Читать книгу The Thistle and the Cedar of Lebanon - Habeeb Risk Allah - Страница 6

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It now became necessary that I should seek out and steadfastly follow up some fixed profession or calling in life. There was more than one motive that urged this measure upon me as a necessity: in the first place, my father’s resources had been sadly crippled by the piratical affair; besides, I was of an age when youths in Syria earn their own livelihood, and my education was sufficiently advanced to enable me to enter upon the duties of life. I could read and write my own language; and this was all that was expected, and much more than many youths of my age could boast. I had no thought then of acquiring a knowledge of foreign languages. To escape from the thraldom of school is always a source of great delight to schoolboys.

As far as my own views went, I was bent upon going to Damascus; and though my dear parents opposed this wish at first, I gradually coaxed them into a consenting mood; and perhaps the greatest inducement for them to yield to my wishes, was the fact of our having a wealthy and influential friend, then residing at Damascus, who had been a fellow-katib of my uncle’s, and who occupied a high post in the service of the Pasha.

To this worthy man’s care I was confided; and, taking leave of my dear parents, and accompanied by their blessing, I left Beyrout, and proceeded to Damascus; a city which existed before the patriarch Abraham’s time, being referred to as a well-known place, in Gen. xiv. It was the chief city of Syria, founded by Rezin, and was sacked by Jeroboam II., king of Israel. It is still a comparatively thriving and populous city, and has those natural resources of climate, soil, and abundance of water, which cannot fail to perpetuate its fame as the garden of the East. Here, shortly after my arrival, I was fortunate enough, through the influence of our friend, to procure a lucrative and rising situation. At this place I remained a considerable time, delighted with its climate and beauty, as also well pleased with my office and with my associates.

No pen can give an adequate idea of the delights of Damascus. The nearest approach I can hope to make to a truthful description, will be simply to depict what I saw and experienced; and this perhaps will give the stranger a better conception of the place than the flowery rhapsodies of many of those writers, whose experience, resulting from a visit of a few days, has been skilfully converted into some dozen chapters of post octavo.

Damascus, like most Eastern towns, has nothing to boast of in the outside appearance of its rough unwhitewashed houses. Its streets are narrow, dark and intricate—crowds of people—caravans of camels—mules—and troops of donkeys—are all perpetually on the move, though not with that rapidity of locomotion so striking to a foreigner on his first visit to London.

The stranger is struck dumb with amazement and disappointment. He has heard so much and he sees so little, that his first exclamation is sure to be, “Can this really be Sham-al Sharif?—the much praised Damascus;—the so-styled paradise of the East!” Yes, stranger, this is the justly celebrated Damascus; but the secret cause of your amazement lies hid as the kernel in the shell of a nut, the outer surface of which is the walls of the houses, while within lies concealed the sweet kernel. Open the street-door of rough and unpolished wood; and after carefully closing the same, as if by magic, the whole train of your thoughts and your discontentment will be diverted into another channel, and you will be struck with surprise and admiration, as the hidden beauties of the city will then burst upon your view. The same may be said with regard to the ladies of Damascus, notoriously the handsomest women in the East—Houris, whose bright eyes have afforded an endless theme for the poet’s song! Forms carefully enveloped in white and coloured izars—features muffled up and completely disguised by white veils! That man must needs be a magician who could identify even his own wife or sister from amidst the herd of ghostly figures continually flitting to and fro in the streets; though now and then some Eastern akruti (coquette), may even here be found slily contriving to allow the light of her sparkling eyes to beam through this dark screen. Here also is the same mystery, and the beauty lies concealed within the outer shell.

Now standing in a spacious quadrangle, exquisitely paved with marble, we take a hasty survey of all around us. In the centre is a square basin of clear crystal-like water, in which gold and silver fish are playfully swimming about; and in the middle of this birkat a fountain continually throws its sportive jets to return in showers of pearls upon the many pretty little flowers that are planted round the borders. An arcade, supported by elegant columns, runs round three sides; and the fourth side of the quadrangle is occupied by the lower apartments of the house. The corna (or cornices), are all ornamented with Arabic inscriptions, both in poetry and prose, being invariably Scripture texts. [21a] In little fistakiares, or parterres, walled in with marble slabs, a few choice orange and lemon trees are carefully cultivated; and it is difficult to say whether the sweet odour of their blossoms is not rivalled, or even surpassed, by the delicious fragrance of the roses and rich Baghdad ful (or dwarf jessamine), which so thickly cluster about their roots. Of the interior of such a mansion no one could have given a better idea than did His Excellency Mahomed Pasha, [21b] the late ambassador to the court of St. James’s, who, during his residence in London, gave several balls, having some of the apartments at the Embassy, so fitted up, as exactly to resemble the interior of a house at Damascus. These rooms were the leading topic of chit chat among the fashionables of London for many weeks afterwards.

I must crave the reader’s permission to conduct him into one of these houses; and in so doing to introduce him to the mistaba, or alcove, in the centre, from the back of which two trellised windows overlook a spacious fruit garden. A low divan runs round its three sides, while a soft carpet covers the marble floor. The cushions, and even the divan itself, are of the richest velvet stuffs: and the numerous étagères in the mistaba are filled with costly glass-ware, crystal cups, and elegant porcelain vases. On each side is a tray, covered with a snowy napkin, the edges worked with gold and silver flowers, upon one are handsome finjans in filigree, silver coffee-cups and sugar-basins; on the other, cut-glass saucers full of delicious candied sweetmeats, of which the orange-flower, violet and rose are the most fragrant. Both trays rest on low stools, the feet of which are elegantly carved. One of the adjoining rooms is fitted up with handsome narghilies, and long pipes with amber mouth-pieces of great value. In this room there is also a small mangal, or brazier, in which a charcoal fire is perpetually burning for the double purpose of boiling the often-required coffee, and of supplying the smokers with fire for their pipes, or narghilies. Servants are constantly in attendance in this room, and the arrival of a visitor is the signal for activity amongst them. Lemonade is first offered, and then smoking materials are put in requisition; after this, the sweetmeats are handed round; and lastly, coffee is served. [22]

In a Pasha’s house, when people call on official business, the appearance of coffee is a quiet hint to be off, or in other words, denotes a termination of that morning’s visit. The visitor sips his coffee, returns the finjan to the attendant slave, touches heart, mouth and head to the Pasha, and then bows himself out. The room opposite to this smoking apartment, is usually the dormitory of the servants; its outside appearance is handsome, and the closed door is tastefully carved and painted, but the interior is by no means inviting—heaps of mattrasses are piled up on all sides, and perchance even a small store of provisions for domestic consumption. In this respect this lumber-room is quite different to the usual appearance of things in Damascus, for the outside is the best-looking part of it. So much for the interior of the houses; now let us see how the ladies look when they are within doors, and have laid aside the izar and odious black handkerchief. We will first describe the daughter of the host; a very fair specimen of her sex in Damascus. Her eyes are beautifully dark, her eyelashes, eyebrows, and hair, of a glossy jet black, the latter tinged with henna, hangs down her back and reaches nearly to the ground in a succession of plaits, each terminating with black silk braid, knotted and interwoven with various sized golden coins, her features (excepting the eyes) are all small but compact. The nose is Grecian, the lips cherry, and slightly pouting, the chin dimpled, the form of the face oval, and the complexion clear with a rosy tint. The bust and figure are unexceptionable, the arms comely, the wrists and ankles well turned, and the feet and hands perfect models for a sculptor; yet this is one out of the many nondescript beings that we encountered out of doors covered with izar and veil. Her face and figure are well set off by the head-dress and Oriental costume. On the top of her head she wears a small red cap, which is encircled by a handsomely flowered handkerchief, and over the latter strings of pearls and pieces of small gold money are tastefully arranged in festoons. In the centre of her red cap is a diamond crescent, from which hangs a long golden cord, with a blue silk tassel, usually ornamented with pearls: her vest fits tight, and admirably displays the unlaced figure. In summer, this vest is of blue or pink satin, bordered and fringed with gold lace; in winter, cloth, edged with fur, is substituted for the satin; and over the vest is worn a short grey jacket, chastely embroidered with black silk braid. The vest is confined to the waist by a zunnar, in summer, of a silk Tripoli scarf, in winter by a costly Cashmere shawl; and from under this a long robe reaches to her ankles, and is divided into two long lappels, lined with satin, and fringed with costly trimmings. This latter robe partially conceals the shirwal, or full trowsers, which hang loosely over, and are fastened round the ankles; the tastey mixture of colors, and the graceful arrangement renders the costume a perfect study. Latterly, European shoes have been much used by the Damascene ladies, especially those gaily-flowered kid shoes, imported into Syria from Marseilles. This completes the young lady’s toilet, and her walk and action are as graceful as her figure and face are prepossessing; but beyond the naam (yes) and la (no) of conversation, you can seldom get a word from her unless you are a very intimate friend of the family, and then these young ladies are as fond of a little romping or quizzing as their more accomplished and more elegant sisters of the North. It is a mistake to imagine that the men of the Turkish empire are wholly excluded from any friendly intercourse with the women of those countries, a tale which has gained credence, and been perseveringly maintained by travellers, few of whom have ever had an opportunity of testing the truth of the report by personal experience. In fact, in my opinion, the Eastern ladies have really far more liberty than their Northern sisters, inasmuch as they are able when veiled with the izar, to go where they please. These izars being of the same form and colour, it is almost impossible to identify an individual; and a man may pass even his own wife, without recognising her. In illustration of this, I am tempted to give the following story, for the authenticity of which I can vouch. The wife of a Mahomedan merchant, of Cairo, suspecting her husband, paid him a visit in his shop, accompanied, as is usual, by a duenna, both enveloped in the folds of their izars. During the visit, while inspecting some muslin, the lady contrived to indulge the amatory merchant with a glimpse of her large dark eyes, which completely enchanted her unconscious lord. An interview was brought about, through the agency of the old woman; and the astonished husband discovered to his dismay, in the charmer, the features of his piqued and angry helpmate.

Amongst the higher classes of Christians in particular, every freedom exists in doors; young ladies not only shew themselves, but, after serving the guest with coffee and sweetmeats, they will seat themselves on the edge of the divan, and soon manage to join in the conversation. This state of freedom exists to a greater or less degree till the young girl is betrothed; then it is not considered decorous that she should be present whenever her intended bridegroom visits the house, neither should she hear his name mentioned. Even amongst Turks, and more especially in the villages and smaller towns of Syria, the young Mahomedan sees and converses with the future object of his love, until she attains her eleventh or twelfth year, she is then excluded from the society of men; but womanhood has already begun to develop itself in the person of the girl of ten or eleven years old in these climates where they are oftentimes wives and mothers at thirteen. Hence love exists between the young couple before the destined bridegroom urges his mother to make the requisite proposals of marriage. He loses sight of his lady-love as soon as she enters upon womanhood, though he may, by means of a third party, catch an occasional glimpse of her features as she passes to and fro, strictly guarded by matrons and old duennas; but not a single word or one bewitching kiss can the despairing lover hope for until she is brought home to his house, his lawful consort and partner for life; then, and not till then, commences the great seclusion of the ladies of the Turkish hareem. Even in country places and villages, though the newly-married bride may be strictly guarded for a year or two, this feeling eventually wears off, and the women mix in the every-day occupations of the field or in the garden, unveiled and undistinguishable from their Christian neighbours. Of late years especially much progress has been made in this branch of civilisation, arising from the example set by the sultan’s ladies themselves at Stamboul, and by the increase of European ladies at Beyrout and other towns in Syria, often travelling about the country, and who, though unveiled, enjoy a high reputation for virtue and honesty, convincing proof to the Turks, that the face, which is the mirror of the heart, was meant to be studied as an example, not as a concealed vessel of craft and guile.

But to return to Damascus. We have now taken a brief survey of the court-yards and lower portion of the houses; and having been served with sweetmeats by the pretty young lady, we follow the matron of the house up stairs, to reach which we have to cross the yard, for there is no communication between the lower and upper story, and we must pass into the arcade for the steps. Now that we have reached the upper story, there is a room on either side of the mistaba communicating with a gallery: and these rooms are the sleeping apartments of the family in winter. In summer they serve as dressing-rooms and as a receptacle for the mattresses, etc., that are nightly spread on the top of the house for the family to sleep upon; for in summer almost every one sleeps on the terrace, from the lord and master of the house and the lowest menial down to the very cats and dogs, whose instinct causes them to seek for coolness in the more elevated parts of the house. These rooms are gaily painted, but contain little or no furniture; a divan or so, a mirror, some flower-vases, and ladies’ nic-nacs; these constitute the furniture. Mounting up to the terrace, we come upon a belvidere, surrounded on three sides by a wall lofty enough to prevent the possibility of the tallest man accidentally over-looking his neighbour’s court-yard; on the fourth side there is a wooden railing, from which we command a view of our own court-yard, catching a glimpse of some of the famed gardens of Damascus in the distance.

The bazars of the city, crowded with busy purchasers, present a bustling scene to the stranger. After Constantinople, Damascus claims precedence for the quantity and richness of the stuffs displayed for sale in its bazars from all countries in the world. Indian manufactures, spices of Arabia, coffee from Mocha, and endless European wares, are hourly bartered and sold. The scent of sandal-wood and myrrh, the attar of Mecca, the Indian’s curry ingredients, the rich drugs of the apothecary, the smoky perfumes of the scented narghili and pipe of Jabaliy tobacco; all these tend to confuse and stupify the bewildered European, who, pushing his way through the dense multitude, follows us into a native restaurant, where iced lemonade and sweetmeats are tantalisingly exposed for sale. The pleasant cold water, playing in artificial jets, turns a small tin watermill, hung with little silver bells, whose pleasant music first attracts the attention of the busy stranger. Here, seated for a moment, we enjoy the passing scene, and are vastly refreshed by the good things around us. Among these we may notice a pleasant beverage, and one very much in request: it is made by bruising a certain quantity of raisins, on which water is poured; the liquid is afterwards strained, and ice is added to render it cool. The place is crowded with a thirsty multitude, all eager to partake of this; but the swarms of flies that alight on one’s face and hands, make quiet and repose completely out of the question; so we are up again, and hurrying through the bazars towards the environs of the city. The day is too hot and the distance too great for a walk, so we hire horses and a native cicerone.

The beauty of the environs of Damascus I can only compare to some lovely landscape of fancy’s brightest imagining, in which is combined every rich and bountiful gift of Providence—flowers, fruits, waters, hills, plains, rivers; a cloudless, blue sky; a rich, brilliant sunlight; and the delicious zephyr breathing soft freshness over the scene. It may well be believed by the zealous Mussulmans of Damascus, that Mahomed, [28] as he beheld it from the western hills, declined to enter into the city, lest the luxurious richness of this earthly Paradise might induce him to forget the existence of another and an eternal one. Skilfully did the prophet make a virtue of necessity in this instance. He well knew his incapability of besieging the city. I am inclined to think that, had it been otherwise, Mahomed was far too eager after earthly enjoyments to have relinquished so fair a spot.

Our guide fails not to point out to us two branches of the Barrada, reckoned to be Abana and Pharpar, rivers which Naaman, the leper, thought better than the waters of Jordan. The lions to be seen at Damascus are numerous. Amongst these, we visit the Bab il Gharbi, where Tamerlane heaped up a pyramid of heads after taking the city by storm; then the monument called Nabiy Abel, marking, it is said, the identical spot where Cain slew his innocent brother. The name of the city is presumed by some to be derived from this event, the word damm signifying “blood”; but I must confess, I cannot see much ground for this presumption. If any truth be attached to this tradition, our first parents cannot well have wandered far from the lovely Garden of Eden when this first tragedy occurred; and Eden must have been situated to the west of Damascus, as it is said, that the angel of the Lord guarded the east end of the garden—a proof that our first parents were sent out eastward, and could only endeavour to return from that side. Some natives imagine that the Hammah and Hums of the present day are on the site of the beautiful garden of gardens. The eastern gate of the city, now walled up, is where St. Paul is supposed to have been let down in a basket; they shew us the very house from which he is said to have escaped. The Christian cemetery, containing the tomb of St. George, and the arch where St. Paul hid himself on escaping from Damascus; the wide road beyond the cemetery, still highly reverenced as the spot of the miraculous conversion; all these were familiar to me during my long stay in this fair city; and I mention them here for the benefit of strangers visiting the spot.