CHAPTER VI
Healing the sick—A strange monument—Telegraph and post in Haurân—Cruel kindness—The Ruins of Suweida—Turkish methods of rule—ʿIry—Sheyûkh ed-Druze—Jephthah’s burial—Enterprise of Ismaʾîl el-ʿAtrash.
Here, as at every point touched in our journey, we had ample evidence of the prevalence of sickness and suffering, and of the crying necessity for competent medical aid. The weak and diseased are a prey to every travelling quack, and they bore in their bodies only too convincing proof of their simple-hearted confidence in men who professed to be able to relieve them. Ruined eyes and maimed limbs told only too plainly what havoc unscrupulous men work among these trustful people. The quack hopes to pass but once in any given way, and cares but little for the results of his operations if only he make present gain. The name of the good doctor wrought like magic. Almost before we could realise it the camp was surrounded by patients; a motley gathering they were—Moslem, Druze, and Christian; men, women, and children, of all ages, clad in richly varied costumes; they came forward, one by one, to tell of their sufferings, and receive what help was possible. Not unpleasantly the time passed, examining antique coins, making cautious purchases, and engaging the more intelligent in conversation about their town and district, until the cheerful voice of the dinner-bell summoned us within.
With the morning we were able to see the strange tower under whose shadow we had slept. It is reputed one of the oldest monuments in the country. According to inscriptions, Greek on one side and Palmyrene on another, it was built by one Odainatus to the memory of his wife Chamrate. The building is over thirty feet square, and rests on a base, to which a couple of steps lead up. Between the Doric pilasters that adorn the sides, the monument is ornamented, as became the tomb of a soldier’s wife, with emblems, in relief, of military accoutrements. The top of the monument is now a heap of confused blocks, while many great stones, rolled down, lie in utter disorder to the south-west. The name Debusîyeh, by which it is known among the natives—“the pin-shaped”—shows that it was, probably at no remote period, finished off in a pyramid. The evil that has befallen it may be due to some thought that buried treasure might be found there. In these circumstances no structure would be safe from the destroying hands of the Arabs. It has been thought that the monument dates from not later than the first century of our era, and that therefore this Odainatus was not the warrior husband of the famous Zenobia, ruler of Palmyra. The Odainatus known to history was in these parts; and there is nothing impossible in the supposition that the glories of the campaign may have been dimmed for the chivalrous soldier by the death of his sweet companion, ere the star of Zenobia arose in the heaven of his love. This would bring the date down past the middle of the third century. The conjecture is so far supported by the presence of the inscription in Palmyrene. Withal it is the most interesting of all the remains of the past now to be seen in Suweida and its neighbourhood.
Descending the steep bank, we crossed by an ancient bridge the little stream that flows in the bottom of the ravine. With the advance of summer this stream soon vanishes, and the town becomes entirely dependent for water supply on reservoir and cistern. At the gate of the town we found a little guide who conducted us to the post-office. The quarters occupied as imperial post and telegraph office would horrify the humblest of our Western officials. We scrambled over several dunghills and broken walls, and but for the telegraph wires it would have been impossible to distinguish the “office” from a number of rude cattle-shelters around. The maʾmûr, or official in charge, was all politeness and courtesy. Learning that a mail was about to be despatched to the north, we set about writing pencil-notes to our friends, while the maʾmûr, business being slack, engaged in a conversation by telegraph with his brother operator in Damascus, securing for us information on several points of importance. The amount of telegraphing thus done for the friends of the maʾmûrîn in Syria would not be readily credited in the West. A message is sent to bring one to the office, when, if nothing special is on hand, he may hold a long conversation on any subject with his friend or man of business at a distance. These maʾmûrîn in Syria are almost all Christians, Moslems possessing the requisite qualifications in linguistic attainments and intelligence being seldom available. This speaks volumes for the system of education inaugurated and carried on chiefly by the missionaries, of which as yet few Moslems have taken advantage. The position of clerk in very many of the various Government departments is also occupied by Christians. Moslems in the country are, however, slowly awakening to realise the advantages of education, and are seeking in greater numbers than ever to avail themselves of opportunities hitherto despised.
The Druze sheikh of the town, who was also kaim makâm, or lieutenant-governor of the district, we found in his own house near the top of the quarter at present inhabited. He was in sore distress over the apparently hopeless illness of his son, a lad of some twenty summers, who sat suffering among his friends. The room was crowded in every part by relatives and friends, who had come from far and near to show their sympathy in the hour of trial. Anything more completely opposed to all humane and civilised ideas of the conditions that ought to prevail in a sick-room it is impossible to imagine. The air was foul with many breaths, and laden with the fumes of tobacco, in which all seemed to indulge, conversation being carried on in manner and tone suggestive of the public market; the dying youth, meanwhile, utterly wearied of the noise and confusion, with difficulty attracted attention to have his few wants supplied. It must not be thought that this conduct was the result of exceptional thoughtlessness on the part of the sheikh’s sympathisers. It was all done in obedience to custom, whose requirements are far more stringent than those of written law in this country. The man whose sick-room is not crowded with hosts of sympathising friends is held in but little respect. To refrain from mingling with the crowd and adding a quota to the hubbub is to prove lack of all interest in the case. So firmly is the custom rooted, that the energetic efforts of enlightened medical men in many parts have as yet produced almost no appreciable result. We long for quiet in our time of trial, and true friends jealously guard against intrusion upon our grief. Here trial and sorrow must alike be borne practically in presence of the public. When death enters a household the place is literally taken possession of by so-called sympathising friends; and their well-meant endeavours to divert the thoughts of the mourners from their loss must nearly always have the effect of deepening the woe they are intended to alleviate.
The sheikh’s house, less squalid perhaps than most in the town, was built around a paved courtyard, entered from the street by an imposing doorway. One large room had also a door opening upon the street, approached by a flight of steps. Here we were entertained with coffee. As a Government official who had received instructions from his superiors to receive the travellers with all courtesy, the sheikh bore himself with no little dignity; and only the haste of our departure prevented his making a larger display of hospitality. The diwân of the sheikh stands on the opposite side of the street a little lower down, on the site of an ancient temple. Many of the columns which once surrounded the latter are standing still, but serve only to cast a dreary air of departed glory over the place. A few paces farther down, the street is spanned by a triumphal arch, of Roman workmanship. This street is paved throughout. We visited, in rapid succession, the remains of a church, of a mosque, and of a building called by the natives el-Mehkemeh—“the court of justice.” All of these are in a completely ruinous condition. Suweida offers a rich field for inscription-seekers. Only he who would make thorough work must be prepared for risks and unpleasantnesses,—in hanging, for example, over the top of a rickety doorway to read an inscription placed upside down, or in creeping into holes and cellars where one’s attention is almost entirely absorbed in the important but well-nigh impossible process of breathing. Here are also the remains of a nymphaeum and aqueduct dating from the time of Trajan. Two large reservoirs afford the chief supply of water, there being no fountains in or near the town. These are built round with solid masonry, and the water is reached by means of stone stairs. When the summer is well advanced, it must require a stout heart and no little usage to enable one to conquer a natural repugnance to the unwholesome liquid collected in these reservoirs. I imagine that the memory of the oldest man does not carry him back to the time when they were last cleaned. The larger of the two is called Birket el-Hajj—“Pool of the Pilgrimage.” The Hajj road to Mecca once passed by way of Suweida, and from this reservoir the pilgrims drank. Mohammed Said Pasha, when chief of the pilgrimage, changed the route, finding the way by the western side of the plain less liable to annoyance by the robber Arabs. Such reservoirs, more or less preserved and protected by guards against other use, stand at intervals all along the great Hajj road to Mecca.
What Suweida was in the far past no one can tell; the very name of the ancient city seems irrevocably lost. But, judging from the magnitude of the ruins, it must have played no unimportant part in the history of the country. An ancient local tradition asserts that Job was the first emîr or prince of Suweida. It is to this day what we may call the capital of Jebel ed-Druze, the sheikh being, as we have seen, not merely chief of the town, but also lieutenant-governor of the district under the Turks. The appointment of one of themselves as kaim makâm represents one side of the Turkish policy in its endeavour to gain the mastery over these free-spirited and warlike people. The man chosen in this instance was one whose name, if any, would carry weight with his nation. But even the son of the famous Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash could hardly render himself acceptable to the Druzes in the ungracious task of tax-collecting—the chief function of the Turkish official. The other side of the policy has long been familiar to the world, the method of setting rival factions and races against each other, fomenting their quarrels, fanning their animosities, until they are so weakened by mutual conflict that Turkey can step in without much trouble and lay an iron hand on all. Of this more anon. There have been stirring times since our visit.
We took a straight line across country for ʿIry, a village crowning a low hill some two hours’ distant from Suweida. The land is open and diversified, hill and valley in pleasant succession relieving the monotony of the plain. The soil is rich, and in this part the Druzes use it well. Their skill in evading the iniquitous exactions of the Government doubtless accounts partly for their industry. No one cares to do his best to raise crops of which he knows he will be systematically robbed; but the Druzes generally display a commendable diligence compared with most other inhabitants of Syria. Jebel ed-Druze, with its neat gardens and trim vineyards creeping over the slopes, more closely resembles Mount Lebanon than any other district in the country. With the advantages conferred by the arrangements made for the government of the Lebanon after the fearful scenes of 1860, of which recent corrupt governors have been unable wholly to deprive the inhabitants, such progress has been made in education, agriculture, and generally in the arts of civilisation, in spite of the wild and sterile character of much of their country, as to inspire hope for the rest of Syria when the time comes, as surely it soon must now, to deliver her from the oppressions of the Turk. A little over half-way, a large building to the right of our path, with the Turkish flag floating over it, would have served as a reminder had we been disposed to forget that we were not beyond the reach of His Imperial Majesty’s arms.
Arrived at ʿIry, we took up our position on the bank of a little stream, which was full to the brim with cool water. Fruit trees grew profusely around, and lent us grateful shade. Forming a circle on the grass, we discussed the contents of our luncheon-bags with all the relish of a picnic-party. We had not rested long when a messenger arrived from the sheikh, bearing his salutations, together with a load of substantial viands. The chief was engaged with a company of brother sheikhs from various districts in Haurân, and could not come himself; but having seen the strangers seating themselves in the grove, he sought to maintain the tradition of Eastern hospitality by sending to us of the best—milk, leban, cheese, bread, honey, and, above all, delicious fresh butter, the first we had seen in our travels. How delightfully refreshing these were that hot noontide, with rustling leaves overhead and rippling water at our feet, it is needless to say. When we rode up to express our obligations to the worthy sheikh, he and his companions received us with great cordiality. He also is a son of the celebrated Ismaʾîl el-ʿAtrash, brother of the lieutenant-governor of Suweida. The younger, he is also much the larger man of the two. His frame is well built and in good proportion. When dressed in his state robes of barbaric splendour, and girt with his golden-hilted sword, he appeared quite a king among men. The assembled sheyûkh had gathered from all the district between ʿIry and Salkhad—the fortress on the mountain, marking the most easterly boundary of Israel’s possession—and they formed a company of chiefs such as it is a piece of rare good fortune for any traveller to see. The doctor produced his camera, in which all were immediately interested. After most of them had peeped into it, and, to their great amusement, had seen their fellows upside down, they were in the best of humour, and anxious to have their portraits taken. This, of course, was what the doctor wanted; and the result was one of the finest plates in his possession, presenting a striking group of men, not one commonplace in appearance.
SHEYÛKH ED-DRUZE (COUNCIL OF WAR)
The present village of ʿIry is insignificant, but ruins covering a wide area prove it to have been an important place in early times. A suggestion has recently been made that here Jephthah, judge of Israel, was buried. The statement that he was buried “in the cities of Gilead” has always presented a difficulty, which the rabbis have sought to explain by the invention of a story which even they would find it difficult to equal in absurdity. According to the rabbis, Jephthah brought on himself divine displeasure, because he persisted in carrying out his dreadful vow, although he knew this to be contrary to God’s desire, and an official existed in Israel part of whose stated duty it was to relieve men from vows which ought not to be performed. God therefore smote him with a terrible disease. As commander-in-chief of the armies of Israel, he went on a tour of inspection through the fortresses of Gilead. Just then the fell disease wrought havoc in his frame, which died piecemeal. The parts were buried where they fell, as he moved on in his chariot. Thus in his burial he was distributed through “the cities of Gilead”! The consonants in the Hebrew word translated “cities” correspond exactly to the Arabic consonants in the name ʿIry. If, as seems not impossible, this place was within the borders of the district then designated by the term “Gilead,” the suggested identification is almost certainly correct, and we should read that Jephthah was buried “in ʿIry of Gilead.”
ʿIry in its present form owes its existence to the above-mentioned Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash, who made it his headquarters, and in the early part of the nineteenth century wielded a potent influence over the whole province. He was a man who, in favourable circumstances, might have taken rank with the world’s great generals. Combining distinguished courage, determination, and military skill with a genius for administration and the management of men, he secured a position of practical independence of the Turkish Government, and was able to make his own terms with the Beduw who visit that region. It was customary, indeed, for men from the desert who wished to go to Damascus to obtain permission to pass through his dominions. The fact that these proud-spirited Arabs submitted to this interference with their ancient and hereditary privileges is enough in itself to prove the dread in which his displeasure was held. With statesmanlike regard for the well-being of the country, he planned a system of irrigation, and was able, before his death, partly to carry out his project, capturing the rills on the mountains, and leading them, through artificial channels, in every direction. The stream by which we had lunch owed to this arrangement its unusual volume of water—strong enough, even at this season, to turn a mill which stood nearer the village. He also encouraged the planting of olives and fruit trees, and the grove which afforded us shelter was one result of his praiseworthy public spirit and enterprise.
When Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash died, none of his sons displayed capacity at all equal to that of their father. Each had a village given him, of which he became sheikh; but no one arose to fill the old man’s place in the respect and awe of the people. To restore the prestige of their house, these sons appear to have entered into an alliance with the Turks, accepting positions as subordinates of the Government which their heroic father had defied, trusting to their great name to protect them against suspicion of treachery among the Druzes. It was a step pregnant with disaster alike for themselves and for their people.
As we here take leave of the towns and villages of the Druzes, we may look for a little at the faith, the character, and recent history of this strange people in these parts.