Letters from Palestine / Written during a residence there in the years 1836, 7 and 8

by J. D. Paxton

I was struck with the great contrast between the outside of the houses and the appearance within. Without all looked old, rusty, and ready to fall to pieces; but within there was often a richness and beauty in the marble pavements, the gilded ceiling, and fanciful carvings, that was striking. To what this may be owing I know not. Possibly, in part to avoid the oppressive exactions which all through these lands is apt to follow the track of wealth, or the outward show of it.

Noticing that the roofs and upper parts of many houses were greatly injured, and sadly in need of repairs, I inquired, and learned that last winter was one of very great severity at Damascus,—that an unusual quantity of snow fell, and by its weight did great injury to the houses. Their mode of building is not adapted for durability. Their mud walls do not well stand the rainy season, however they may abide the dry. The wood they use for joists, and for supporting their flat mud roofs, is in great part the Lombardy poplar and willow, which is their most abundant growth, except perhaps the mulberry. This wood they put in, full of sap, bark and all, and of course in a few years it must rot, and fall out of its place. When it is entirely defended from the air and moisture, it may last some time, but when, as in most cases, it is almost entirely exposed to both, no marvel if the house needs repairing nearly every year; and this I am told is not uncommon.

The bazaars or streets, where the stores and shops are placed, are generally covered over, so as to exclude the sun. The streets not being more than ten or fifteen feet wide on an average, a roof is thrown across, at ten, fifteen, or twenty feet above—not a very close roof, but one that keeps out the sun, but lets the air have more or less circulation. All through these countries there is a great care to procure a shade from the scorching rays of the sun; for this purpose the streets are made narrow, and in many places are covered, so that those who pass may have shade. This narrowness of the streets, and the covering of them, does, it is true, give a closeness to them, and operates against a free circulation of the air; but this is supposed to be compensated, in part at least, by the protection they give from the direct action of the sun.

I was taken to the house, as was said, where Ananias dwelt. It is a kind of cellar,—a poor, miserable place; and I am sure that so good a man deserved a more comfortable residence. I doubt altogether whether it was his house. But I did not judge it worth while discussing the matter with the Catholic priests, who claim the ownership of it, and show it. I also went to see the window through which Paul is said to have been let down in a basket. It is over one of the gates. I had as little faith in this as the other. There is indeed, I think, strong evidence against it. I did not go out to the spot at which Paul is said to have been converted. The day was hot, the distance considerable, and nothing marked the place. There is a thousand chances to one against it being the real place.

The population of Damascus is not certainly known. From all I could learn from several resident Franks, it may be 125,000; and in the one hundred and seventy-three villages which lie round Damascus there may be an equal number. A gentleman who has paid some attention to the matter, and has been some time a resident in the country, supposes the population of all Syria to be about one million and a half. The chief data used in forming the estimate is the number of men, the heads of families, who pay the tax levied on such. They are about 25,000 in Damascus, and may form one-fifth of the population. This, at least, gives an approximation—the best we have when no census is taken. The majority of the population is Mohammedans, but the proportion I either did not get, or have forgotten it. There are a few Jews, and some of all the various sects of Christians found in these regions.

Damascus has long been considered by the Mohammedans as one of their sacred cities; and it is not many years since when their bigotry was so great that Christians had to use much caution to avoid its outbreakings. There is a great change in this respect. Christians may now go about with little danger. We rode repeatedly through the crowded bazaars, and no one appeared to take the least offence; and generally gave their salaam with indications of kindness. Still, it will sometimes show itself. It is not long since that Mr. Calman, a Jewish missionary, when engaged in selling the Scriptures, was taken up by the bigoted Mohammedans, and for a time feared that he might be put to trouble, but was released without much difficulty.

The main, if not the only river which waters the part of the plain where Damascus stands, is the Bareda. It rises near Zebdane. We followed its course, as I have before informed you, until it entered the plain. There it is divided into three parts, which are led at a distance from each other for the purpose of watering the plain. From these channels a multitude of smaller ones are led in all directions, so that every part of the plain within reach of the water may, from time to time, receive its life-giving influence. The main channel passes through or near the city, and its waters are carried by pipes to every part of it.

To the south and south-east other streams are said to enter and flow through the plain; but we did not visit those parts. They must be small streams. Indeed the Bareda is a small stream. It would with us be called a good mill stream. We would rather term it a creek than a river. It is mostly confined in a channel of eight or ten yards wide, and then may be waded without coming above the knee. Much of the water of these rivers is exhausted in irrigation. They flow east, and after rendering a noble plain very fertile and productive for twenty or thirty miles, form a lake or marsh—they have no outlet. I wished much to ride eastward through this plain and see the country about the lake, but the time of the year and other causes prevented.

It was the sickly season, and there was much sickness in Damascus. Visiting the city at such a time was not classed with a high degree of prudence and caution, while to have spent a week or so in exploring the plain, and visiting the many villages along the Bareda, would have been considered almost madness—a tempting of Providence. I therefore spent but one night and two days in Damascus, and then hurried back to the high ground on the great mountain of Lebanon—not, however, without a lingering purpose that when the heats of summer are passed, I may take Damascus in my route again, and see more of its wide-spread plains, and thickly-planted villages.

The whole country east of Damascus, on the Euphrates, is, I am told, much like what I have seen in the part already passed over. As a general thing, it is wholly destitute of trees and even bushes—and during the summer there is but little verdure; much of it is covered with sand. There are, however, spots where water is found, and at all these vegetation is produced. Where these spots are of any size there are villages, and man contrives to live. These green spots are like small islands scattered over the face of the ocean, and may be found all the way to the Euphrates, and down that stream past Bagdad to the gulf.