But I must add that truth, or correct information on any subject, seems unattainable in the East generally. Moreover, this people disliked the Turks, and had become so accustomed to misgovernment, that any rumour in that direction found ready credence. They believed in no promises or professions of justice in any department whatever. Except in the Prophet, they individually seemed to believe in nothing but bakshish, and measured by the same rule every act of their Governor, from his appointment of a district Pasha to the avenging the poor widow of her adversary, or even to his protecting the lives of any number of Arabs, unless indeed under the protection of some of the religious sects or foreign consuls. The country appeared ripe for a change, and any change would, I think, be popular. The whole anxiety of the Porte now seems to be to avoid giving offence to foreign Powers, and to raise sufficient taxes for the Government. Improvement, therefore, is not to be looked for.
Damascus is rich in manufactures of silk, wool, and cotton, and gold and silver work. Its once famous steel “Damascus blades” are now only a myth, the secret of their manufacture having been lost. The work of the looms is excellent, but seems very far from uniformly so. Silk “Damasks” (the name, I presume, is given by “Damascus”), in manifold rich designs, differing from those both of Cashmere and Cairo, are the leading tissues, and gold and silver threads are largely introduced into some of them. The colours of the dyes are generally remarkably fine. I find that the green shade in a dragoman’s striped silk kerchief which I brought home, is as fine seen with gaslight as in that of the sun. The dresses of the men, especially the silk shawls or kerchiefs for the head and waist and the slippers for the feet, and even the saddles of the horses, have an extremely rich effect—altogether out of keeping with their general condition otherwise.
We witnessed the arrival of the royal cavalcade of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg travelling from Jerusalem overland. The Duke, his Duchess, I presume, and the Syrian Governor, were in an open carriage, and Damascus showed in its holiday attire. The crowds had some difficulty in keeping orderly, the streets being narrow avenues or lanes. The Turkish troops are not exactly like our 72nd, and the irregular cavalry are certainly described by their name, but they had stood in waiting some seven hours exposed to the hot sun.
On the whole the scene was rather showy, and the mien and bearing of the Arab population was fine. Although by no means commendable in detail, their general appearance was far superior to that of an English crowd, and, while free of awkwardness or vulgarity, was really picturesque. Females are seldom seen, but—fortunately for us—an unusual number of them were on this occasion abroad. Dressed generally in large pure white robes, with faces wholly or partially covered with an ugly coloured kerchief, they looked like so many ghosts. No doubt glances are occasionally obtained, and on that gala day I saw a few good faces; but the popular idea of Eastern beauties is, in England, one of the many Oriental romances which a journey sadly dispels. The boys and very young girls have generally fine eyes; but, as in Egypt, most of the adult females looked as if they had sore eyes or squinted, while many of the men there as well as in Egypt seemed blind of one eye.
This city is intensely Moslem. There are a number of Jews of very ancient Damascus settlers, having eight or ten small synagogues, and who have maintained their distinct nationality for many centuries. They are more willingly tolerated than the Greeks, Roman Catholics, and other Christian sects, who have all churches in the city, but are not numerous, or locally influential, and are tolerated only by protection of the Western Powers. The great Mosque is one of the largest in Turkey. On entering, we of course had taken off our shoes, and wore instead red Morocco slippers (as usual much too large for easy walking), which we had borrowed from an adjoining stall for a trifling consideration. I had removed my white travelling hat quite inadvertently—perhaps feeling warm—forgetting at the moment that I was not entering a church but a Mosque, and that no greater insult can be offered a Moslem than uncovering the head in their “holy places.” Braham was behind me, and with more haste than ceremony he instantly seized and replaced the hat on my head, whispering that it was fortunate no Moslem had observed what, he said, would certainly have been resented as an intentional insult by the English infidel. This is probably true, for almost everywhere in Mahomedan countries, and especially about the Mosques, one meets with scowling faces and fierce vindictive glances. The Mosque is a range of buildings surrounding a large open quadrangle. The floors are of marble, covered with rich Persian carpets of great thickness. The Mosque carpets seem to be objects of special sacredness, and I suppose are brought from Mecca with great ceremony, as those for some of the Cairo Mosques at least are, and then received by a royal guard of honour in a public procession.
As usual in the great Mosques, there are many large and beautiful Corinthian columns, and the piers of the walls contain several fine specimens of various coloured marbles: in the roof are some small windows of beautiful coloured glass in small Arabesque patterns. Some portions of the buildings shown are of great antiquity, indicating that originally it had been a heathen temple, then a Christian church, and now it is a Moslem Mosque of the very strictest class. We climbed its highest minaret, from which we obtained an excellent view of the city. I was informed once more that on the opposite minaret Christ and Mahomet are to alight when they come to judge the world.
The population of the city is very variously estimated, but it appeared to contain about 150,000 inhabitants, nearly all Mahomedans, with 250 Mosques and Moslem chapels and schools. It was once an important seat of learning, but is now greatly degenerated. There are still many Arabic schools, but all education is now fostered only in connexion with their religion, which has in recent years become ultra-intolerant. Surrounding it on almost all sides are miles of trees, chiefly fruit trees, giving the appearance of a vast orchard—the olive with its dark green leaves, the oranges and lemons with their large yellow fruit, the fig, the walnut, and mulberry putting forth their leaves. The apricot and almond were in full bloom; their leaves were yet unopened, and as these trees were very numerous, the appearance in the bright sunlight was beautiful in the extreme. So richly loaded were these with blossom—almost pure white—that but for the evident incongruity they would, from a distance, have suggested a plantation just after a fall of snow!
A good many jokes have been made about “the street which is called Straight;” but it was evident to me, looking out from the lofty minaret, that it really had originally been one of the finest streets I have ever seen—long, very wide, level, and straight, running nearly east and west, and terminating in the principal gateway of the city in its east wall. This gateway is evidently of Roman architecture, but the street or roadway seems covered some five or ten feet deep with the rubbish and dust of centuries. The great street itself has been encroached upon on both sides by paltry buildings, set down without regard to either line or level. The consequence is, as Mark Twain describes it, the great street Straight is now a narrow zigzag road—although not exactly like a corkscrew—the original street being hidden, but can still be traced by the eye from certain elevated points such as this, and Mahomet’s Tower hill on the north-west of the city. Outside this eastern gate is an immense mound of earth or rubbish, as high as the walls, and already almost blocking up the entrance into the gate. This is the ever-increasing rubbish of the city, which here is ordered outside the walls, but not a foot more is it carried than absolutely required to meet the letter of the law—Turkish all over!
The walls show three distinct eras in their history. The oldest parts may be the foundations, which, however, are not exposed, but the lower portions above ground are, as well as portions of the gates, evidently Roman, over which, and including the towers, is Arabic work of their best days, and now the upper portions are Turkish.
We stood on the road, west of the city, pointed out as the spot of Saul’s conversion. The house of Judas, where he received his sight, and that part of the walls from which he was let down in a basket are also pointed out. Possibly they are correct as to mere locality, but, as usual in almost every such case, the materialistic part of the story is in point of age sadly at variance with the historical, and so both can scarcely be affirmed. There is a tree sometimes called a cedar, but it seems a sycamore, of very large size and very old, growing in one of the streets, which it almost blocks up. Of course it will not compare with the Cedars of Lebanon, but seemed more than thirty-five feet in circumference, and was partially hollow by decay. Many of the gardens in the suburbs are enclosed by walls, made of concrete taken from the roads, and shaped in wood moulds of the simplest construction, which the sun soon dries. Many also have hedges of the large cactus or prickly pear plant: these have a singular appearance, but form an efficient fence.