleamed brightly between hisborders of birch and willow. Seville sparkled white and fair under myfeet, her painted towers and tiled domes rising thickly out of the mass ofbuildings. The level sun threw shadows into the numberless courts, permitting the mixture of Spanish and Moorish architecture to be plainlydiscerned, even at that height. A thin golden vapor softened the featuresof the landscape, towards the sun, while, on the opposite side, everyobject stood out in the sharpest and clearest outlines. 

On our way to the Muséo, Bailli took us to the house of a friend of his, in order that we might taste real Manzanilla wine. This is a pale, straw-colored vintage, produced in the valley of the Guadalquivir. It isflavored with camomile blossoms, and is said to be a fine tonic for weakstomachs. The master then produced a dark-red wine, which he declared tobe thirty years old. It was almost a syrup in consistence, and tasted moreof sarsaparilla than grapes. None of us relished it, except Bailli, whowas so inspired by the draught, that he sang us two Moorish songs and anAndalusian catch, full of fun and drollery. 

The Muséo contains a great amount of bad pictures, but it also containstwenty-three of Murillo's works, many of them of his best period. To thosewho have only seen his tender, spiritual "Conceptions" and "Assumptions, "his "Vision of St. Francis" in this gallery reveals a mastery of thehigher walks of his art, which they would not have anticipated. But it isin his "Cherubs" and his "Infant Christs" that he excels. No one everpainted infantile grace and beauty with so true a pencil. There is but oneVelasquez in the collection, and the only thing that interested me, in twohalls filled with rubbish, was a "Conception" by Murillo's mulatto pupil, said by some to have been his slave. Although an imitation of the greatmaster, it is a picture of much sweetness and beauty. There is no otherwork of the artist in existence, and this, as the only production of thekind by a painter of mixed African blood, ought to belong to the Republicof Liberia. 

Among the other guests at the Fonda de Madrid is Mr. Thomas Hobhouse, brother of Byron's friend. We had a pleasant party in the Court thisevening, listening to blind Pépé, who sang to his guitar a medley of merryAndalusian refrains. Singing made the old man courageous, and, at theclose, he gave us the radical song of Spain, which is now strictlyprohibited. The air is charming, but too gay; one would sooner dance thanfight to its measures. It does not bring the hand to the sword, like theglorious Marseillaise. 

_Adios_, beautiful Seville!

Chapter XXXIV. 

Journey in a Spanish Diligence. 

 Spanish Diligence Lines--Leaving Seville--An Unlucky Start--Alcalà of the Bakers--Dinner at Carmona--A Dehesa--The Mayoral and his Team--Ecija--Night Journey--Cordova--The Cathedral-Mosque--Moorish Architecture--The Sierra Morena--A Rainy Journey--A Chapter of Accidents--Baylen--The Fascination of Spain--Jaen--The Vega of Granada. 

Granada, _November_ 14, 1852. 

It is an enviable sensation to feel for the first time that you are inGranada. No amount of travelling can weaken the romantic interest whichclings about this storied place, or take away aught from the freshness ofthat emotion with which you first behold it, I sit almost at the foot ofthe Alhambra, whose walls I can see from my window, quite satisfied forto-day with being here. It has been raining since I arrived, the thunderis crashing overhead, and the mountains are covered with clouds, so I amkept in-doors, with the luxury of knowing that all the wonders of theplace are within my reach. And now let me beguile the dull weather bygiving you a sketch of my journey from Seville hither. 

There are three lines of stages from Seville to Madrid, and theircompetition has reduced the fare to $12, which, for a ride of 350 miles, is remarkably cheap. The trip is usually made in three days and a half. Abranch line from Baylen--nearly half-way--strikes southward to Granada, and as there is no competition on this part of the road, I was charged $15for a through seat in the _coupé_. On account of the lateness of theseason, and the limited time at my command, this was preferable to takinghorses and riding across the country from Seville to Cordova. Accordingly, at an early hour on Thursday morning last, furnished with a travellingticket inscribed: "Don Valtar de Talor" (myself!), I took leave of myEnglish friends at the Fonda de Madrid, got into an immense, lumberingyellow vehicle, drawn by ten mules, and started, trusting to my good luckand bad Spanish to get safely through. The commencement, however, wasunpropitious, and very often a stumble at starting makes the whole journeylimp. The near mule in the foremost span was a horse, ridden by ourpostillion, and nothing could prevent that horse from darting into allsorts of streets and alleys where we had no desire to go. As all muleshave implicit faith in horses, of course the rest of the animals followed. We were half an hour in getting out of Seville, and when at last wereached the open road and dashed off at full gallop, one of the mules inthe traces fell and was dragged in the dust some twenty or thirty yardsbefore we could stop. My companions in the coupé were a young Spanishofficer and his pretty Andalusian bride, who was making her first journeyfrom home, and after these mishaps was in a state of constant fear andanxiety. 

The first stage across the valley of the Guadalquivir took us to the townof Alcalà, which lies in the lap of the hills above the beautiful littleriver Guadaira. It is a picturesque spot; the naked cliffs overhanging thestream have the rich, red hue of cinnabar, and the trees and shrubbery inthe meadows, and on the hill-sides are ready grouped to the artist'shand. The town is called Alcalà de los Panadores (of the Bakers) from itshundreds of flour mills and bake-ovens, which supply Seville with thosewhite, fine, delicious twists, of which Spain may be justly proud. Theyshould have been sent to the Exhibition last year, with the Toledo bladesand the wooden mosaics. We left the place and its mealy-headed population, and turned eastward into wide, rolling tracts, scattered here and therewith gnarled olive trees. The soil was loose and sandy, and hedges ofaloes lined the road. The country is thinly populated, and very little ofit under cultivation. 

About noon we reached Carmona, which was founded by the Romans, as, indeed, were nearly all the towns of Southern Spain. It occupies the crestand northern slope of a high hill, whereon the ancient Moorish castlestill stands. The Alcazar, or palace, and the Moorish walls also remain, though in a very ruinous condition. Here we stopped to dinner, for the"Nueva Peninsular, " in which I was embarked, has its hotels all along theroute, like that of Zurutuza, in Mexico. We were conducted into a smallroom adjoining the stables, and adorned with colored prints illustratingthe history of Don John of Austria. The table-cloths, plates and otherappendages were of very ordinary quality, but indisputably clean; weseated ourselves, and presently the dinner appeared. First, a vermicelli_pilaff_, which I found palatable, then the national _olla_, a dish ofenormous yellow peas, sprinkled with bits of bacon and flavored with oil;then three successive courses of chicken, boiled, stewed and roasted, butin every case done to rags, and without a particle of the originalflavor. This was the usual style of our meals on the road, whetherbreakfast, dinner or supper, except that kid was sometimes substituted forfowl, and that the oil employed, being more or less rancid, gave differentflavors to the dishes, A course of melons, grapes or pomegranates wound upthe repast, the price of which varied from ten to twelve reals--a realbeing about a half-dime. In Seville, at the Fonda de Madrid, the cookingis really excellent; but further in the interior, judging from what I haveheard, it is even worse than I have described. 

Continuing our journey, we passed around the southern brow of the hill, under the Moorish battlements. Here a superb view opened to the south andeast over the wide Vega of Carmona, as far as the mountain chain whichseparates it from the plain of Granada. The city has for a coat of arms asilver star in an azure field, with the pompous motto: "As Lucifer shinesin the morning, so shines Carmona in Andalusia. " If it shines at all, itis because it is a city set upon a hill; for that is the only splendor Icould find about the place. The Vega of Carmona is partially cultivated, and now wears a sombre brown hue, from its tracts of ploughed land. 

Cultivation soon ceased, however, and we entered on a _dehesa_, aboundless plain of waste land, covered with thickets of palmettos. Flocksof goats and sheep, guarded by shepherds in brown cloaks, wandered hereand there, and except their huts and an isolated house, with its group ofpalm-trees, there was no sign of habitation. The road was a deep, redsand, and our mules toiled along slowly and painfully, urged by theincessant cries of the _mayoral_, or conductor, and his _mozo_. As themayoral's whip could only reach the second span, the business of thelatter was to jump down every ten minutes, run ahead and belabor theflanks of the foremost mules, uttering at the same time a series of sharphowls, which seemed to strike the poor beasts with quite as much severityas his whip. I defy even a Spanish ear to distinguish the import of thesecries, and the great wonder was how they could all come out of one smallthroat. When it came to a hard pull, they cracked and exploded likevolleys of musketry, and flew like hail-stones about the ears of the_machos_ (he-mules). The postillion, having only the care of the foremostspan, is a silent man, but he has contracted a habit of sleeping in thesaddle, which I mention for the benefit of timid travellers, as it adds tothe interest of a journey by night. 

The clouds which had been gathering all day, now settled down upon theplain, and night came on with a dull rain. At eight o'clock we reached theCity of Ecija, where we had two hours' halt and supper. It was so dark andrainy that I saw nothing, not even the classic Xenil, the river ofGranada, which flows through the city on its way to the Guadalquivir, Thenight wore slowly away, and while the _mozo_ drowsed on his post, I caughtsnatches of sleep between his cries. As the landscape began to growdistinct in the gray, cloudy dawn, we saw before us Cordova, with the darkrange of the Sierra Morena rising behind it. This city, once the glory ofMoorish Spain, the capital of the great Abd-er-Rahman, containing, when inits prime, a million of inhabitants, is now a melancholy wreck. It has nota shadow of the art, science, and taste which then distinguished it, andthe only interest it now possesses is from these associations, and thedespoiled remnant of its renowned Mosque. 

We crossed the Guadalquivir on a fine bridge built on Roman foundations, and drove slowly down the one long, rough, crooked street. The diligencestops for an hour, to allow passengers to breakfast, but my first thoughtwas for the Cathedral-mosque, _la Mezquita_, as it is still called. "It isclosed, " said the ragged crowd that congregated about us; "you cannot getin until eight o'clock. " But I remembered that a silver key will openanything in Spain, and taking a mozo as a guide we hurried off as fast asthe rough pavements would permit. We had to retrace the whole length ofthe city, but on reaching the Cathedral, found it open. The exterior islow, and quite plain, though of great extent. A Moorish gateway admittedme into the original court-yard, or _hàram_, of the mosque, which isplanted with orange trees and contains the fountain, for the ablutions ofMoslem worshippers, in the centre. The area of the Mosque proper, exclusive of the court-yard, is about 400 by 350 feet. It was built on theplan of the great Mosque of Damascus, about the end of the eighth century. The materials--including twelve hundred columns of marble, jasper andporphyry, from the ruins of Carthage, and the temples of AsiaMinor---belonged to a Christian basilica, of the Gothic domination, whichwas built upon the foundations of a Roman temple of Janus; so that thethree great creeds of the world have here at different times had theirseat. The Moors considered this mosque as second in holiness to the Kaabaof Mecca, and made pilgrimages to it from all parts of Moslem Spain andBarbary. Even now, although shorn of much of its glory, it surpasses anyOriental mosque into which I have penetrated, except St. Sophia, which isa Christian edifice. 

All the nineteen original entrances--beautiful horse-shoe arches--areclosed, except the central one. I entered by a low door, in one corner ofthe corridor. A wilderness of columns connected by double arches (onespringing above the other, with an opening between), spread their duskyaisles before me in the morning twilight. The eight hundred and fiftyshafts of this marble forest formed labyrinths and mazes, which at thatearly hour appeared boundless, for their long vistas disappeared in theshadows. Lamps were burning before distant shrines, and a few worshipperswere kneeling silently here and there. The sound of my own footsteps, as Iwandered through the ranks of pillars, was all that I heard. In the centreof the wood (for such it seemed) rises the choir, a gaudy and tastelessexcrescence added by the Christians. Even Charles V. , who laid a mercilesshand on the Alhambra, reproved the Bishop of Cordova for this barbarousand unnecessary disfigurement. 

The sacristan lighted lamps in order to show me the Moorish chapels. Nothing but the precious materials of which these exquisite structures arecomposed could have saved them from the holy hands of the Inquisition, which intentionally destroyed all the Roman antiquities of Cordova. Herethe fringed arches, the lace-like filigrees, the wreathed inscriptions, and the domes of pendent stalactites which enchant you in the Alcazar ofSeville, are repeated, not in stucco, but in purest marble, while theentrance to the "holy of holies" is probably the most glorious piece ofmosaic in the world. The pavement of the interior is deeply worn by theknees of the Moslem pilgrims, who compassed it seven times, kneeling, asthey now do in the Kaaba, at Mecca. The sides are embroidered withsentences from the Koran, in Cufic characters, and the roof is in theform of a fluted shell, of a single piece of pure white marble, fifteenfeet in diameter. The roof of the vestibule is a wonderful piece ofworkmanship, formed of pointed arches, wreathed and twined through eachother, like basket-work. No people ever wrought poetry into stone soperfectly as the Saracens. In looking on these precious relics of anelegant and refined race, I cannot help feeling a strong regret that theirkingdom ever passed into other hands. 

Leaving Cordova, our road followed the Guadalquivir, along the foot of theSierra Morena, which rose dark and stern, a barrier to the centraltable-lands of La Mancha. At Alcolea, we crossed the river on a noblebridge of black marble, out of all keeping with the miserable road. Itrained incessantly, and the scenery through which we passed had a wild andgloomy character. The only tree to be seen was the olive, which coveredthe hills far and near, the profusion of its fruit showing the naturalrichness of the soil. This part of the road is sometimes infested withrobbers, and once, when I saw two individuals waiting for us in a lonelydefile, with gun-barrels thrust out from under their black cloaks, Ianticipated a recurrence of a former unpleasant experience. But theyproved to be members of the _guardia civil_, and therefore our protectors. 

The ruts and quagmires, made by the rain, retarded our progress, and itwas dark when we reached Andujar, fourteen leagues from Cordova. ToBaylen, where I was to quit the diligence, and take another coming downfrom Madrid to Granada, was four leagues further. We journeyed on in thedark, in a pouring rain, up and down hill for some hours, when all atonce the cries of the mozo ceased, and the diligence came to a dead stop. There was some talk between our conductors, and then the mayoral openedthe door and invited us to get out. The postillion had fallen asleep, andthe mules had taken us into a wrong road. An attempt was made to turn thediligence, but failed, leaving it standing plump against a high bank ofmud. We stood, meanwhile, shivering in the cold and wet, and the fairAndalusian shed abundance of tears. Fortunately, Baylen was close at hand, and, after some delay, two men came with lanterns and escorted us to the_posada_, or inn, where we arrived at midnight. The diligence from Madrid, which was due six hours before, had not made its appearance, and we passedthe rest of the night in a cold room, fasting, for the meal was only to beserved when the other passengers came. At day-break, finally, a singledish of oily meat was vouchsafed to us, and, as it was now certain thatsome accident had happened, the passengers to Madrid requested the_Administrador_ to send them on in an extra conveyance. This he refused, and they began to talk about getting up a pronunciamento, when a messengerarrived with the news that the diligence had broken down at midnight, about two leagues off. Tools were thereupon dispatched, nine hours afterthe accident happened, and we might hope to be released from ourimprisonment in four or five more. 

Baylen is a wretched place, celebrated for having the first palm-treewhich those see who come from Madrid, and for the victory gained byCastaños over the French forces under Dupont, which occasioned the flightof Joseph Buonaparte from Madrid, and the temporary liberation of Spainfrom the French yoke. Castaños, who received the title of Duke de Baylen, and is compared by the Spaniards to Wellington, died about three monthsago. The battle-field I passed in the night; the palm-tree I found, but itis now a mere stump, the leaves having been stripped off to protect thehouses of the inhabitants from lightning. Our posada had one of them hungat the window. At last, the diligence came, and at three P. M. , when Iought to have been in sight of Granada, I left the forlorn walls ofBaylen. My fellow-passengers were a young sprig of the Spanish nobilityand three chubby-faced nuns. 

The rest of the journey that afternoon was through a wide, hilly region, entirely bare of trees and habitations, and but partially cultivated. There was something sublime in its very nakedness and loneliness, and Ifelt attracted to it as I do towards the Desert. In fact, although I haveseen little fine scenery since leaving Seville, have had the worst ofweather, and no very pleasant travelling experiences, the country hasexercised a fascination over me, which I do not quite understand. I findmyself constantly on the point of making a vow to return again. Much to myregret, night set in before we reached Jaen, the capital of the Moorishkingdom of that name. We halted for a short time in the large plaza of thetown, where the dash of fountains mingled with the sound of the rain, andthe black, jagged outline of a mountain overhanging the place was visiblethrough the storm. 

All night we journeyed on through the mountains, sometimes splashingthrough swollen streams, sometimes coming almost to a halt in beds of deepmud. When this morning dawned, we were ascending through wild, stonyhills, overgrown with shrubbery, and the driver said we were six leaguesfrom Granada. Still on, through a lonely country, with now and then alarge _venta_, or country inn, by the road-side, and about nine o'clock, as the sky became more clear, I saw in front of us, high up under theclouds, the snow-fields of the Sierra Nevada. An hour afterwards we wereriding between gardens, vineyards, and olive orchards, with themagnificent Vega of Granada stretching far away on the right, and theVermilion Towers of the Alhambra crowning the heights before us. 

Chapter XXXV. 

Granada And The Alhambra. 

 Mateo Ximenez, the Younger--The Cathedral of Granada--A Monkish Miracle--Catholic Shrines--Military Cherubs--The Royal Chapel--The Tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella--Chapel of San Juan de Dios--The Albaycin--View of the Vega--The Generalife--The Alhambra--Torra de la Vela--The Walls and Towers--A Visit to Old Mateo--The Court of the Fish-pond--The Halls of the Alhambra--Character of the Architecture--Hall of the Abencerrages--Hall of the Two Sisters--The Moorish Dynasty in Spain. 

 "Who has not in Granada been, Verily, he has nothing seen. "

 _Andalusian Proverb_. 

Granada, _Wednesday, Nov. _ 17, 1852. 

Immediately on reaching here, I was set upon by an old gentleman whowanted to act as guide, but the mozo of the hotel put into my hand a cardinscribed "Don Mateo Ximenez, Guide to the celebrated Washington Irving, "and I dismissed the other applicant. The next morning, as the mozo broughtme my chocolate, he said; "Señor, _el chico_ is waiting for you. " The"little one" turned out to be the son of old Mateo, "honest Mateo, " whostill lives up in the Alhambra, but is now rather too old to continue hisbusiness, except on great occasions. I accepted the young Mateo, who spokewith the greatest enthusiasm of Mr. Irving, avowing that the whole familywas devoted to him, in life and death. It was still raining furiously, and the golden Darro, which roars in front of the hotel, was a swollenbrown flood. I don't wonder that he sometimes threatens, as the oldcouplet says, to burst up the Zacatin, and bear it down to his bride, theXenil. 

Towards noon, the clouds broke away a little, and we sallied out. Passingthrough the gate and square of Vivarrambla (may not this name come fromthe Arabic _bob er-raml, _ the "gate of the sand?"), we soon reached theCathedral. This massive structure, which makes a good feature in thedistant view of Granada, is not at all imposing, near at hand. Theinterior is a mixture of Gothic and Roman, glaring with whitewash, andbroken, like that of Seville, by a wooden choir and two grand organs, blocking up the nave. Some of the side chapels, nevertheless, are splendidmasses of carving and gilding. In one of them, there are two full-lengthportraits of Ferdinand and Isabella, supposed to be by Alonzo Cano. TheCathedral contains some other good pictures by the same master, but allits former treasures were carried off by the French. 

We next went to the Picture Gallery, which is in the Franciscan Convent. There are two small Murillos, much damaged, some tolerable Alonzo Canos, afew common-place pictures by Juan de Sevilla, and a hundred or more byauthors whose names I did not inquire, for a more hideous collection oftrash never met my eye. One of them represents a miracle performed by twosaints, who cut off the diseased leg of a sick white man, and replace itby the sound leg of a dead negro, whose body is seen lying beside the bed. Judging from the ghastly face of the patient, the operation is ratherpainful, though the story goes that the black leg grew fast, and the manrecovered. The picture at least illustrates the absence of "prejudice ofcolor" among the Saints. 

We went into the adjoining Church of Santo Domingo, which has several veryrich shrines of marble and gold. A sort of priestly sacristan opened theChurch of the Madonna del Rosario---a glittering mixture of marble, gold, and looking-glasses, which has rather a rich effect. The beautiful yellowand red veined marbles are from the Sierra Nevada. The sacred Madonna--abig doll with staring eyes and pink cheeks--has a dress of silver, shapedlike an extinguisher, and encrusted with rubies and other precious stones. The utter absence of taste in most Catholic shrines is an extraordinarything. It seems remarkable that a Church which has produced so manyglorious artists should so constantly and grossly violate the simplestrules of art. The only shrine which I have seen, which was in keeping withthe object adored, is that of the Virgin, at Nazareth, where there isneither picture nor image, but only vases of fragrant flowers, andperfumed oil in golden lamps, burning before a tablet of spotless marble. 

Among the decorations of the chapel, there are a host of cherubs frescoedon the ceiling, and one of them is represented in the act of firing off ablunderbuss. "Is it true that the angels carry blunderbusses?" I asked thepriest. He shrugged his shoulders with a sort of half-smile, and saidnothing. In the Cathedral, on the plinths of the columns in the outeraisles, are several notices to the effect that "whoever speaks to women, either in the nave or the aisles, thereby puts himself in danger ofexcommunication. " I could not help laughing, as I read this monkish andyet most _un_monk-like statute. "Oh, " said Mateo, "all that was in thedespotic times; it is not so now. "

A deluge of rain put a stop to my sight-seeing until the next morning, when I set out with Mateo to visit the Royal Chapel. A murder had beencommitted in the night, near the entrance of the Zacatin, and thepaving-stones were still red with the blood of the victim. A _funcion_ ofsome sort was going on in the Chapel, and we went into the sacristy towait. The priests and choristers were there, changing their robes; theysaluted me good-humoredly, though there was an expression in their facesthat plainly said: "a heretic!" When the service was concluded, I wentinto the chapel and examined the high altar, with its rude wood-carvings, representing the surrender of Granada. The portraits of Ferdinand andIsabella, Cardinal Ximenez, Gonzalvo of Cordova, and King Boabdil, arevery curious. Another tablet represents the baptism of the conqueredMoors. 

In the centre of the chapel stand the monuments erected to Ferdinand andIsabella, and their successors Philip L, and Maria, by Charles V. They aretall catafalques of white marble, superbly sculptured, with the fulllength effigies of the monarchs upon them. The figures are admirable; thatof Isabella, especially, though the features are settled in the repose ofdeath, expresses all the grand and noble traits which belonged to hercharacter. The sacristan removed the matting from a part of the floor, disclosing an iron grating underneath, A damp, mouldly smell, significantof death and decay, came up through the opening. He lighted two long waxentapers, lifted the grating, and I followed him down the narrow steps intothe vault where lie the coffins of the Catholic Sovereigns. They werebrought here from the Alhambra, in 1525. The leaden sarcophagi, containingthe bodies of Ferdinand and Isabella, lie, side by side, on stone slabs;and as I stood between the two, resting a hand on each, the sacristanplaced the tapers in apertures in the stone, at the head and foot. Theysleep, as they wished, in their beloved Granada, and no profane hand hasever disturbed the repose of their ashes. 

After visiting the Church of San Jeronimo, founded by Gonzalvo of Cordova, I went to the adjoining Church and Hospital of San Juan de Dios. A fatpriest, washing his hands in the sacristy, sent a boy to show me theChapel of San Juan, and the relics. The remains of the Saint rest in asilver chest, standing in the centre of a richly-adorned chapel. Among therelics is a thorn from the crown of Christ, which, as any botanist maysee, must have grown on a different plant from the other thorn they showat Seville; and neither kind is found in Palestine. The true _spinachristi_, the nebbuk, has very small thorns; but nothing could be morecruel, as I found when riding through patches of it near Jericho. The boyalso showed me a tooth of San Lorenzo, a crooked brown _bicuspis_, fromwhich I should infer that the saint was rather an ill-favored man. Thegilded chapel of San Juan is in singular contrast with one of the garmentswhich he wore when living--a cowl of plaited reeds, looking like an oldfish basket--which is kept in a glass case. His portrait is also to beseen--a mild and beautiful face, truly that of one who went about doinggood. He was a sort of Spanish John Howard, and deserved canonization, ifanybody ever did. 

I ascended the street of the Darro to the Albaycin, which we entered byone of the ancient gates. This suburb is still surrounded by the originalfortifications, and undermined by the capacious cisterns of the Moors. Itlooks down on Granada; and from the crumbling parapets there are superbviews over the city, the Vega, and its inclosing mountains. The Alhambrarose opposite, against the dark-red and purple background of the SierraNevada, and a canopy of heavy rain-clouds rested on all the heights. Afitful gleam of sunshine now and then broke through and wandered over theplain, touching up white towers and olive groves and reaches of thewinding Xenil, with a brilliancy which suggested the splendor of the wholepicture, if once thus restored to its proper light. I could see Santa Féin the distance, toward Loxa; nearer, and more eastward, the Sierra deElvira, of a deep violet color, with the woods of the Soto de Roma, theDuke of Wellington's estate, at its base; and beyond it the Mountain ofParapanda, the weather-guage of Granada, still covered with clouds. Thereis an old Granadian proverb which says:--"When Parapanda wears his bonnet, it will rain whether God wills it or no. " From the chapel of San Miguel, above the Albaycin, there is a very striking view of the deep gorge of theDarro, at one's feet, with the gardens and white walls of the Generaliferising beyond, and the Silla del Moro and the Mountain of the Sun toweringabove it. The long, irregular lines of the Alhambra, with the huge redtowers rising here and there, reminded me somewhat of a distant view ofKarnak; and, like Karnak, the Alhambra is picturesque from whatever pointit is viewed. 

We descended through wastes of cactus to the Darro, in whose turbid streama group of men were washing for gold. I watched one of them, as hetwirled his bowl in precisely the California style, but got nothing forhis pains. Mateo says that they often make a dollar a day, each. Passingunder the Tower of Comares and along the battlements of the Alhambra, weclimbed up to the Generalife. This charming villa is still in goodpreservation, though its exquisite filigree and scroll-work have beengreatly injured by whitewash. The elegant colonnades surround gardens richin roses, myrtles and cypresses, and the fountains that lulled the MoorishKings in their summer idleness still pour their fertilizing streams. Inone of the rooms is a small and bad portrait gallery, containing asupposed portrait of Boabdil. It is a mild, amiable face, but wholly lacksstrength of character. 

To-day I devoted to the Alhambra. The storm, which, as the people say, hasnot been equalled for several years, showed no signs of breaking up, andin the midst of a driving shower I ascended to the Vermilion Towers, whichare supposed to be of Phoenician origin. They stand on the extremity of along, narrow ledge, which stretches out like an arm from the hill of theAlhambra. The _paséo_ lies between, and is shaded by beautiful elms, whichthe Moors planted. 

I entered the Alhambra by the Gate of Justice, which is a fine specimen ofMoorish architecture, though of common red brick and mortar. It issingular what a grace the horse-shoe arch gives to the most heavy andlumbering mass of masonry. The round arches of the Christian edifices ofGranada seem tame and inelegant, in comparison. Over the arch of thevestibule of this gate is the colossal hand, and over the inner entrancethe key, celebrated in the tales of Washington Irving and thesuperstitions of the people. I first ascended the Torre de la Vela, wherethe Christian flag was first planted on the 2d of January, 1492. The viewof the Vega and City of Granada was even grander than from the Albaycin. Parapanda was still bonneted in clouds, but patches of blue sky began toopen above the mountains of Loxa. A little boy accompanied us, to see thatI did not pull the bell, the sound of which would call together all thetroops in the city. While we stood there, the funeral procession of theman murdered two nights before came up the street of Gomerez, and passedaround the hill under the Vermilion Towers. 

I made the circuit of the walls before entering the Palace. In the Placeof the Cisterns, I stopped to take a drink of the cool water of the Darro, which is brought thither by subterranean channels from the hills. Then, passing the ostentatious pile commenced by Charles V. , but which was neverfinished, and never will be, nor ought to be, we walked along the southernramparts to the Tower of the Seven Floors, amid the ruins of winch Idiscerned the top of the arch by which the unfortunate Boabdil quittedGranada, and which was thenceforth closed for ever. In the Tower of theInfantas, a number of workmen were busy restoring the interior, which hasbeen cruelly damaged. The brilliant _azulejo_, or tile-work, the delicatearches and filigree sculpture of the walls, still attest its formerelegance, and give some color to the tradition that it was the residenceof the Moorish Princesses. 

As we passed through the little village which still exists among the ruinsof the fortress, Mateo invited me to step in and see his father, thegenuine "honest Mateo, " immortalized in the "Tales of the Alhambra. " Theold man has taken up the trade of silk-weaving, and had a number ofgay-colored ribbons on his loom. He is more than sixty years old and nowquite gray-headed, but has the same simple manners, the same honest facethat attracted his temporary master. He spoke with great enthusiasm of Mr. Irving, and brought out from a place of safety the "Alhambra" and the"Chronicles of the Conquest, " which he has carefully preserved. He thenproduced an Andalusian sash, the work of his own hands, which he insistedon binding around my waist, to see how it would look. I must next take offmy coat and hat, and put on his Sunday jacket and jaunty sombrero. "_PorDios_!" he exclaimed: "_que buen mozo_! Senor, you are a legitimateAndalusian!" After this, of course, I could do no less than buy the sash. "You must show it to Washington Irving, " said he, "and tell him it wasmade by Mateo's own hands;" which I promised. I must then go into thekitchen, and eat a pomegranate from his garden--a glorious pomegranate, with kernels of crimson, and so full of blood that you could not touchthem but it trickled through your fingers. El Marques, a sprightly dog, and a great slate-colored cat, took possession of my legs, and begged fora share of every mouthful I took, while old Mateo sat beside me, rejoicingin the flavor of a Gibraltar cigar which I gave him. But my time wasprecious, and so I let the "Son of the Alhambra" go back to his loom, andset out for the Palace of the Moorish Kings. 

This palace is so hidden behind the ambitious shell of that of Charles V. That I was at a loss where it could be. I thought I had compassed thehill, and yet had seen no indications of the renowned magnificence of theAlhambra. But a little door in a blank wall ushered me into a true Moorishrealm, the Court of the Fishpond, or of the Myrtles, as it is sometimescalled. Here I saw again the slender pillars, the fringed and embroideredarches, and the perforated, lace-like tracery of the fairy corridors. Here, hedges of roses and myrtles still bloomed around the ancient tank, wherein hundreds of gold-fish disported. The noises of the hill do notpenetrate here, and the solitary porter who admitted me went back to hispost, and suffered me to wander at will through the enchanted halls. 

I passed out of this court by an opposite door, and saw, through thevistas of marble pillars and the wonderful fret-work which seems a thingof air rather than of earth, the Fountain of the Lions. Thence I enteredin succession the Hall of the Abencerrages, the Hall of the Two Sisters, the apartments of the Sultanas, the Mosque, and the Hall of theAmbassadors. These places--all that is left of the renowned palace--arenow well kept, and carefully guarded. Restorations are going on, here andthere, and the place is scrupulously watched, that no foreign Vandal, mayfurther injure what the native Goths have done their best to destroy. Therubbish has been cleared away; the rents in the walls have been filled up, and, for the first time since it passed into Spanish hands, there seems ahope that the Alhambra will be allowed to stand. What has been alreadydestroyed we can only partially conjecture; but no one sees what remainswithout completing the picture in his own imagination, and placing itamong the most perfect and marvellous creations of human genius. 

Nothing can exceed the richness of invention which, in this series ofhalls, corridors, and courts, never repeats the same ornaments, but, fromthe simplest primitive forms and colors, produces a thousandcombinations, not one of which is in discord with the grand design. It isuseless to attempt a detailed description of this architecture; and it isso unlike anything else in the world, that, like Karnak and Baalbec, thoseonly know the Alhambra who see it. When you can weave stone, and hang yourhalls with marble tapestry, you may rival it. It is nothing to me thatthese ornaments are stucco; to sculpture them in marble is only the workof the hands. Their great excellence is in the design, which, like allgreat things, suggests even more than it gives. If I could create all thatthe Court of Lions suggested to me for its completion, it would fulfil thedream of King Sheddad, and surpass the palaces of the Moslem Paradise. 

The pavilions of the Court of Lions, and the halls which open into it, oneither side, approach the nearest to their original perfection. The floorsare marble, the wainscoting of painted tiles, the walls of embroidery, still gleaming with the softened lustre of their original tints, and thelofty conical domes seem to be huge sparry crystalizations, hung withdropping stalactites, rather than any work of the human hand. Each ofthese domes is composed of five thousand separate pieces, and the pendentprismatic blocks, colored and gilded, gradually resolve themselves, as yougaze, into the most intricate and elegant designs. But you must study longere you have won all the secret of their beauty. To comprehend them, oneshould spend a whole day, lying on his back, under each one. Mateo spreadhis cloak for me in the fountain in the Hall of the Abencerrages, over theblood-stains made by the decapitation of those gallant chiefs, and I layhalf an hour looking upward: and this is what I made out of the dome. Fromits central pinnacle hung the chalice of a flower with feathery petals, like the "crape myrtle" of our Southern States Outside of this, brancheddownward the eight rays of a large star, whose points touched the base ofthe dome; yet the star was itself composed of flowers, while between itsrays and around its points fell a shower of blossoms, shells, and sparrydrops. From the base of the dome hung a gorgeous pattern of lace, with afringe of bugles, projecting into eight points so as to form a star ofdrapery, hanging from the points of the flowery star in the dome. Thespaces between the angles were filled with masses of stalactites, droppingone below the other, till they tapered into the plain square sides of thehall. 

In the Hall of the Two Sisters, I lay likewise for a considerable time, resolving its misty glories into shape. The dome was still more suggestiveof flowers. The highest and central piece was a deep trumpet-flower, whosemouth was cleft into eight petals. It hung in the centre of a superblotus-cup, the leaves of which were exquisitely veined and chased. Stillfurther below swung a mass of mimosa blossoms, intermixed with pods andlance-like leaves, and around the base of the dome opened the bells ofsixteen gorgeous tulips. These pictures may not be very intelligible, butI know not how else to paint the effect of this fairy architecture. 

In Granada, as in Seville and Cordova, one's sympathies are wholly withthe Moors. The few mutilated traces which still remain of their power, taste, and refinement, surpass any of the monuments erected by the racewhich conquered them. The Moorish Dynasty in Spain was truly, as Irvingobserves, a splendid exotic, doomed never to take a lasting root in thesoil It was choked to death by the native weeds; and, in place of landsrichly cultivated and teeming with plenty, we now have barren and-almostdepopulated wastes--in place of education, industry, and the cultivationof the arts and sciences, an enslaved, ignorant and degenerate race. Andalusia would be far more prosperous at this day, had she remained inMoslem hands. True, she would not have received that Faith which is yetdestined to be the redemption of the world, but the doctrines of Mahometare more acceptable to God, and more beneficial to Man than those of thatInquisition, which, in Spain alone, has shed ten times as much Christianblood as all the Moslem races together for the last six centuries. It isnot from a mere romantic interest that I lament the fate of Boabdil, andthe extinction of his dynasty. Had he been a king worthy to reign in thosewonderful halls, he never would have left them. Had he perished there, fighting to the last, he would have been freed from forty years of wearyexile and an obscure death. Well did Charles V. Observe, when speaking ofhim: "Better a tomb in the Alhambra than a palace in the Alpujanas!"

Chapter XXXVI. 

The Bridle-Roads of Andalusia. 

 Change of Weather--Napoleon and his Horses--Departure from Granada--My Guide, José Garcia--His Domestic Troubles--The Tragedy of the Umbrella--The Vow against Aguardiente--Crossing the Vega--The Sierra Nevada--The Baths of Alhama--"Woe is Me, Alhama!"--The Valley of the River Vélez--Vélez Malaga--The Coast Road--The Fisherman and his Donkey--Malaga--Summer Scenery--The Story of Don Pedro, without Fear and without Care--The Field of Monda--A Lonely Venta. 

Venta de Villalon, _November_ 20, 1852. 

The clouds broke away before I had been two hours in the Alhambra, and thesunshine fell broad and warm into its courts. They must be roofed withblue sky, in order to give the full impression of their brightness andbeauty. Mateo procured me a bottle of _vino rancio_, and we drank ittogether in the Court of Lions. Six hours had passed away before I knewit, and I reluctantly prepared to leave. The clouds by this time haddisappeared; the Vega slept in brilliant sunshine, and the peaks of theSierra Nevada shone white and cold against the sky. 

On reaching the hotel, I found a little man, nicknamed Napoleon, awaitingme. He was desirous to furnish me with horses, and, having a propheticknowledge of the weather, promised me a bright sky as far as Gibraltar. "Ifurnish all the señors, " said he; "they know me, and never complain of meor my horses;" but, by way of security, on making the bargain, Ithreatened to put up a card in the hotel at Gibraltar, warning alltravellers against him, in case I was not satisfied. My contract was fortwo horses and a guide, who were to be ready at sunrise the next morning. Napoleon was as good as his word; and before I had finished an early cupof chocolate, there was a little black Andalusian stallion awaiting me. The _alforjas_, or saddle-bags, of the guide were strengthened by a stockof cold provisions, the leathern bota hanging beside it was filled withripe Granada wine; and now behold me ambling over the Vega, accoutred in agay Andalusian jacket, a sash woven by Mateo Ximenes, and one of thosebandboxy sombreros, which I at first thought so ungainly, but now considerquite picturesque and elegant. 

My guide, a short but sinewy and well-knit son of the mountains, namedJosé Garcia, set off at a canter down the banks of the Darro. "Don't rideso fast!" cried Napoleon, who watched our setting out, from the door ofthe fonda; but José was already out of hearing. This guide is a companionto my liking. Although he is only twenty-seven, he has been for a numberof years a _correo_, or mail-rider, and a guide for travelling parties. His olive complexion is made still darker by exposure to the sun and wind, and his coal-black eyes shine with Southern heat and fire. He has one ofthose rare mouths which are born with a broad smile in each corner, andwhich seem to laugh even in the midst of grief. We had not been two hourstogether, before I knew his history from beginning to end. He had alreadybeen married eight years, and his only trouble was a debt of twenty-fourdollars, which the illness of his wife had caused him. This money wasowing to the pawnbroker, who kept his best clothes in pledge until hecould pay it. "Señor, " said he, "if I had ten million dollars, I wouldrather give them all away than have a sick wife. " He had a brother inPuerto Principe, Cuba, who sent over money enough to pay the rent of thehouse, but he found that children were a great expense. "It is mostastonishing, " he said, "how much children can eat. From morning tillnight, the bread is never out of their mouths. "

José has recently been travelling with some Spaniards, one of whom madehim pay two dollars for an umbrella which was lost on the road. Thisumbrella is a thorn in his side. At every venta where we stop, the storyis repeated, and he is not sparing of his maledictions. The ghost of thatumbrella is continually raised, and it will be a long time before he canshut it. "One reason why I like to travel with foreign Señors, " said he tome, "is, that when I lose anything, they never make me pay for it. " "Forall that, " I answered, "take care you don't lose my umbrella: it costthree dollars. " Since then, nothing can exceed José's attention to thatarticle. He is at his wit's end how to secure it best. It appearssometimes before, sometimes behind him, lashed to the saddle withinnumerable cords; now he sticks it into the alforja, now carries it inhis hand, and I verily believe that he sleeps with it in his arms. Everyevening, as he tells his story to the muleteers, around the kitchen fire, he always winds up by triumphantly appealing to me with: "Well, Señor, have I lost _your_ umbrella yet?"

Our bargain is that I shall feed him on the way, and as we travel in theprimitive style of the country, we always sit down together to the samedish. To his supervision, the olla is often indebted for an additionalflavor, and no "thorough-bred" gentleman could behave at table with moreease and propriety. He is as moderate as a Bedouin in his wants, and nevertouches the burning aguardiente which the muleteers are accustomed todrink. I asked him the reason of this. "I drink wine. Senor, " he replied, "because that, you know, is like meat and bread; but I have made a vownever to drink aguardiente again. Two of us got drunk on it, four or fiveyears ago, in Granada, and we quarrelled. My comrade drew his knife andstabbed me here, in the left shoulder. I was furious and cut him acrossthe breast. We both went to the hospital--I for three months and he forsix--and he died in a few days after getting out. It cost my poor fathermany a thousand reals; and when I was able to go to work, I vowed beforethe Virgin that I would never touch aguardiente again. "

For the first league, our road lay over the rich Vega of Granada, butgradually became wilder and more waste. Passing the long, desert ridge, known as the "Last Sigh of the Moor, " we struck across a region of lowhills. The road was very deep, from the recent rains, and studded, atshort intervals, by rude crosses, erected to persons who had beenmurdered. José took a grim delight in giving me the history of each. Beyond the village of Lamala, which lies with its salt-pans in a basin ofthe hills, we ascended the mountain ridge which forms the southernboundary of the Vega. Granada, nearly twenty miles distant, was stillvisible. The Alhambra was dwindled to a speck, and I took my last view ofit and the magnificent landscape which lies spread out before it. TheSierra Nevada, rising to the height of 13, 000 feet above the sea, wasperfectly free from clouds, and the whole range was visible at oneglance. All its chasms were filled with snow, and for nearly half-way downits sides there was not a speck of any other color. Its summits werealmost wholly devoid of shadow, and their notched and jagged outlinesrested flatly against the sky, like ivory inlaid on a table oflapis-lazuli. 

From these waste hills, we descended into the valley of Cacia, whosepoplar-fringed river had been so swollen by the rains that the _correo_from Malaga had only succeeded in passing it that morning. We forded itwithout accident, and, crossing a loftier and bleaker range, came downinto the valley of the Marchan. High on a cliff over the stream stoodAlhama, my resting-place for the night. The natural warm baths, on accountof which this spot was so beloved by the Moors, are still resorted to inthe summer. They lie in the bosom of a deep and rugged gorge, half a milefurther down the river. The town occupies the crest of a narrowpromontory, bounded, on all sides but one, by tremendous precipices. It isone of the most picturesque spots imaginable, and reminded me--to continuethe comparison between Syria and Andalusia, which I find so striking--ofthe gorge of the Barrada, near Damascus. Alhama is now a poor, insignificant town, only visited by artists and muleteers. The populationwear long brown cloaks and slouched hats, like the natives of La Mancha. 

I found tolerable quarters in a house on the plaza, and took the remaininghour of daylight to view the town. The people looked at me with curiosity, and some boys, walking on the edge of the _tajo_, or precipice, threw overstones that I might see how deep it was. The rock, in some places, quiteoverhung the bed of the Marchan, which half-girdles its base. The closescrutiny to which I was subjected by the crowd in the plaza called to mindall I had heard of Spanish spies and robbers. At the venta, I was welltreated, but received such an exorbitant bill in the morning that I wasready to exclaim, with King Boabdil, "Woe is me, Alhama!" On comparingnotes with José, I found that he had been obliged to pay, in addition, forwhat he received--a discovery which so exasperated that worthy that hefolded his hands, bowed his head, made three kisses in the air, and criedout: "I swear before the Virgin that I will never again take a travellerto that inn. "

We left Alhama an hour before daybreak, for we had a rough journey of morethan forty miles before us. The bridle-path was barely visible in thedarkness, but we continued ascending to a height of probably 5, 000 feetabove the sea, and thus met the sunrise half-way. Crossing the _llano_ ofAce faraya, we reached a tremendous natural portal in the mountains, fromwhence, as from a door, we looked down on all the country lying between usand the sea. The valley of the River Vélez, winding among the hills, pointed out the course of our road. On the left towered over us the barrenSierra Tejeda, an isolated group of peaks, about 8, 000 feet in height. Formiles, the road was a rocky ladder, which we scrambled down on foot, leading our horses. The vegetation gradually became of a warmer and moreluxuriant cast; the southern slopes were planted with the vine thatproduces the famous Malaga raisins, and the orange groves in the sunnydepths of the valleys were as yellow as autumnal beeches, with theirenormous loads of fruit. As the bells of Vélez Malaga were ringing noon, we emerged from the mountains, near the mouth of the river, and rode intothe town to breakfast. 

We halted at a queer old inn, more like a Turkish khan than a Christianhostlery. It was kept by a fat landlady, who made us an olla of kid andgarlic, which, with some coarse bread and the red Malaga wine, soon tookoff the sharp edge of our mountain appetites. While I was washing my handsat a well in the court-yard, the _mozo_ noticed the pilgrim-seal ofJerusalem, which is stamped indelibly on my left arm. His admiration andreverence were so great that he called the fat landlady, who, on learningthat it had been made in Jerusalem, and that I had visited the HolySepulchre, summoned her children to see it. "Here, my children!" she said;"cross yourselves, kneel down, and kiss this holy seal; for, as long asyou live, you may never see the like of it again. " Thus I, a Protestantheretic, became a Catholic shrine. The children knelt and kissed my armwith touching simplicity; and the seal will henceforth be more sacred tome than ever. 

The remaining twenty miles or more of the road to Malaga follow the lineof the coast, passing headlands crowned by the _atalayas_, orwatch-towers, of the Moors. It is a new road, and practicable forcarriages, so that, for Spain, it may be considered an importantachievement. The late rains have, however, already undermined it in anumber of places. Here, as among the mountains, we met crowds ofmuleteers, all of whom greeted me with: "_Vaya usted con Dios, caballero_!"--("May you go with God, cavalier!") By this time, all myforgotten Spanish had come back again, and a little experience of thesimple ways of the people made me quite at home among them. In almostevery instance, I was treated precisely as a Spaniard would have been, and less annoyed by the curiosity of the natives than I have been inGermany, and even America. 

We were still two leagues from Malaga, at sunset, The fishermen along thecoast were hauling in their nets, and we soon began to overtake companiesof them, carrying their fish to the city on donkeys. One stout, strappingfellow, with flesh as hard and yellow as a sturgeon's, was seated sidewayson a very small donkey, between two immense panniers of fish, As hetrotted before us, shouting, and slapping the flanks of the sturdy littlebeast, José and I began to laugh, whereupon the fellow broke out into thefollowing monologue, addressed to the donkey: "Who laughs at this_burrico_? Who says he's not fine gold from head to foot? What is it thathe can't do? If there was a mountain ever so high, he would gallop overit. If there was a river ever so deep, he would swim through it If hecould but speak, I might send him to market alone with the fish, and not a_chavo_ of the money would he spend on the way home. Who says he can't goas far as that limping horse? Arrrre, burrico! punate--ar-r-r-r-r-e-e!"

We reached Malaga, at last, our horses sorely fagged. At the Fonda de laAlameda, a new and very elegant hotel, I found a bath and a good dinner, both welcome things to a tired traveller. The winter of Malaga is likespring in other lands and on that account it is much visited by invalids, especially English. It is a lively commercial town of about 80, 000inhabitants, and, if the present scheme of railroad communication withMadrid is carried out, must continue to increase in size and importance. Anumber of manufacturing establishments have lately been started, and inthis department it bids fair to rival Barcelona. The harbor is small, butgood, and the country around rich in all the productions of temperate andeven tropical climates. The city contains little to interest the tourist. I visited the Cathedral, an immense unfinished mass, without a particle ofarchitectural taste outwardly, though the interior has a fine effect fromits large dimensions. 

At noon to-day we were again in the saddle, and took the road to the Bathsof Caratraca. The tall factory chimneys of Malaga, vomiting forth streamsof black smoke, marred the serenity of the sky; but the distant view ofthe city is very fine. The broad Vega, watered by the Guadaljorce, is richand well cultivated, and now rejoices in the verdure of spring. Themeadows are clothed with fresh grass, butter-cups and daisies are inblossom, and larks sing in the olive-trees. Now and then, we passed a_casa del campo_, with its front half buried in orange-trees, over whichtowered two or three sentinel palms. After two leagues of this delightfultravel, the country became more hilly, and the groups of mountains whichinclosed us assumed the most picturesque and enchanting forms. The softhaze in which the distant peaks were bathed, the lovely violet shadowsfilling up their chasms and gorges, and the fresh meadows, vineyards, andolive groves below, made the landscape one of the most beautiful I haveseen in Spain. 

As we were trotting along through the palmetto thickets, José asked me ifI should not like to hear an Andalusian story. "Nothing would please mebetter, " I replied. "Ride close beside me, then, " said he, "that you mayunderstand every word of it. " I complied, and he gave me the following, just as I repeat it: "There was once a very rich man, who had thousands ofcattle in the Sierra Nevada, and hundreds of houses in the city. Well:this man put a plate, with his name on it, on the door of the great housein which he lived, and the name was this: Don Pedro, without Fear andwithout Care. Now, when the King was making his _paséo_, he happened toride by this house in his carriage, and saw the plate on the door. 'Readme the name on that plate!' said he to his officer. Then the officer readthe name: Don Pedro, without Fear and without Care. 'I will see whetherDon Pedro is without Fear and without Care, ' said the King. The next daycame a messenger to the house, and, when he saw Don Pedro, said he to him;'Don Pedro, without Fear and without Care, the King wants you!' 'What doesthe King want with me?' said Don Pedro. 'He sends you four questions whichyou must answer within four days, or he will have you shot; and thequestions are:--How can the Sierra Nevada be cleared of snow? How can thesea be made smaller? How many arrobas does the moon weigh? And: How manyleagues from here to the Land of Heavenly Glory?' Then Don Pedro withoutFear and without Care began to sweat from fright, and knew not what heshould do. He called some of his arrieros and loaded twenty mules withmoney, and went up into the Sierra Nevada, where his herdsmen tended hisflocks; for, as I said, he had many thousand cattle. 'God keep you, mymaster!' said the chief herdsman, who was young, and _buen mozo_, and hadas good a head as ever was set on two shoulders. '_Anda, hombre!_ said DonPedro, 'I am a dead man;' and so he told the herdsman all that the Kinghad said. 'Oh, is that all?' said the knowing mozo. 'I can get you out ofthe scrape. Let me go and answer the questions in your name, my master!''Ah, you fool! what can you do?' said Don Pedro without Fear and withoutCare, throwing himself upon the earth, and ready to die. 

"But, nevertheless, the herdsman dressed himself up as a _caballero_, wentdown to the city, and, on the fourth day, presented himself at the King'spalace. 'What do you want?' said the officers. 'I am Don Pedro withoutFear and without Care, come to answer the questions which the King sent tome. ' 'Well, ' said the King, when he was brought before him, 'let me hearyour answers, or I will have you shot this day. ' 'Your Majesty, ' said theherdsman, 'I think I can do it. If you were to set a million of childrento playing among the snow of the Sierra Nevada, they would soon clear itall away; and if you were to dig a ditch as wide and as deep as all Spain, you would make the sea that much smaller, ' 'But, ' said the King, 'thatmakes only two questions; there are two more yet, ' 'I think I can answerthose, also, ' said the herdsman: 'the moon contains four quarters, andtherefore weighs only one arroba; and as for the last question, it is noteven a single league to the Land of Heavenly Glory--for, if your Majestywere to die after breakfast, you would get there before you had anappetite for dinner, ' 'Well done! said the King; and he then made himCount, and Marquez, and I don't know how many other titles. In themeantime, Don Pedro without Fear and without Care had died of his fright;and, as he left no family, the herdsman took possession of all hisestates, and, until the day of his death, was called Don Pedro withoutFear and without Care. "

I write, sitting by the grated window of this lonely inn, looking out onthe meadows of the Guadaljorce. The chain of mountains which rises to thewest of Malaga is purpled by the light of the setting sun, and the housesand Castle of Carlama hang on its side, in full view. Further to theright, I see the smoke of Monda, where one of the greatest battles ofantiquity was fought--that which overthrew the sons of Pompey, and gavethe Roman Empire to Cæsar. The mozo of the venta is busy, preparing my kidand rice, and José is at his elbow, gently suggesting ingredients whichmay give the dish a richer flavor. The landscape is softened by the hushof coming evening; a few birds are still twittering among the bushes, andthe half-moon grows whiter and clearer in mid-heaven. The people about meare humble, but appear honest and peaceful, and nothing indicates that Iam in the wild _Serrania de Ronda_, the country of robbers, contrabandistas, and assassins. 

Chapter XXXVII. 

The Mountains of Ronda. 

 Orange Valleys--Climbing the Mountains--José's Hospitality--El Burgo--The Gate of the Wind--The Cliff and Cascades of Ronda--The Mountain Region--Traces of the Moors--Haunts of Robbers--A Stormy Ride--The Inn at Gaucin--Bad News--A Boyish Auxiliary--Descent from the Mountains--The Ford of the Guadiaro--Our Fears Relieved--The Cork Woods--Ride from San Roque to Gibraltar--Parting with José--Travelling in Spain--Conclusion. 

Gibraltar, _Thursday, November_ 25, 1852. 

I passed an uncomfortable night at the Venta de Villalon, lying upon a bagstuffed with equal quantities of wool and fleas. Starting before dawn, wefollowed a path which led into the mountains, where herdsmen and boys weretaking out their sheep and goats to pasture; then it descended into thevalley of a stream, bordered with rich bottom-lands. I never saw theorange in a more flourishing state. We passed several orchards of treesthirty feet high, and every bough and twig so completely laden with fruit, that the foliage was hardly to be seen. 

At the Venta del Vicario, we found a number of soldiers just setting outfor Ronda. They appeared to be escorting a convoy of goods, for there weretwenty or thirty laden mules gathered at the door. We now ascended a mostdifficult and stony path, winding through bleak wastes of gray rock, tillwe reached a lofty pass in the mountain range. The wind swept through thenarrow gateway with a force that almost unhorsed us. From the other side, a sublime but most desolate landscape opened to my view. Opposite, at tenmiles' distance, rose a lofty ridge of naked rock, overhung with clouds. The country between was a chaotic jumble of stony hills, separated by deepchasms, with just a green patch here and there, to show that it was notentirely forsaken by man. Nevertheless as we descended into it, we foundvalleys with vineyards and olive groves, which were invisible from above. As we were both getting hungry, José stopped at a ventorillo and orderedtwo cups of wine, for which he insisted on paying. "If I had as manyhorses as my master, Napoleon, " said he, "I would regale the Señorswhenever I travelled with them. I would have _puros_, and sweetmeats, withplenty of Malaga or Valdepeñas in the bota, and they should never complainof their fare. " Part of our road was studded with gray cork-trees, at adistance hardly to be distinguished from olives, and José dismounted togather the mast, which was as sweet and palatable as chestnuts, with verylittle of the bitter quercine flavor. At eleven o'clock, we reached ElBurgo, so called, probably, from its ancient Moorish fortress. It is apoor, starved village, built on a barren hill, over a stream which isstill spanned by a lofty Moorish bridge of a single arch. 

The remaining three leagues to Ronda were exceedingly rough and difficult. Climbing a barren ascent of nearly a league in length, we reached the_Puerto del Viento_, or Gate of the Wind, through which drove such acurrent that we were obliged to dismount; and even then it required all mystrength to move against it. The peaks around, far and near, faced withprecipitous cliffs, wore the most savage and forbidding aspect: in fact, this region is almost a counterpart of the wilderness lying betweenJerusalem and the Dead Sea, Very soon, we touched the skirt of a cloud, and were enveloped in masses of chill, whirling vapor, through which wetravelled for three or four miles to a similar gate on the western side ofthe chain. Descending again, we emerged into a clearer atmosphere, and sawbelow us a wide extent of mountain country, but of a more fertile andcheerful character. Olive orchards and wheat-fields now appeared; and, atfour o'clock, we rode into the streets of Ronda. 

No town can surpass this in the grandeur and picturesqueness of itsposition. It is built on the edge of a broad shelf of the mountains, whichfalls away in a sheer precipice of from six to eight hundred feet inheight, and, from the windows of many of the houses you can look down thedizzy abyss. This shelf, again, is divided in the centre by a tremendouschasm, three hundred feet wide, and from four to six hundred feet indepth, in the bed of which roars the Guadalvin, boiling in foamingwhirlpools or leaping in sparkling cascades, till it reaches the valleybelow. The town lies on both sides of the chasm, which is spanned by astone bridge of a single arch, with abutments nearly four hundred feet inheight. The view of this wonderful cleft, either from above or below, isone of the finest of its kind in the world. Honda is as far superior toTivoli, as Tivoli is to a Dutch village, on the dead levels of Holland. The panorama which it commands is on the grandest scale. The valley belowis a garden of fruit and vines; bold yet cultivated hills succeed, and inthe distance rise the lofty summits of another chain of the Serrania deHonda. Were these sublime cliffs, these charming cascades of theGuadalvin, and this daring bridge, in Italy instead of in Spain, theywould be sketched and painted every day in the year; but I have yet toknow where a good picture of Ronda may be found. 

In the bottom of the chasm are a number of corn-mills as old as the timeof the Moors. The water, gushing out from the arches of one, drives thewheel of that below, so that a single race supplies them all. I descendedby a very steep zig-zag path nearly to the bottom. On a little point orpromontory overhanging the black depths, there is a Moorish gateway stillstanding. The sunset threw a lovely glow over the brown cliffs and theairy town above; but they were far grander when the cascades glittered inthe moonlight, and the gulf out of which they leap was lost in profoundshadow. The window of my bed-room hung over the chasm. 

Honda was wrapped in fog, when José awoke me on the morning of the 22d. Aswe had but about twenty-four miles to ride that day, we did not leaveuntil sunrise. We rode across the bridge, through the old town and downthe hill, passing the triple lines of the Moorish walls by the originalgateways. The road, stony and rugged beyond measure, now took to themountains. From the opposite height, there was a fine view of the town, perched like an eagle's nest on the verge of its tremendous cliffs; but acurtain of rain soon fell before it, and the dense dark clouds settledaround us, and filled up the gorges on either hand. Hour after hour, wetoiled along the slippery paths, scaling the high ridges by rocky ladders, up which our horses climbed with the greatest difficulty. The scenery, whenever I could obtain a misty glimpse of it, was sublime. Lofty mountainridges rose on either hand; bleak jagged summits of naked rock piercedthe clouds, and the deep chasms which separated them sank far below us, dark and indistinct through the rain. Sometimes I caught sight of a littlehamlet, hanging on some almost inaccessible ledge, the home of thelawless, semi-Moorish mountaineers who inhabit this wild region. The facesof those we met exhibited marked traces of their Moslem ancestry, especially in the almond-shaped eye and the dusky olive complexion. Theirdialect retains many Oriental forms of expression, and I was not a littlesurprised at finding the Arabic "_eiwa_" (yes) in general use, instead ofthe Spanish "_si_. "

About eleven o'clock, we reached the rude village of Atajate, where weprocured a very good breakfast of kid, eggs, and white Ronda wine. Thewind and rain increased, but I had no time to lose, as every hour swelledthe mountain floods and made the journey more difficult. This district isin the worst repute of any in Spain; it is a very nest of robbers andcontrabandistas. At the venta in Atajate, they urged us to take a guard, but my valiant José declared that he had never taken one, and yet wasnever robbed; so I trusted to his good luck. The weather, however, was ourbest protection. In such a driving rain, we could bid defiance to theflint locks of their escopettes, if, indeed, any could be found, so fondof their trade, as to ply it in a storm

 "Wherein the cub-drawn bear would crouch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their furs dry. "

Nevertheless, I noticed that each of the few convoys of laden mules whichwe met, had one or more of the _guardia cicia_ accompanying it. Besidesthese, the only persons abroad were some wild-looking individuals, armedto the teeth, and muffled in long cloaks, towards whom, as they passed, José would give his head a slight toss, and whisper to me: "morecontrabandistas. "

We were soon in a condition to defy the weather. The rain beat furiouslyin our faces, especially when threading the wind-blown passes between thehigher peaks. I raised my umbrella as a defence, but the first blastsnapped it in twain. The mountain-sides were veined with rills, roaringdownward into the hollows, and smaller rills soon began to trickle down myown sides. During the last part of our way, the path was notched alongprecipitous steeps, where the storm was so thick that we could see nothingeither above or below. It was like riding along the outer edge of theworld, When once you are thoroughly wet, it is a great satisfaction toknow that you can be no wetter; and so José and I went forward in the bestpossible humor, finding so much diversion in our plight that the drearyleagues were considerably shortened. 

At the venta of Gaucin, where we stopped, the people received us kindly. The house consisted of one room--stable, kitchen, and dining-room all inone. There was a small apartment in a windy loft, where a bed (much tooshort) was prepared for me. A fire of dry heather was made in the widefire-place, and the ruddy flames, with a change of clothing and a draughtof the amber vintage of Estepona, soon thawed out the chill of thejourney. But I received news which caused me a great deal of anxiety. TheRiver Guadiaro was so high that nobody could cross, and two forlornmuleteers had been waiting eight days at the inn, for the waters tosubside. Augmented by the rain which had fallen, and which seemed toincrease as night came on, how could I hope to cross it on the morrow? Intwo days, the India steamer would be at Gibraltar; my passage was alreadytaken, and I _must_ be there. The matter was discussed for some time; itwas pronounced impossible to travel by the usual road, but the landlordknew a path among the hills which led to a ferry on the Guadiaro, wherethere was a boat, and from thence we could make our way to San Roque, which is in sight of Gibraltar. He demanded rather a large fee foraccompanying me, but there was nothing else to be done. José and I satdown in great tribulation to our accustomed olla, but neither of us coulddo justice to it, and the greater part gladdened the landlord's twoboys--beautiful little imps, with faces like Murillo's cherubs. 

Nevertheless, I passed rather a merry evening, chatting with some of thevillagers over a brazier of coals; and one of the aforesaid boys, who, although only eight years old, already performed the duties of mozo, lighted me to my loft. When he had put down the lamp, he tried' the door, and asked me: "Have you the key?" "No, " said I, "I don't want one; I amnot afraid. " "But, " he rejoined, "perhaps you may get afraid in the night;and if you do, strike on this part of the wall (suiting the action to theword)--_I_ sleep on that side. " I willingly promised to call him to myaid, if I should get alarmed. I slept but little, for the wind was howlingaround the tiles over my head, and I was busy with plans for constructingrafts and swimming currents with a rope around my waist. Finally, I founda little oblivion, but it seemed that I had scarcely closed my eyes, whenJosé pushed open the door. "Thanks be to God, senor!" said he, "it beginsto dawn, and the sky is clear: we shall certainly get to Gibraltarto-day. "

The landlord was ready, so we took some bread and a basket of olives, andset out at once. Leaving Gaucin, we commenced descending the mountainstaircase by which the Serrania of Ronda is scaled, on the side towardsGibraltar. "The road, " says Mr. Ford, "seems made by the Evil One in ahanging garden of Eden. " After four miles of frightfully rugged descent, we reached an orange grove on the banks of the Xenar, and then took a wildpath leading along the hills on the right of the stream. We overtook a fewmuleteers, who were tempted out by the fine weather, and before long the_correo_, or mail-rider from Ronda to San Roque, joined us. After eightmiles more of toilsome travel we reached the valley of the Guadiaro. Theriver was not more than twenty yards wide, flowing with a deep, strongcurrent, between high banks. Two ropes were stretched across, and a large, clumsy boat was moored to the shore. We called to the ferrymen, but theyhesitated, saying that nobody had yet been able to cross. However, we allgot in, with our horses, and two of the men, with much reluctance, drew usover. The current was very powerful, although the river had fallen alittle during the night, but we reached the opposite bank withoutaccident. 

We had still another river, the Guargante, to pass, but we were cheered bysome peasants whom we met, with the news that the ferry-boat had resumedoperations. After this current lay behind us, and there was now nothingbut firm land all the way to Gibraltar, José declared with muchearnestness that he was quite as glad, for my sake, as if somebody hadgiven him a million of dollars. Our horses, too, seemed to feel thatsomething had been achieved, and showed such a fresh spirit that weloosened the reins and let them gallop to their hearts' content over thegreen meadows. The mountains were now behind us, and the Moorish castle ofGaucin crested a peak blue with the distance. Over hills covered withbroom and heather in blossom, and through hollows grown with oleander, arbutus and the mastic shrub, we rode to the cork-wood forests of SanRoque, the sporting-ground of Gibraltar officers. The barking of dogs, thecracking of whips, and now and then a distant halloo, announced that ahunt was in progress, and soon we came upon a company of thirty or fortyhorsemen, in caps, white gloves and top-boots, scattered along the crestof a hill. I had no desire to stop and witness the sport, for theMediterranean now lay before me, and the huge gray mass of "The Rock"loomed in the distance. 

At San Roque, which occupies the summit of a conical hill, about half-waybetween Gibraltar and Algeciras, the landlord left us, and immediatelystarted on his return. Having now exchanged the rugged bridle-paths ofRonda for a smooth carriage-road, José and I dashed on at full gallop, tothe end of our journey. We were both bespattered with mud from head tofoot, and our jackets and sombreros had lost something of their spruceair. We met a great many ruddy, cleanly-shaven Englishmen, who reined upon one side to let us pass, with a look of wonder at our Andalusianimpudence. Nothing diverted José more than to see one of these Englishmenrising in his stirrups, as he went by on a trot. "Look, look, Señor!" heexclaimed; "did you ever see the like?" and then broke into a freshexplosion of laughter. Passing the Spanish Lines, which stretch across theneck of the sandy little peninsula, connecting Gibraltar with the mainland, we rode under the terrible batteries which snarl at Spain from thisside of the Rock. Row after row of enormous guns bristle the walls, orlook out from the galleries hewn in the sides of inaccessible cliffs Anartificial moat is cut along the base of the Rock, and a simplebridge-road leads into the fortress and town. After giving up my passportI was allowed to enter, José having already obtained a permit from theSpanish authorities. 

I clattered up the long street of the town to the Club House, where Ifound a company of English friends. In the evening, José made hisappearance, to settle our accounts and take his leave of me. Whilescrambling down the rocky stair-way of Gaucin, José had said to me: "Lookyou, Señor, I am very fond of English beer, and if I get you to Gibraltarto day you must give me a glass of it. " When, therefore, he came in theevening, his eyes sparkled at the sight of a bottle of Alsop's Ale, and ahandful of good Gibraltar cigars. "Ah, Señor, " said he, after our bookswere squared, and he had pocketed his _gratification_, "I am sorry we aregoing to part; for we are good friends, are we not, Señor?" "Yes, José, "said I; "if I ever come to Granada again, I shall take no other guide thanJosé Garcia; and I will have you for a longer journey than this. We shallgo over all Spain together, _mi amigo_!" "May God grant it!" respondedJosé, crossing himself; "and now, Señor, I must go. I shall travel back toGranada, _muy triste_, Señor, _muy triste_" The faithful fellows eyes werefull of tears, and, as he lifted my hand twice to his lips, some warmdrops fell upon it. God bless his honest heart; wherever he goes!

And now a word as to travelling in Spain, which is not attended with halfthe difficulties and annoyances I had been led to expect. My experience, of course, is limited to the provinces of Andalusia, but my route includedsome of the roughest roads and most dangerous robber-districts in thePeninsula. The people with whom I came in contact were invariably friendlyand obliging, and I was dealt with much more honestly than I should havebeen in Italy. With every disposition to serve you, there is nothing likeservility among the Spaniards. The native dignity which characterizestheir demeanor prepossesses me very strongly in their favor. There is butone dialect of courtesy, and the muleteers and common peasants addresseach other with the same grave respect as the Dons and Grandees. My friendJosé was a model of good-breeding. 

I had little trouble either with passport-officers or custom-houses. Mypassport, in fact, was never once demanded, although I took the precautionto have it visèd in all the large cities. In Seville and Malaga, it wassigned by the American Consuls, without the usual fee of twodollars--almost the only instances which have come under my observation. The regulations of the American Consular System, which gives the Consulsno salary, but permits them, instead, to get their pay out of travellers, is a disgrace to our government. It amounts, in effect, to _a direct taxon travel_, and falls heavily on the hundreds of young men of limitedmeans, who annually visit Europe for the purpose of completing theireducation. Every American citizen who travels in Italy pays a passport taxof ten dollars. In all the ports of the Mediterranean, there is anAmerican Vice-Consul, who does not even get the postage paid on hisdispatches, and to whom the advent of a traveller is of course a welcomesight. Misled by a false notion of economy, our government is fastbecoming proverbial for its meanness. If those of our own citizens whorepresent us abroad only worked as they are paid, and if the foreignerswho act as Vice-Consuls without pay did not derive some petty tradingadvantages from their position, we should be almost without protection. 

 * * * * *

With my departure from Spain closes the record of my journey in the Landsof the Saracen; for, although I afterwards beheld more perfect types ofSaracenic Art on the banks of the Jumna and the Ganges, they grew up underthe great Empire of the descendants of Tamerlane, and were the creationsof artists foreign to the soil. It would, no doubt, be interesting tocontrast the remains of Oriental civilization and refinement, as theystill exist at the extreme eastern and western limits of the Moslem sway, and to show how that Art, which had its birth in the capitals of theCaliphs--Damascus and Baghdad--attained its most perfect development inSpain and India; but my visit to the latter country connects itselfnaturally with my voyage to China, Loo-Choo, and Japan, forming a separateand distinct field of travel. 

On the 27th of November, the Overland Mail Steamer arrived at Gibraltar, and I embarked in her for Alexandria, entering upon another year of evenmore varied, strange, and adventurous experiences, than that which hadclosed. I am almost afraid to ask those patient readers, who haveaccompanied me thus far, to travel with me through another volume; butnext to the pleasure of seeing the world, comes the pleasure of telling ofit, and I must needs finish my story.