I was not less grieved by a visit to a public female bath. There were young children, girls, women, and mothers; some having their hands, feet, nails, eyebrows, hair, etc., washed and coloured: others were being bathed with water, or rubbed with fragrant oils and pomades, while the children played about among them. While all this was going on, the conversation that prevailed was far from being remarkable for its decency. Poor children! how are they to acquire a respect for modesty, when they are so early exposed to the influence of such pernicious examples.
Among the other curiosities of Baghdad, I saw the funeral monument of Queen Zobiedé, the favourite wife of Haroun-al-Raschid. It is interesting, because it differs very much from the ordinary monuments of the Mahomedans. Instead of handsome cupolas and minarets, it consists of a moderate sized tower, rising from an octagon building; the tower has a considerable resemblance to those of the Hindoo temples. In the interior stand three plainly built tombs, in one of which the queen is buried; in the other two, relations of the royal family. The whole is constructed of bricks, and was formerly covered with handsome cement, coloured tiles, and arabesques, of which traces still remain.
Mahomedans consider all such monuments sacred; they frequently come from great distances to offer up their devotions before them. They think it equally desirable to erect a burial-place near such a monument, which they show with pride to their friends and relations. Round this monument there were large spaces covered with tombs.
On the return from this monument, I went a little out of my way to see that part of the town which had fallen into ruins, and been desolated by the last plague. Herr Swoboda, an Hungarian, gave me a dreadful picture of the state of the town at that time. He had shut himself closely up with his family and a maid servant, and being well furnished with provisions, received nothing from outside but fresh water. He carefully plastered up the doors and windows, and no one was allowed to go out upon the terraces, or, indeed, into the air at all.
These precautions were the means of preserving his whole family in health, while many died in the neighbouring houses. It was impossible to bury all the dead, and the bodies were left to decompose where they died. After the plague had ceased, the Arabs of the desert made their appearance for the purpose of robbing and plundering. They found an easy spoil, for they penetrated without resistance into the empty houses, or without difficulty overpowered the few enfeebled people who remained. Herr Swoboda, among the rest, was obliged to make an agreement with the Arabs, and pay tribute.
I was glad to leave this melancholy place, and directed my steps towards some of the pleasant gardens, of which there are great numbers in and round Baghdad. None of these gardens, however, are artificial; they consist simply of a thick wood of fruit-trees, of all species (dates, apple, apricot, peach, fig, mulberry, and other trees), surrounded by a brick wall. There is, unfortunately, neither order nor cleanliness observed, and there are neither grass plots nor beds of flowers, and not a single good path; but there is a considerable number of canals, as it is necessary to substitute artificial watering for rain and dew.
I made two long excursions from Baghdad; one to the ruins of Ctesiphon, the other to those of Babylon. The former are eighteen, the latter sixty miles distant from Baghdad. On both occasions, Major Rawlinson provided me with good Arabian horses, and a trusty servant.
I was obliged to make the journey to Ctesiphon and back again in one day, to avoid passing the night in the desert; and, indeed, had to accomplish it between sunrise and sunset, as it is the custom in Baghdad, as in all Turkish towns, to close the gates towards sunset, and to give up the keys to the governor. The gates are again opened at sunrise.
My considerate hostess would have persuaded me to take a quantity of provisions with me; but my rule in travelling is to exclude every kind of superfluity. Wherever I am certain to find people living, I take no eatables with me, for I can content myself with whatever they live upon; if I do not relish their food, it is a sign that I have not any real hunger, and I then fast until it becomes so great that any kind of dish is acceptable. I took nothing with me but my leathern water flask, and even this was unnecessary, as we frequently passed creeks of the Tigris, and sometimes the river itself, although the greater part of the road lay through the desert.
About half-way, we crossed the river Dhyalah in a large boat. On the other side of the stream, several families, who live in huts on the bank, subsist by renting the ferry. I was so fortunate as to obtain here some bread and buttermilk, with which I refreshed myself. The ruins of Ctesiphon may already be seen from this place, although they are still nine miles distant. We reached them in three hours and a half.