This ebook was prepared by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.

VISIT TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT, AND ITALY

By Madame Ida Pfeiffer.

Translated from the German by H. W. Dulcken.

PREFACE BY THE VIENNA PUBLISHER

For two centuries the princes and nations of the West were accustomed
to wander towards the land of the morning.  In vain was the noblest
blood poured forth in streams in the effort to wrest the country of
our heavenly Teacher from the grasp of the infidel; and though the Christian
Europe of the present day forbears to renew a struggle which, considering
the strength that has been gradually increasing for the last six hundred
years, might prove an easy one, we cannot wonder that millions of the
votaries of Christianity should cherish an earnest longing to wander
in the paths the Redeemer has trod, and to view with their own eyes
the traces of the Saviour’s progress from the cradle to the grave.

In the generality of cases, however, the hardships, dangers, and
difficulties of such a journey were sufficient to overthrow the bravest
resolution; and thus the wishes of the majority remained unfulfilled.

Few men were found to possess the degree of strength and endurance
requisite for the carrying out of such an undertaking; but that a delicate
lady of the higher classes, a native of Vienna, should have the heroism
to do what thousands of men failed to achieve, seemed almost incredible.

In her earliest youth she earnestly desired to perform this journey;
descriptions of the Holy Land were perused by her with peculiar interest,
and a book of Eastern travel had more charms for her than the most glowing
accounts of Paris or London.

It was not, however, until our Authoress had reached a riper age,
and had finished the education of her sons, that she succeeded in carrying
into effect the ardent aspiration of her youth.

On the 2d of March, 1842, she commenced her journey alone, without
companions, but fully prepared to bear every ill, to bid defiance to
every danger, and to combat every difficulty.  That this undertaking
should have succeeded may almost be looked upon as a wonder.

Far from desiring publicity, she merely kept a diary, in order to
retain the recollections of her tour during her later life, and to impart
to her nearest relatives the story of her fortunes.  Every evening,
though often greatly exhausted with heat, thirst, and the hardships
of travel, she never failed to make notes in pencil of the occurrences
of the day, frequently using a sand-mound or the back of a camel as
a table, while the other members of the caravan lay stretched around
her, completely tired out.

It was in the house of my friend Halm that I first heard of this
remarkable woman, at a time when she had not yet completed her journey;
and every subsequent account of Madame Pfeiffer increased my desire
to make her acquaintance.

In manners and appearance I found her to resemble many other women
who have distinguished themselves by fortitude, firmness of soul, and
magnanimity; and who are in private life the most simple and unaffected,
the most modest, and consequently also the most agreeable of beings.

My request to read our Authoress’s journal was granted with
some timidity; and I am ready to assert that seldom has a book so irresistibly
attracted me, or so completely fixed my attention from beginning to
end, as this.

The simple and unadorned relation of facts, the candour, combined
with strong sound sense, which appear throughout, might put to shame
the bombastic striving after originality of many a modern author. 
The scheme and execution of the work are complete and agreeable; strict
truth shines forth from every page, and no one can doubt but that so
pure and noble a mind must see things in a right point of view. 
This circumstance is sufficient in itself to raise the book above many
descriptions of travel to the Holy Land, whose authors, trusting to
the fact that their assertions could not easily be disproved, have indulged
their fancy, seeking to impart interest to their works by the relation
of imaginary dangers, and by exaggeration of every kind, for the sake
of gaining praise and admiration.  Many such men might blush with
shame on reading this journal of a simple, truth-loving woman.

After much trouble I succeeded in persuading the Authoress to allow
her journal to appear in print.

My efforts were called forth by the desire to furnish the reading
public, and particularly the female portion, with a very interesting
and attractive, and at the same time a strictly authentic picture of
the Holy Land, and of Madame Pfeiffer’s entire journey.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.      Departure from Vienna—Scene
on board the steamer—Hainburg—Presburg—The “Coronation-mount”—Pesth—Ofen—The
steamer Galata—Mohäcs—The fortress Peterwardein—Discomfort
and bad management on board the steamer—Semlin—Belgrade—Pancsova—Austrian
soldiers—The rock Babakay—Drenkova—Falls of Danube—Alt-Orsova—The
“Iron Gate”—Cattle-breeding—Callafat—Vexatious
delay

CHAPTER II.     Giurgewo—Interior of the
town—Braila—Sanitary precautions—Galatz—Scarcity
of good water—Ridiculous fear of the plague—The steamer
Ferdinand—Entrance into the Black Sea—Stormy weather
and sea-sickness—Arrival at Constantinople—Picturesque appearance
of the city—Mosques—The dancing Dervishes—The Sultan
and his barge—Pera—The great and little Campo—Wild
dogs—Dirty state of the streets—Preparations in case of
fire

CHAPTER III.    Scutari—Kaiks—The howling
Dervishes—The Achmaidon, or place of arrows—The tower in
Galata—The bazaar at Constantinople—Mosques—Slave-market—The
old Serail—The Hippodrome—Coffee-houses—Story-tellers—Excursion
to Ejub—Houses, theatres, and carriages

CHAPTER IV.     Walks and drives of the townspeople—The
“Sweet Waters”—Chalcedonia—Baluklid—The
great and little Campo—Feasts in Constantinople—Anniversary
of Mahomet’s death—Easter holydays of the Greeks—Gladiators
and wrestlers—Excursion to Brussa—Olive-trees—Mosques
at Brussa—Stone bridge—Wild dogs—Baths and mineral
springs—Return to Constantinople

CHAPTER V.      Contradictory reports—Departure
from Constantinople on board the Archduke John—Scene on
the steamer—Galipoli—The Dardanelles—Tschenekalesi
and Kilidil Bahar—The field of Troy—Tenedos—Smyrna—Halizar—The
date-palm—Burnaba—The Acropolis—Female beauty—Rhodes—Strong
fortifications—Deserted appearance of the town—Cyprus

CHAPTER VI.     Arrival at Beyrout—Fellahs—Backsheesh—Uncomfortable
quarters—Saida—Tyre—St. Jean d’Acre—Cæsarea—Excursion
among the ruins—Jaffa—An Eastern family—The Indian
fig-tree—An Oriental dinner—Costume of the women of Jaffa—Oppressive
heat—Gnats—Ramla—Syrian convents—Bedouins and
Arabs—Kariet el Areb, or Emmaus—The scheikh—Arrival
at Jerusalem

CHAPTER VII.    Residence at Jerusalem—Catholic
church—The “Nuova Casa”—Via dolorosa—Pilate’s
house—The Mosque Omar—Herod’s house—Church of
the Holy Sepulchre—Disturbances at the Greek Easter feasts—Knights
of the Holy Sepulchre—Mount of Olives—Adventure among the
ruins—Mount of Offence—Valley of Jehosaphat—Siloam—Mount
Sion—Jeremiah’s Grotto—Graves

CHAPTER VIII.   Bethlehem—Rachel’s grave—Convent
at Bethlehem—Beggars—Grotto of the Nativity—Solomon’s
cisterns—St. John’s—Franciscan church at Jerusalem—Mourning
women—Eastern weddings—Mish-mish—Excursion to the
Jordan and the Dead Sea—Wilderness near Jerusalem—Convent
of St. Saba

CHAPTER IX.     Ride through the wilderness to
the Dead Sea—The Dead Sea—The river Jordan—Horde of
Bedouins—Arab horses—The Sultan’s well—Bivouac
in the open air—Return to Jerusalem—Bethany—Departure
from Jerusalem—Jacob’s grave—Nablus or Sichem—Sebasta—Costume
of Samaritan woman—Plain of Esdralon—Sagun

CHAPTER X.      Arrival at Nazareth—Franciscan
convent—Tabarith—Mount Tabor—Lake of Gennesareth—Baths—Mount
Carmel—Grotto of the prophet Elijah—Acre—The pacha’s
harem—Oriental women—Their listlessness and ignorance—Sur
or Tyre

CHAPTER XI.     River Mishmir—Saida—Arnauts—Desert-path—Residence
of Lady Hester Stanhope—Beyrout—The consul’s—Uncomfortable
quarters—Sickness—The Bazaar—Vexatious delays—Departure
from Beyrout—Beautiful views—Syrian costumes—Damascus—Aspect
of the city—House of the consul

CHAPTER XII.    The bazaar at Damascus—The khan—Grotto
of St. Paul—Fanaticism of the inhabitants—Departure from
Damascus—The desert—Military escort—Heliopolis or
Balbeck—Stupendous ruins—Continuation of our voyage through
the desert—The plague—The Lebanon range—Cedar-trees—Druses
and Maronites—Importunate beggars—Thievish propensities
of the Arabs

CHAPTER XIII.   The Lebanon—Druses and Maronites—Illness
of Herr Sattler—Djebel or Byblus—Rocky passes—Dog’s-river—Return
to Beyrout—Sickness—Departure for Alexandria—Roguery
of the captain—Disagreeables on board—Limasol—Alarm
of pirates—Cowardice of the crew—Arrival at Alexandria

CHAPTER XIV.    Alexandria—Keeping quarantine—Want
of arrangement in the quarantine-house—Bad water—Fumigating
of the rooms—Release—Aspect of the city—Departure
by boat for Atfé—Mehemet Ali—Arrival at Atfé—Excellence
of the Nile water—Good-nature of the Arab women—The Delta
of the Nile—The Libyan desert—The pyramids—Arrival
at Cairo

CHAPTER XV.     Cairo—Quarrel with the
captain—Rapacity of the beggars—The custom-house—The
consulate—Aspect of Cairo—Narrow and crowded streets—Costumes—The
mad-house—Disgusting exhibition—Joseph’s well—Palace
of Mehemet Ali—Dates—Mosques at Cairo—Excursion to
the pyramids of Gizeh—Gizeh—Eggs hatched by artificial heat—Ascent
of the pyramids—The sphynx—Return to Cairo

CHAPTER XVI.    Christian churches at Cairo—The
Esbekie-square—Theatre—Howling dervishes—Mashdalansher,
the birthday of Mahomet—Procession and religious ceremony—Shubra—Excursion
through the desert to Suez—Hardships of the journey—Scenes
in the desert—The camel—Caravans—Mirage—The
Red Sea—Suez—Bedouin Camp—Quarrel with the camel-driver—Departure
for Alexandria

CHAPTER XVII.   Return to Alexandria—Egyptian burials—Catacombs
of Alexandria—Viceroy’s palace—Departure from Alexandria—The
steamer Eurotas—Candia—Syra—Paros and Antiparos—The
Morea—Fire on board—Malta—Quarantine—St. Augustine’s
church—Clergymen—Beggars—Costumes—Soldiers—Civita
Vecchia

CHAPTER XVIII.  The steamer Hercules—Syracuse—Neapolis—Ruins—Catanea—Convent
of St. Nicholas—Messina—The Duke of Calabria—Palermo—The
royal palace—Church of St. Theresa—St. Ignazio—Catacombs
of the Augustine convent—Skeletons—Olivuzza—Royal
villa “Favorite”—St. Rosalia—Brutality of the
Italian mob—Luxuriant vegetation—Arrival at Naples

CHAPTER XIX.    Sojourn at Naples—Sickness—Laziness
of the people—Royal palace—Rotunda—Strada Chiaga and
Toledo—St. Carlo Theatre—Largo del Castello—Medina
Square—Marionettes—St. Jesu Nuovo—St. Jesu Maggiore—St.
Maria di Piedigrotta—Public gardens—Academy “degli
Studii”—Cathedral of St. Januarius—St. Jeronimi—St.
Paula Maggiore—St. Chiara—Baths of Nero—Solfatara—Grotto
“del Cane”—Resina—Ascent of Vesuvius—Caserta

CHAPTER XX.     Caserta—Costume of the
peasants—Rome—Piazza del Popolo—Dogana—St. Peter’s—Palaces—Borghese,
Barberini, Colonna, etc.—Churches—Ancient Rome—The
Colliseum—Departure for Florence—Bad weather—Picturesque
scenery—Siena—Florence—Cathedral and palaces—Departure
from Florence—Bologna—Ferrara—Conclusion

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

1.  JERUSALEM

2.  NAZARETH

3.  CHURCHYARD AT SCUTARI

4.  THE DEAD SEA

5.  MOUNT CARMEL

6.  LEBANON

7.  BALBECK

8.  ISTHMUS OF SUEZ

CHAPTER I.

Departure from Vienna—Scene on board the steamer—Hainburg—Presburg—The
“Coronation-mount”—Pesth—Ofen—The steamer
Galata—Mohäcs—The fortress Peterwardein—Discomfort
and bad management on board the steamer—Semlin—Belgrade—Pancsova—Austrian
soldiers—The rock Babakay—Drenkova—Falls of the Danube—Alt-Orsova—The
“Iron Gate”—Cattle-breeding—Callafat—Vexatious
delay.

I had for years cherished the wish to undertake a journey to the
Holy Land; years are, indeed, required to familiarise one with the idea
of so hazardous an enterprise.  When, therefore, my domestic arrangements
at length admitted of my absence for at least a year, my chief employment
was to prepare myself for this journey.  I read many works bearing
on the subject, and was moreover fortunate enough to make the acquaintance
of a gentleman who had travelled in the Holy Land some years before. 
I was thus enabled to gain much oral information and advice respecting
the means of prosecuting my dangerous pilgrimage.

My friends and relations attempted in vain to turn me from my purpose
by painting, in the most glowing colours, all the dangers and difficulties
which await the traveller in those regions.  “Men,”
they said, “were obliged gravely to consider if they had physical
strength to endure the fatigues of such a journey, and strength of mind
bravely to face the dangers of the plague, the climate, the attacks
of insects, bad diet, etc.  And to think of a woman’s venturing
alone, without protection of any kind, into the wide world, across sea
and mountain and plain,—it was quite preposterous.” 
This was the opinion of my friends.

I had nothing to advance in opposition to all this but my firm unchanging
determination.  My trust in Providence gave me calmness and strength
to set my house in every respect in order.  I made my will, and
arranged all my worldly affairs in such a manner that, in the case of
my death (an event which I considered more probable than my safe return),
my family should find every thing perfectly arranged.

And thus, on the 22d of March 1842, I commenced my journey from Vienna.

At one o’clock in the afternoon I drove to the Kaisermühlen
(Emperor’s Mills), from which place the steamboats start for Pesth. 
I was joyfully surprised by the presence of several of my relations
and friends, who wished to say farewell once more.  The parting
was certainly most bitter, for the thought involuntarily obtruded itself,
“Should we ever meet again in this world?”

Our mournful meditations were in some degree disturbed by a loud
dispute on board the vessel.  At the request of a gentleman present,
one of the passengers was compelled, instead of flying, as he had intended,
with bag and baggage to Hungary, to return to Vienna in company of the
police.  It appeared he owed the gentleman 1300 florins, and had
wished to abscond, but was luckily overtaken before the departure of
the boat.  This affair was hardly concluded when the bell rang,
the wheels began to revolve, and too soon, alas, my dear ones were out
of sight!

I had but few fellow-passengers.  The weather was indeed fine
and mild; but the season was not far enough advanced to lure travellers
into the wide world, excepting men of business, and those who had cosmopolitan
ideas, like myself.  Most of those on board were going only to
Presburg, or at farthest to Pesth.  The captain having mentioned
that a woman was on board who intended travelling to Constantinople,
I was immediately surrounded by curious gazers.  A gentleman who
was bound to the same port stepped forward, and offered his services
in case I should ever stand in need of them; he afterwards frequently
took me under his protection.

The fine mild weather changed to cold and wind as we got fairly out
into the great Danube.  I wrapped myself in my cloak, and remained
on deck, in order to see the scenery between Vienna and Presburg, which,
no doubt, appears lovely enough when nature is clad in the garment of
spring; but now I only saw leafless trees and fallow ground—a
dreary picture of winter.

Hainburg with its old castle on a rock, Theben with its remarkable
fortress, and farther on the large free city of Presburg, have all a
striking appearance.

In three hours’ time we reached Presburg, and landed in the
neighbourhood of the Coronation-hill, an artificial mound, on which
the king must stand in his royal robes, and brandish his sword towards
the four quarters of the heavens, as a token that he is ready to defend
his kingdom against all enemies, from whatever direction they may approach. 
Not far from this hill is situate the handsome inn called the “Two
Green Trees,” where the charges are as high, if not higher, than
in Vienna.  Until we have passed Pesth, passengers going down the
river are not allowed to remain on board through the night.

March 23d.

This morning we continued our journey at six o’clock. 
Immediately below Presburg the Danube divides into two arms, forming
the fertile island of Schütt, which is about forty-six miles long
and twenty-eight in breadth.  Till we reach Gran the scenery is
monotonous enough, but here it improves.  Beautiful hills and several
mountains surround the place, imparting a charm of variety to the landscape.

In the evening, at about seven o’clock, we arrived at Pesth. 
Unfortunately it was already quite dark.  The magnificent houses,
or rather palaces, skirting the left bank of the Danube, and the celebrated
ancient fortress and town of Ofen on the right, form a splendid spectacle,
and invite the traveller to a longer sojourn.  As I had passed
some days at Pesth several years before, I now only stayed there for
one night.

As the traveller must change steamers here, it behoves him to keep
a careful eye upon the luggage he has not delivered up at the office
in Vienna.

I put up at the “Hunting-horn,” a fine hotel, but ridiculously
expensive.  A little back room cost me 45 kreutzers (about one
shilling and eightpence) for one night.

The whole day I had felt exceedingly unwell.  A violent headache,
accompanied by nausea and fever, made me fear the approach of a fit
of illness which would interrupt my journey.  These symptoms were
probably a consequence of the painful excitement of parting with my
friends, added to the change of air.  With some difficulty I gained
my modest chamber, and immediately went to bed.  My good constitution
was luckily proof against the attacks of all enemies, and waking the
next morning, on

March 24th,

in tolerable health, I betook myself on board our new steamboat the
Galata, of sixty-horse power: this boat did not, however, appear
to me so tidy and neat as the Marianna, in which we had proceeded
from Vienna to Pesth.  Our journey was a rapid one; at ten o’clock
in the morning we were already at Feldvär, a place which seems
at a distance to be of some magnitude, but which melts away like a soap-bubble
on a nearer approach.  By two o’clock we had reached Paks;
here, as at all other places of note, we stopped for a quarter of an
hour.  A boat rows off from the shore, bringing and fetching back
passengers with such marvellous speed, that you have scarcely finished
the sentence you are saying to your neighbour before he has vanished. 
There is no time even to say farewell.

At about eight o’clock in the evening we reached the market-town
of Mohäcs, celebrated as the scene of two battles.  The fortress
here is used as a prison for criminals.  We could distinguish nothing
either of the fortress or the town.  It was already night when
we arrived, and at two o’clock in the morning of

March 25th

we weighed anchor.  I was assured, however, that I had lost
nothing by this haste.

Some hours afterwards, our ship suddenly struck with so severe a
shock, that all hastened on deck to see what was the matter.  Our
steersman, who had most probably been more asleep than awake, had given
the ship an unskilful turn, in consequence of which, one of the paddles
was entangled with some trunks of trees projecting above the surface
of the water.  The sailors hurried into the boats, the engine was
backed, and after much difficulty we were once more afloat.

Stopping for a few moments at Dalina and Berkara, we passed the beautiful
ruin of Count Palffy’s castle at about two o’clock. 
The castle of Illok, situate on a hill, and belonging to Prince Odescalchi,
presents a still more picturesque appearance.

At about four o’clock we landed near the little free town of
Neusatz, opposite the celebrated fortress of Peterwardein, the outworks
of which extend over a tongue of land stretching far out into the Danube. 
Of the little free town of Neusatz we could not see much, hidden as
it is by hills which at this point confine the bed of the river. 
The Danube is here crossed by a bridge of boats, and this place also
forms the military boundary of Austria.  The surrounding landscape
appeared sufficiently picturesque; the little town of Karlowitz, lying
at a short distance from the shore, among hills covered with vineyards,
has a peculiarly good effect.  Farther on, however, as far as Semlin,
the scenery is rather monotonous.  Here the Danube already spreads
itself out to a vast breadth, resembling rather a lake than a river.

At nine o’clock at night we reached the city of Semlin, in
the vicinity of which we halted.  Semlin is a fortified place,
situated at the junction of the Save with the Danube; it contains 13,000
inhabitants, and is the last Austrian town on the right bank of the
Danube.

On approaching Semlin, a few small cannons were fired off on board
our boat.  Unfortunately the steward did not receive notice of
this event early enough to allow of his opening the windows, consequently
one was shattered: this was a serious misfortune for us, as the temperature
had sunk to zero, and all the landscape around was covered with snow. 
Before leaving Vienna, the cabin stove had been banished from its place,
as the sun had sent forth its mild beams for a few days, and a continuance
of the warm weather was rashly relied on.  On the whole, I would
not advise any traveller to take a second-class berth on board a steamer
belonging to the Viennese company.  A greater want of order than
we find in these vessels could scarcely be met with.  The traveller
whose funds will not permit of his paying first-class fare will do better
to content himself with a third-class, i.e. a deck-passage, particularly
if he purposes journeying no farther than Mohäcs.  If the
weather is fine, it is more agreeable to remain on deck, watching the
panorama of the Danube as it glides past.  Should the day be unfavourable,
the traveller can go, without ceremony, into the second-class cabin,
for no one makes a distinction between the second and third-class places. 
During the daytime, at any rate, it is quite as agreeable to remain
on deck as to venture below.  Travelling down the river from Pesth,
the women are compelled to pass the night in the same cabin with the
men; an arrangement as uncomfortable as it is indecorous.  I afterwards
had some experience of steamers belonging to the Austrian Lloyds, on
whose vessels I always found a proper separation of the two sexes, and
a due regard for the comfort of second-class passengers.

The cold was so severe, that we would gladly have closed every window,
but for the close atmosphere engendered by the number of poor people,
mostly Jews, who form the larger portion of passengers on board a Hungarian
steamer.  When the weather is unfavourable, these men are accustomed
to hasten from their third-class places to those of the second class,
where their presence renders it immediately desirable to open every
outlet for purposes of ventilation.  What the traveller has to
endure on board these vessels would scarcely be believed.  Uncushioned
benches serve for seats by day and for beds by night.  A separation
of the two sexes is nowhere attempted, not even on board the Ferdinand,
in which you enter the Black Sea, and are exposed to the merciless attacks
of sea-sickness.

Considering the high rate of passage-money demanded on this journey,
I really think the traveller might expect better accommodation. 
The first-class to Constantinople costs 120 florins, {23}
the second 85 florins, exclusive of provisions, and without reckoning
the hotel expenses at Presburg.

March 26th.

Last night was not a period of rest, but of noise for us travellers. 
Not one of us could close his eyes.

Semlin is a place of considerable importance as a commercial town:
above 180 cwt. of goods were unloaded here from our vessel; and in exchange
we took on board coals, wood, and wares of various descriptions. 
The damaged wheel, too, had to be repaired; and every thing was done
with so much crashing and noise, that we almost imagined the whole steamer
was coming to pieces.  Added to this, the cold wind drove in continually
through the broken pane, and made the place a real purgatory to us. 
At length, at six o’clock in the morning, we got afloat once more. 
One advantage, however, resulted from this fortuitous stoppage: we had
a very good view of Belgrade, a town of 20,000 inhabitants, situate
opposite to Semlin.  It is the first Turkish fortified city in
Servia.

The aspect of Belgrade is exceedingly beautiful.  The fortifications
extend upwards on a rock from the Danube in the form of steps. 
The city itself, with its graceful minarets, lies half a mile farther
inland.  Here I saw the first mosques and minarets.  The mosques,
as far as I could observe from the steamer, are built in a circular
form, not very high, and surmounted by a cupola flanked by one or two
minarets, a kind of high round pillar.  The loftiest among these
buildings is the palace of Prince Milosch.  From this point our
voyage becomes very interesting, presenting a rich and varied succession
of delightful landscape-views.  The river is hemmed in on either
side by mountains, until it spreads itself forth free and unrestrained,
in the neighbourhood of Pancsova, to a breadth of 800 fathoms.

Pancsova, on the left bank of the Danube, in the territory of Banata,
is a military station.

As the stoppages are only for a few moments, little opportunity is
afforded of seeing the interior of the towns, or of visiting most of
the places at which we touch.  At such times all is hurry and confusion;
suddenly the bell rings, the planks are withdrawn, and the unlucky stranger
who has loitered on board for a few moments is obliged to proceed with
us to the next station.

At Neusatz this happened to a servant, in consequence of his carrying
his master’s luggage into the cabin instead of merely throwing
it down on the deck.  The poor man was conveyed on to Semlin, and
had to travel on foot for a day and a half to regain his home. 
A very pleasant journey of two hours from Pancsova brought us to the
Turkish fortress Semendria, the situation of which is truly beautiful. 
The numerous angles of its walls and towers, built in the Moorish style,
impart to this place a peculiar charm.  As a rule, the Turkish
fortresses are remarkable for picturesque effect.

But the villages, particularly those on the Servian shore, had the
same poverty-stricken look I had frequently noticed in Galicia. 
Wretched clay huts, thatched with straw, lay scattered around; and far
and wide not a tree or a shrub appeared to rejoice the eye of the traveller
or of the sojourner in these parts, under the shade of which the poor
peasant might recruit his weary frame, while it would conceal from the
eye of the traveller, in some degree, the poverty and nakedness of habitations
on which no feeling mind can gaze without emotions of pity.

The left bank of the river belongs to Hungary, and is called the
“Banat;” it presents an appearance somewhat less desolate. 
Much, however, remains to be desired; and the poverty that reigns around
is here more to be wondered at, from the fact that this strip of land
is so rich in the productions of nature as to have obtained the name
of the “Garner of Hungary.”

On the Austrian side of the Danube sentries are posted at every two
or three hundred paces—an arrangement which has been imitated
by the governments on the left bank, and is carried out to the point
where the river empties itself into the Black Sea.

It would, however, be erroneous to suppose that these soldiers mount
guard in their uniforms.  They take up their positions, for a week
at a time, in their wretched tattered garments; frequently they are
barefoot, and their huts look like stables.  I entered some of
these huts to view the internal arrangements.  They could scarcely
have been more simple.  In one corner I found a hearth; in another,
an apology for a stove, clumsily fashioned out of clay.  An unsightly
hole in the wall, stopped with paper instead of glass, forms the window;
the furniture is comprised in a single wooden bench.  Whatever
the inhabitant requires in the way of provisions he must bring with
him; for this he is allowed by the government to cultivate the land.

Throughout the Russian territory the soldiers at least wear uniform.

Our journey becomes more and more charming.  Frequently the
mighty river rushes foaming and roaring past the rocks, which seem scarcely
to allow it a passage; at other times it glides serenely onwards. 
At every turn we behold new beauties, and scarcely know on which side
to turn our eager eyes.  Meanwhile the ship sails swiftly on, gliding
majestically through wildly romantic scenery.

At one o’clock in the afternoon we reached Pasiest, where there
is nothing to be seen but a large store of coals for the steamers and
a few huts.  Of the town itself nothing can be distinguished.

A couple of miles below Pasiest we enjoy an imposing spectacle. 
It is the solitary rock Babakay, rising from the midst of the waters. 
Together with the beautiful ruin Golumbacz, on the Servian shore, it
forms a magnificent view.

March 27th.

How unfortunate it is that all advantages are so seldom found combined! 
We are now travelling amid glorious scenery, which we hoped should recompense
us for the manifold discomforts we have hitherto endured; but the weather
is unpropitious.  The driving snow sends us all into the cabin. 
The Danube is so fiercely agitated by the stormy wind, that it rises
into waves like a sea.  We are suffering lamentably from cold;
unable to warm ourselves, we stand gazing ruefully at the place where
the stove stood—once upon a time.

At four o’clock we reached Drenkova without accident, but completely
benumbed: we hurried into the inn built by the steamboat company, where
we found capital fare, a warm room, and tolerably comfortable beds. 
This was the first place we had reached since leaving Pesth at which
we could thoroughly warm and refresh ourselves.

At Drenkova itself there is nothing to be seen but the inn just mentioned
and a barrack for soldiers.  We were here shewn the vessel which
was wrecked, with passengers on board, in 1839, in a journey up the
Danube.  Eight persons who happened to be in the cabin lost their
lives, and those only who were on deck were saved.

March 28th.

Early in the morning we embarked on board the Tünte,
a vessel furnished with a cabin.  The bed of the Danube is here
more and more hemmed in by mountains and rocks, so that in some places
it is not above eighty fathoms broad, and glides with redoubled swiftness
towards its goal, the Pontus Euxinus or Black Sea.

On account of the falls which it is necessary to pass, between Drenkova
and Fetislav, the steamer must be changed for a small sailing vessel. 
The voyage down the stream could indeed be accomplished without danger,
but the return would be attended with many difficulties.  The steamers,
therefore, remain behind at Drenkova, and passengers are conveyed down
the river in barks, and upwards (since the accident of 1839)
in good commodious carriages.

To-day the cold was quite as severe as it had been yesterday so that
but for the politeness of a fellow-passenger, who lent me his bunda
(great Hungarian fur), I should have been compelled to remain in the
little cabin, and should thus have missed the most interesting points
of the Danube.  As it was, however, I wrapped myself from head
to foot in the fur cloak, took my seat on a bench outside the cabin,
and had full leisure to store my memory with a succession of lovely
scenery, presenting almost the appearance of a series of lake views,
which continued equally picturesque until we had almost reached Alt-Orsova.

A couple of miles below Drenkova, near Islas, the sailors suddenly
cried, “The first fall!”  I looked up in a fever of
expectation.  The water was rising in small waves, the stream ran
somewhat faster, and a slight rushing sound was to be heard.  If
I had not been told that the Danube forms a waterfall here, I should
certainly never have suspected it to be the case.  Between Lenz
and Krems I did not find either the rocks or the power of the stream
much more formidable.  We had, however, a high tide, a circumstance
which diminishes both the danger of the journey and the sublimity of
the view.  The numerous rocky points, peering threateningly forth
at low tide, among which the steersman must pick his way with great
care, were all hidden from our sight.  We glided safely over them,
and in about twenty minutes had left the first fall behind us. 
The two succeeding falls are less considerable.

On the Austro-Wallachian side a road extends over a distance of fourteen
to sixteen miles, frequently strengthened with masonry, and at some
points hewn out of the solid rock.  In the midst of this road,
on a high wall of rock, we see the celebrated “Veteran Cave,”
one of the most impregnable points on the banks of the Danube. 
It is surrounded by redoubts, and is admirably calculated to command
the passage of the river.  This cave is said to be sufficiently
spacious to contain 500 men.  So far back as the time of the Romans
it was already used as a point of defence for the Danube.  Some
five miles below it we notice the “Trajan’s Tablet,”
hewn out of a protruding rock.

On the Turco-Servian side the masses of rock jut out so far into
the stream, that no room is left for a footway.  Here the famous
Trajan’s Road once existed.  No traces of this work remain,
save that the traveller notices, for fifteen or twenty miles, holes
cut here and there in the rock.  In these holes strong trunks of
trees were fastened; these supported the planks of which the road is
said to have been formed.

At eleven in the forenoon we reached Alt-Orsova, the last Austrian
town on the military frontier of Banata or Wallachia.  We were
obliged to remain here for half a day.

The town has rather a pretty effect, being composed mostly of new
houses.  The house belonging to the steamboat company is particularly
remarkable.  It is not, however, devoted to the accommodation of
travellers, as at Drenkova.  Here, as at Presburg and Pesth, each
passenger is required to pay for his night’s expenses,—an
arrangement which I could not help finding somewhat strange, inasmuch
as every passenger is made to pay twice; namely, for his place on the
steamer and for his room in the inn.

It was Sunday when we arrived, and I saw many people proceeding to
church.  The peasants are dressed tolerably neatly and well. 
Both men and women wear long garments of blue cloth.  The women
have on their heads large handkerchiefs of white linen, which hang down
their backs, and on their feet stout boots; the men wear round felt
hats, and sandals made of the bark of trees.

March 29th.

After having completely refreshed ourselves at the good inn called
the “Golden Stag,” we this morning embarked on a new craft,
the Saturnus, which is only covered in overhead, and is open
on all sides.

So soon as a traveller has stepped upon this vessel he is looked
upon as unclean, and may not go on shore without keeping quarantine:
an officer accompanied us as far as Galatz.

Immediately below Alt-Orsova we entirely quit the Austrian territory.

We are now brought nearer every moment to the most dangerous part
of the river, the “Iron Gate,” called by the Turks Demir
kaju.  Half an hour before we reached the spot, the rushing
sound of the water announced the perilous proximity.  Numerous
reefs of rocks here traverse the stream, and the current runs eddying
among them.

We passed this dangerous place in about fifteen minutes.  Here,
at the Iron Gate, the high tide befriended us, as it did at the former
falls.

I found these falls, and indeed almost every thing we passed, far
below the anticipations I had formed from reading descriptions, frequently
of great poetic beauty.  I wish to represent every thing as I found
it, as it appeared before my eyes; without adornment indeed, but truly.

After passing the Iron Gate we come to a village, in the neighbourhood
of which some fragments of the Trajan’s Bridge can be discerned
at low water.

The country now becomes flatter, particularly on the left bank, where
extend the immense plains of Wallachia, and the eye finds no object
on which it can rest.  On the right hand rise terrace-like rows
of hills and mountains, and the background is bounded by the sharply-defined
lines of the Balkan range, rendered celebrated by the passage of the
Russians in 1829.  The villages, scattered thinly along the banks,
become more and more miserable; they rather resemble stables for cattle
than human dwellings.  The beasts remain in the open fields, though
the climate does not appear to be much milder than with us in Austria;
for to-day, nearly at the beginning of April, the thermometer stood
one degree below zero, and yesterday we had only five degrees of warmth
(reckoning by Reaumur). {30}

The expeditious and easy manner in which cattle are here declared
to be free from the plague also struck me as remarkable.  When
the creatures are brought from an infected place to one pronounced healthy,
the ship is brought to some forty or fifty paces from the shore, and
each animal is thrown into the water and driven towards the bank, where
people are waiting to receive it.  After this simple operation
the beasts are considered free from infectious matter.

Cattle-rearing seems to be here carried on to a considerable extent. 
Everywhere I noticed large herds of horned beasts and many buffaloes. 
Numerous flocks of goats and sheep also appear.

On the Saturnus we travelled at the most for two hours, after which
we embarked, opposite the fortress of Fetislav, on board the steamer
Zriny.

At five o’clock in the evening we passed the fortress of Widdin,
opposite which we stopped, in the neighbourhood of the town of Callafat. 
It was intended merely to land goods here, and then to proceed immediately
on our voyage; but the agent was nowhere to be found, and so we poor
travellers were made the victims of this carelessness, and compelled
to remain here at anchor all night.

March 30th.

As the agent had not yet made his appearance, the captain had no
choice but to leave the steward behind to watch over the goods. 
At half-past six in the morning the engines were at length set in motion,
and after a very agreeable passage of six hours we reached Nicopolis.

All the Turkish fortresses on the Danube are situated on the right
bank, mostly amid beautiful scenery.  The larger towns and villages
are surrounded by gardens and trees, which give them a very pleasant
appearance.  The interior of these towns, however, is said not
to be quite so inviting as one would suppose from a distant view, for
it is asserted that dirty narrow streets, dilapidated houses, etc.,
offend the stranger’s sight at every step.  We did not land
at any of these fortresses or towns; for us the right bank of the river
was a forbidden paradise; so we only saw what was beautiful, and escaped
being disenchanted.

Rather late in the evening we cast anchor opposite a village of no
note.

CHAPTER II.

Giurgewo—Interior of the town—Braila—Sanitary
precautions—Galatz—Scarcity of good water—Ridiculous
fear of the plague—The steamer Ferdinand—Entrance
into the Black Sea—Stormy weather and sea-sickness—Arrival
at Constantinople—Picturesque appearance of the city—Mosques—The
dancing Dervishes—The Sultan and his barge—Pera—The
great and little Campo—Wild dogs—Dirty state of the streets—Preparations
in case of fire.

March 31st.

We started early this morning, and at eight o’clock had already
reached Giurgewo.  This town is situate on the left bank of the
Danube, opposite the fortress of Rustschuk.  It contains 16,000
inhabitants, and is one of the chief trading towns of Wallachia. 
We were detained here until four o’clock in the afternoon; for
we had to unload above 600 cwt. of goods and eight carriages, and to
take coals on board in exchange.  Thus we had time to view the
interior of this Wallachian city.

With what disappointed surprise did my fellow-passengers view the
ugliness of this town, which from a distance promises so much! 
On me it made but little impression, for I had seen towns precisely
similar in Galicia.  The streets and squares are full of pits and
holes; the houses are built without the slightest regard to taste or
symmetry, one perhaps projecting halfway across the street, while its
neighbour falls quite into the background.  In some places wooden
booths were erected along each side of the street for the sale of the
commonest necessaries of life and articles of food, and these places
were dignified by the name of “bazaars.”  Curiosity
led us into a wine-shop and into a coffee-house.  In both of these
we found only wooden tables and benches; there were hardly any guests;
and the few persons present belonged to the humblest classes. 
Glasses and cups are handed to the company without undergoing the ceremony
of rinsing.

We purchased some eggs and butter, and went into the house of one
of the townspeople to prepare ourselves a dish after the German fashion. 
I had thus an opportunity of noticing the internal arrangements of a
house of this description.  The floor of the room was not boarded,
and the window was only half glazed, the remaining portion being filled
up with paper or thin bladder.  For the rest, every thing was neat
and simple enough.  Even a good comfortable divan was not wanting. 
At four o’clock we quitted the town.

The Danube is now only broad for short distances at a time. 
It is, as it were, sown with islands, and its waters are therefore more
frequently parted into several streams than united into one.

In the villages we already notice Greek and Turkish costumes, but
the women and girls do not yet wear veils.

Unfortunately it was so late when we reached the fortress of Silistria
that I could see nothing of it.  A little lower down we cast anchor
for the night.  At an early hour on

April 1st

we sailed past Hirsova, and at two o’clock stopped at Braila,
a fortress occupied by the Russians since the year 1828.  Here
passengers were not allowed to land, as they were considered infected
with the plague; but our officer stepped forward, and vouched for the
fact that we had neither landed nor taken up any one on the right bank
of the river; thereupon the strangers were allowed to set foot on terra
firma.

By four o’clock we were opposite Galatz, one of the most considerable
commercial towns, with 8000 inhabitants,—the only harbour the
Russians possess on the Danube.  Here we saw the first merchant-ships
and barques of all kinds coming from the Black Sea.  Some sea-gulls
also, heralds of the neighbouring ocean, soared above our heads.

The scene here is one of traffic and bustle; Galatz being the place
of rendezvous for merchants and travellers from two quarters of the
globe, Europe and Asia.  It is the point of junction of three great
empires—Austria, Russia, and Turkey.

After the officer had repeated his assurances as at Braila, we were
permitted to leave the ship.  I had a letter of recommendation
to the Austrian consul, who accidentally came on board; after reading
my letter he received me very kindly, and most obligingly procured quarters
for me.

The town promises much, but proves to be just such a miserable dirty
place as Giurgewo.  The houses are generally built of wood or clay,
thatched with straw; those alone belonging to the consul and the rich
merchants are of stone.  The finest buildings are the Christian
church and the Moldavian hotel.

Though Galatz lies on the Danube, water for drinking is a dear article
among the inhabitants.  Wells are to be found neither in the houses
nor in the squares.  The townspeople are compelled to bring all
the water they require from the Danube, which is a great hardship for
the poor people, and a considerable expense for the rich; in winter
a small tub of water costs from 10 to 12 kreutzers (about 4d. or 5d.)
in the more distant quarters of the town.  At every corner you
meet water-carriers, and little wagons loaded with tubs of water. 
Attempts have frequently been made to procure this indispensable element
by digging; water has, indeed, in some instances gushed forth, but it
always had a brackish taste.

In Galatz we made a halt of twenty-four hours: the delay was not
of the most agreeable kind, as neither the town itself nor its environs
offer any thing worthy of remark.  Still I always think of these
days with pleasure.  Herr Consul Huber is a polite and obliging
man; himself a traveller, he gave me many a hint and many a piece of
advice for my journey.  The air of quiet comfort which reigned
throughout his house was also not to be despised by one who had just
endured many days of privation; at Herr Huber’s I found relief
both for body and mind.

April 2d.

The scenery round the town is so far from being inviting, that I
did not feel the least inclination to explore it.  I therefore
remained in the town, and went up hill and down dale through the ill-paved
streets.  Coffee-houses appear in great abundance; but if it were
not for the people sitting in front of them drinking coffee and smoking
tobacco, no one would do these dirty rooms the honour of taking them
for places of entertainment.

In the market and the squares we notice a great preponderance of
the male sex over the female.  The former are seen bustling about
every where, and, like the Italians, perform some duties which usually
fall to the lot of the softer sex.  We notice a mixture of the
most different nations, and among them a particularly large number of
Jews.

The bazaar is overloaded with southern fruits of all kinds. 
Oranges and lemons are seen here in great numbers, like the commonest
of our fruits.  The prices are of course very trifling.  The
cauliflowers brought from Asia Minor are particularly fine.  I
noticed many as large as a man’s head.

In the evening I was required to repair to the harbour and re-embark.

It is almost impossible to form an idea of the confusion which reigns
here.  A wooden railing forms the barrier between the healthy people
and those who come from or intend travelling to a country infected with
the plague.  Whoever passes this line of demarcation is not allowed
to return.  Soldiers, officers, government officials, and superintendents,
the latter of whom are armed with sticks and pairs of tongs, stand at
the entrance to drive those forcibly back who will not be content with
fair words.  Provisions and other articles are either thrown over
the barrier or left in front of it.  In the latter case, however,
they may not be touched until the bearers have departed.  A gentleman
on the “plague” side wished to give a letter to one on the
other; it was immediately snatched from his hand and handed across by
means of a pair of tongs.  And all this time such a noise and hubbub
is going on, that you can scarcely hear the sound of your own voice.

“Pray hand me over my luggage!” cries one.  “Keep
farther away! don’t come near me, and mind you don’t touch
me!” anxiously exclaims another.  And then the superintendents
keep shouting—“Stand back, stand back!” etc.

I was highly entertained by this spectacle; the scene was entirely
new to me.  But on my return, when I shall be one of the prisoners,
I fear I may find it rather tedious.  For this time I was not at
all hindered in the prosecution of my journey.

On the whole, these timid precautions seemed to me exceedingly uncalled
for, particularly at a time when neither the plague nor any kind of
contagious disease prevailed in Turkey.  One of my fellow-passengers
had been banished to our ship on the previous day because he had had
the misfortune to brush against an official on going to see after his
luggage.

At seven o’clock the tattoo is beaten, the grating is shut,
and the farce ends.  We now repaired to the fourth and last steamer,
the Ferdinand.  From first to last we changed vessels six
times during a journey from Vienna to Constantinople; we travelled by
four steamers and twice in boats; a circumstance which cannot be reckoned
among the pleasures of a trip down the Danube.

Though not a large boat, the Ferdinand is comfortable and
well built.  Even the second-class cabin is neatly arranged, and
a pretty stove diffused a warmth which was peculiarly grateful to us
all, as the thermometer showed only six to eight degrees above zero. 
Unfortunately even here the men and women are not separated in the second-class
cabin; but care is at least taken that third-class passengers do not
intrude.  Twelve berths are arranged round the walls, and in front
of these are placed broad benches well cushioned.

April 3d.

At five o’clock in the morning we steamed out of the harbour
of Galatz.  Shortly afterwards basins and towels were handed to
us; a custom totally unknown upon former vessels.  For provisions,
which are tolerably good, we are charged 1 fl. 40 kr. per diem.

Towards ten o’clock we reached Tehussa, a Bessarabian village
of most miserable appearance, where we stopped for a quarter of an hour;
after which we proceeded without further delay towards the Black Sea.

I had long rejoiced in the expectation of reaching the Black Sea,
and imagined that near its mouth the Danube itself would appear like
a sea.  But as it generally happens in life, “great expectations,
small realisations,” so it was the case here also.  At Galatz
the Danube is very broad; but some distance from its mouth it divides
itself into so many branches that not one of them can be termed majestic.

Towards three o’clock in the afternoon we at length entered
the Black Sea.

Here the arms of the Danube rush forward from every quarter, driving
the sea tumultuously back, so that we can only distinguish in the far
distance a stripe of green.  For above an hour we glide on over
the yellow, clayey, strongly agitated fresh water, until at length the
boundary is passed, and we are careering over the salt waves of the
sea.  Unfortunately for us, equinoctial gales and heavy weather
still so powerfully maintained their sway, that the deck was completely
flooded with the salt brine.  We could hardly stand upon our feet,
and could not manage to reach the cabin-door, where the bell was ringing
for dinner, without the assistance of some sailors.

Several of the passengers, myself among the number, did little honour
to the cook’s skill.  We had scarcely begun to eat our soup,
before we were so powerfully attacked by sea-sickness, that we were
obliged to quit the table precipitately.  I laid myself down at
once, feeling unable to move about, or even to drag myself on deck to
admire the magnificent spectacle of nature.  The waves frequently
ran so high as to overtop the flue of our stove, and from time to time
whole streams of water poured into the cabin.

April 4th.

Since yesterday the storm has increased considerably, so that we
are obliged to hold fast by our cribs to avoid being thrown out. 
This misfortune really happened to one of the passengers, who was too
ill to hold sufficiently tight.

As I already felt somewhat better, I attempted to rise, but was thrown
in the same instant with such force against a table which stood opposite,
that for a long time I felt no inclination to try again.  There
was not the slightest chance of obtaining any sleep all night. 
The dreadful howling of the wind among the masts and cordage, the fearful
straining of the ship, which seemed as though its timbers were starting,
the continual pitching and rolling, the rattling of the heavy cables
above us, the cries, orders, and shouting of the captain and his sailors,
all combined to form a din which did not allow us to enjoy a moment’s
rest.  In the morning, ill as I felt myself, I managed to gain
the deck with the help of the steward, and sat down near the steersman
to enjoy the aspect of that grandest of nature’s phenomena—a
storm at sea.

Holding tightly on, I bade defiance to the waves, which broke over
the ship and wetted me all over, as though to cool my feverish heat. 
I could now form a clear and vivid conception of a storm at sea. 
I saw the waves rush foaming on, and the ship now diving into an abyss,
and anon rising with the speed of lightning to the peak of the highest
wave.  It was a thrilling, fearful sight;—absorbed in its
contemplation, I soon ceased to think of my sickness.

Late at night the violence of the storm abated in some degree; we
could now run in and cast anchor in the harbour of Varna, which under
ordinary circumstances we should have reached twelve hours sooner.

April 5th.

This morning I had leisure to admire this fine fortress-town, which
was besieged and taken by the Russians in 1828.  We remained here
several hours.  The upper portion of the ship was here loaded with
fowl of all descriptions, to such a degree that the space left for us
travellers was exceedingly circumscribed.  This article of consumption
seems to be in great demand in Constantinople both among Turks and Franks;
for our captain assured me that his vessel was laden with this kind
of ware every time he quitted Varna, and that he carried it to Stamboul.

April 6th.

The shades of night prevented my seeing one of the finest sights
in the world, in anticipation of which I had rejoiced ever since my
departure from Vienna—the passage through the Bosphorus. 
A few days afterwards, however, I made the excursion in a kaik (a very
small and light boat), and enjoyed to my heart’s content views
and scenes which it is totally beyond my descriptive power to portray.

At three o’clock in the morning, when we entered the harbour
of Constantinople, every one, with the exception of the sailors, lay
wrapped in sleep.  I stood watching on deck, and saw the sun rise
in its full glory over the imperial city, so justly and universally
admired.

We had cast anchor in the neighbourhood of Topona; the city of cities
lay spread out before my eyes, built on several hills, each bearing
a separate town, and all blending into a grand and harmonious whole.

The town of Constantinople, properly speaking, is separated from
Galata and Pera by the so-called “Golden Horn;” the means
of communication is by a long and broad wooden bridge.  Scutari
and Bulgurlu rise in the form of terraces on the Asiatic shore. 
Scutari is surrounded, within and without, by a splendid wood of magnificent
cypresses.  In the foreground, on the top of the mountain, lie
the spacious and handsome barracks, which can contain 10,000 men.

The beautiful mosques, with their graceful minarets—the palaces
and harems, kiosks and great barracks—the gardens, shrubberies,
and cypress-woods—the gaily painted houses, among which single
cypresses often rear their slender heads,—these, together with
the immense forest of masts, combine to form an indescribably striking
spectacle.

When the bustle of life began, on the shore and on the sea, my eyes
scarcely sufficed to take in all I saw.  The “Golden Horn”
became gradually covered as far as the eye could reach with a countless
multitude of kaiks.  The restless turmoil of life on shore, the
passing to and fro of men of all nations and colours, from the pale
inhabitant of Europe to the blackest Ethiopian, the combination of varied
and characteristic costumes, this, and much more which I cannot describe,
held me spell-bound to the deck.  The hours flew past like minutes,
and even the time of debarcation came much too early for me, though
I had stood on deck and gazed from three o’clock until eight.

I found myself richly repaid for all the toils of my journey, and
rejoiced in the sight of these wonderful Eastern pictures; I could only
wish I were a poet, that I might fitly portray the magnificent gorgeousness
of the sight.

To land at Topona, and to be immediately surrounded by hired servants
and hamaks (porters), is the fate of every traveller.  The stranger
is no longer master either of his will or his luggage.  One man
praises this inn, the other that. {40} 
The porters hustle and beat each other for your effects, so that the
custom-house officers frequently come forward with their sticks to restore
order.  The boxes are then searched,—a ceremony which can,
however, be considerably accelerated by a fee of from ten to twenty
kreutzers.

It is very advisable to fix on an hotel before leaving the boat. 
There are always passengers on board who are resident at Constantinople,
or at least know the town well, and who are polite enough to give advice
on the subject to strangers.  By this means you rid yourself at
once of the greedy servants, and need only tell a porter the name of
your inn.

The inns for the Franks (a term used in the East to designate all
Europeans) are in Pera.  I stayed at the hotel of Madame Balbiani,
a widow lady, in whose house the guests are made comfortable in every
respect.  Clean rooms, with a beautiful view towards the sea, healthy,
well-selected, and palatable fare, and good prompt attendance, are advantages
which every one values; and all these are found at Madame Balbiani’s,
besides constant readiness to oblige on the part of the hostess and
her family.  The good lady took quite a warm interest in me; and
I can say, without hesitation, that had not my good fortune led me under
her roof, I should have been badly off.  I had several letters
of introduction; but not being fortunate enough to travel in great pomp
or with a great name, my countrymen did not consider it worth while
to trouble themselves about me.

I am ashamed, for their sakes, to be obliged to make this confession;
but as I have resolved to narrate circumstantially not only all I saw,
but all that happened to me on this journey, I must note down this circumstance
with the rest.  I felt the more deeply the kindness of these strangers,
who, without recommendation or the tie of country, took so hearty an
interest in the well-being of a lonely woman.  I am truly rejoiced
when an opportunity occurs of expressing my sincere gratitude for the
agreeable hours I spent among them.

The distance from Vienna to Constantinople is about 1000 sea miles.

RESIDENCE AT CONSTANTINOPLE.—THE DANCING DERVISHES.

I arrived at Constantinople on a Tuesday, and immediately inquired
what was worth seeing.  I was advised to go and see the dancing
dervishes, as this was the day on which they held their religious exercises
in Pera.

As I reached the mosque an hour too soon, I betook myself in the
meantime to the adjoining garden, which is set apart as the place of
meeting of the Turkish women.  Here several hundred ladies reclined
on the grass in varied groups, surrounded by their children and their
nurses, the latter of whom are all negresses.  Many of these Turkish
women were smoking pipes of tobacco with an appearance of extreme enjoyment,
and drinking small cups of coffee without milk.  Two or three friends
often made use of the same pipe, which was passed round from mouth to
mouth.  These ladies seemed also to be partial to dainties: most
of them were well provided with raisins, figs, sugared nuts, cakes,
etc., and ate as much as the little ones.  They seemed to treat
their slaves very kindly; the black servants sat among their mistresses,
and munched away bravely: the slaves are well dressed, and could scarcely
be distinguished from their owners, were it not for their sable hue.

During my whole journey I remarked with pleasure that the lot of
a slave in the house of a Mussulman is not nearly so hard as we believe. 
The Turkish women are no great admirers of animated conversations; still
there was more talking in their societies than in the assemblies of
the men, who sit silent and half asleep in the coffee-houses, languidly
listening to the narrations of a story-teller.

The ladies’ garden resembles a churchyard.  Funeral monuments
peer forth at intervals between the cypresses, beneath which the visitors
sit talking and joking cheerfully.  Every now and then one would
suddenly start up, spread a carpet beside her companions, and kneel
down to perform her devotions.

As no one of the male sex was allowed to be present, all were unveiled. 
I noticed many pretty faces among them, but not a single instance of
rare or striking beauty.  Fancy large brilliant eyes, pale cheeks,
broad faces, and an occasional tendency to corpulence, and you have
the ladies’ portrait.  Small-pox must still be rather prevalent
in these parts, for I saw marks of it on many faces.

The Turkish ladies’ costume is not very tasteful.  When
they go abroad, they are completely swathed in an upper garment, generally
made of dark merino.  In the harem, or in any place where men are
not admitted, they doff this garment, and also the white cloth in which
they wrap their heads and faces.  Their costume consists, properly
speaking, of very wide trousers drawn together below the ancle, a petticoat
with large wide sleeves, and a broad sash round the waist.  Over
this sash some wear a caftan, others only a spencer, generally of silk. 
On their feet they wear delicate boots, and over these slippers of yellow
morocco; on their heads a small fez-cap, from beneath which their hair
falls on their shoulders in a number of thin plaits.  Those Turks,
male and female, who are descended from Mahomet, have either a green
caftan or a green turban.  This colour is here held so sacred,
that scarcely any one may wear it.  I would even advise the Franks
to avoid green in their dresses, as they may expose themselves to annoyance
by using it.

After I had had more than an hour’s leisure to notice all these
circumstances, a noise suddenly arose in the courtyard, which produced
a stir among the women.  I considered from these appearances that
it was time to go to the temple, and hastened to join my party. 
A great crowd was waiting in the courtyard, for the Sultan was expected. 
I was glad to have the good fortune to behold him on the very day of
my arrival.  As a stranger, I was allowed, without opposition,
a place in the front ranks,—a trait of good breeding on the part
of the Turks which many a Frank would do well to imitate.  In a
Turk, moreover, this politeness is doubly praiseworthy, from the fact
that he looks upon my poor sex with great disrespect; indeed, according
to his creed, we have not even a soul.

I had only stood a few moments, when the Sultan appeared on horseback,
surrounded by his train.  He alone rode into the courtyard; the
others all dismounted at the gate, and entered on foot.  The horse
on which the Sultan rode was of rare beauty, and, as they told me, of
the true Arabian breed; the saddle-cloth was richly embroidered with
gold, and the stirrups, of the same precious metal, were in the form
of shoes, covered with the finest chased work.

The Sultan is a slender slim-looking youth of nineteen years of age,
and looks pale, languid, and blasé.  His features
are agreeable, and his eyes fine.  If he had not abandoned himself
at so early an age to all the pleasures of the senses, he would, no
doubt, have grown up a stalwart man.  He wore a long cape of dark-blue
cloth; and a high fez-cap, with a heron’s plume and a diamond
clasp, decked his head.  The greeting of the people, and the Sultan’s
mode of acknowledging it, is exactly as at Vienna, except that here
the people at intervals raise a low cry of welcome.

As soon as the Sultan had entered the temple, all flocked in. 
The men and the Franks (the latter without distinction of sex) sit or
stand in the body of the temple.  The Turkish women sit in galleries,
behind such close wire gratings that they are completely hidden. 
The temple, or more properly the hall, is of inconsiderable size, and
the spectators are only separated from the priests by a low railing.

At two o’clock the dervishes appeared, clad in long petticoats
with innumerable folds, which reached to their heels.  Their heads
were covered with high pointed hats of white felt.  They spread
out carpets and skins of beasts, and began their ceremonies with a great
bowing and kissing of the ground.  At length the music struck up;
but I do not remember ever to have heard a performance so utterly horrible. 
The instruments were a child’s drum, a shepherd’s pipe,
and a miserable fiddle.  Several voices set up a squeaking and
whining accompaniment, with an utter disregard of time and tune.

Twelve dervishes now began their dance,—if indeed a turning
round in a circle, while their full dresses spread round them like a
large wheel, can be called by such a name.  They display much address
in avoiding each other, and never come in contact, though their stage
is very small.  I did not notice any “convulsions,”
of which I had read in many descriptions.

The ceremony ended at three o’clock.  The Sultan once
more mounted his horse, and departed with his train and the eunuchs. 
In the course of the day I saw him again, as he was returning from visiting
the medical faculty.  It is not difficult to get a sight of the
Sultan; he generally appears in public on Tuesdays, and always on Fridays,
the holiday of the Turks.

The train of the young autocrat presents a more imposing appearance
when he goes by water to visit a mosque, which he generally does on
every Friday.  Only two hours before he starts it is announced
in which mosque he intends to appear.  At twelve, at noon, the
procession moves forward.  For this purpose two beautiful barges
are in readiness, painted white, and covered with gilded carvings. 
Each barge is surmounted by a splendid canopy of dark-red velvet, richly
bordered with gold fringe and tassels.  The floor is spread with
beautiful carpets.  The rowers are strong handsome youths, clad
in short trousers and jacket of white silk, with fez-caps on their heads. 
On each side of the ship there are fourteen of these rowers, under whose
vigorous exertions the barge flies forward over wave and billow like
a dolphin.  The beautifully regular movements of the sailors have
a fine effect.  The oars all dip into the water with one stroke,
the rowers rise as one man, and fall back into their places in the same
perfect time.

A number of elegant barges and kaiks follow the procession. 
The flags of the Turkish fleet and merchant-ships are hoisted, and twenty-one
cannons thunder forth a salutation to the Sultan.  He does not
stay long in the mosque, and usually proceeds to visit a barrack or
some other public building.  When the monarch goes by water to
the mosque, he generally returns also in his barge; if he goes by land,
he returns in the same manner.

The most popular walks in Pera are “the great and little Campo,”
which may be termed “burying-places in cypress-groves.” 
It is a peculiar custom of the Turks, which we hardly find among any
other nation, that all their feasts, walks, business-transactions, and
even their dwellings, are in the midst of graves.  Every where,
in Constantinople, Pera, Galata, etc., one can scarcely walk a few paces
without passing several graves surrounded by cypresses.  We wander
continually between the living and the dead; but within four and twenty
hours I was quite reconciled to the circumstance.  During the night-time
I could pass the graves with as little dread as if I were walking among
the houses of the living.  Seen from a distance, these numerous
cypress-woods give to the town a peculiar fairy-like appearance; I can
think of nothing with which I could compare it.  Every where the
tall trees appear, but the tombs are mostly hidden from view.

It took a longer time before I could accustom myself to the multitude
of ownerless dogs, which the stranger encounters at all corners, in
every square and every street.  They are of a peculiarly hideous
breed, closely resembling the jackal.  During the daytime they
are not obnoxious, being generally contented enough if they are allowed
to sleep undisturbed in the sun, and to devour their prey in peace. 
But at night they are not so quiet.  They bark and howl incessantly
at each other, as well as at the passers-by, but do not venture an attack,
particularly if you are accompanied by a servant carrying a lantern
and a stick.  Among themselves they frequently have quarrels and
fights, in which they sometimes lose their lives.  They are extremely
jealous if a strange dog approaches their territory, namely the street
or square of which they have possession.  On such an intruder they
all fall tooth and nail, and worry him until he either seeks safety
in flight or remains dead on the spot.  It is therefore a rare
circumstance for any person to have a house-dog with him in the streets. 
It would be necessary to carry the creature continually, and even then
a number of these unbidden guests would follow, barking and howling
incessantly.  Neither distemper nor madness is to be feared from
these dogs, though no one cares for their wants.  They live on
carrion and offal, which is to be found in abundance in every street,
as every description of filth is thrown out of the houses into the road. 
A few years ago it was considered expedient to banish these dogs from
Constantinople.  They were transported to two uninhabited islands
in the Sea of Marmora, the males to one and the females to another. 
But dirt and filth increased in the city to such a degree, that people
were glad to have them back again.

The town is not lighted.  Every person who goes abroad at night
must take a lantern with him.  If he is caught wandering without
a lantern by the guard, he is taken off without mercy to the nearest
watch-house, where he must pass the night.  The gates of the city
are shut after sunset.

In proportion as I was charmed with the beautiful situation of Constantinople,
so I was disgusted with the dirt and the offensive atmosphere which
prevail every where; the ugly narrow streets, the continual necessity
to climb up and down steep places in the badly-paved roads, soon render
the stranger weary of a residence in this city.

Worse than all is the continual dread of conflagration in which we
live.  Large chests and baskets are kept in readiness in every
house; if a fire breaks out in the neighbourhood, all valuable articles
are rapidly thrown into these and conveyed away.  It is customary
to make a kind of contract with two or three Turks, who are pledged,
in consideration of a trifling monthly stipend, to appear in the hour
of danger, for the purpose of carrying the boxes and lending a helping
hand wherever they can.  It is safer by far to reckon on the honesty
of the Turks than on that of the Christians and Greeks.  Instances
in which a Turk has appropriated any portion of the goods entrusted
to his care are said to be of very rare occurrence.  During the
first nights of my stay I was alarmed at every noise, particularly when
the watchman, who paraded the streets, happened to strike with his stick
upon the stones.  In the event of a conflagration, he must knock
at every house-door and cry, “Fire, fire!”  Heaven
be praised, my fears were never realised.

CHAPTER III.

Scutari—Kaiks—The howling Dervishes—The Achmaidon,
or place of arrows—The tower in Galata—The Bazaar at Constantinople—Mosques—Slave-market—The
old Serail—The Hippodrome—Coffee-houses—Story-tellers—Excursion
to Ejub—Houses, theatres, and carriages.

I chose a Friday for an excursion to Scutari, the celebrated burying-place
of the Turks, in order that I might have an opportunity of seeing the
“howling dervishes.”

In company with a French physician, I traversed the Bosphorus in
a kaik. {48} 
We passed by the “Leander’s Tower,” which stands in
the sea, a few hundred paces from the Asiatic coast, and has been so
frequently celebrated in song by the poets.  We soon arrived at
our destination.

It was with a peculiar feeling of emotion that for the first time
in my life I set foot on a new quarter of the globe.  Now, and
not till now, I seemed separated by an immeasurable distance from my
home.  Afterwards, when I landed on the coast of Africa, the circumstance
did not produce the same impression on my mind.

Now at length I was standing in the quarter of the earth which had
been the cradle of the human race; where man had risen high, and had
again sunk so low that the Almighty had almost annihilated him in his
righteous anger.  And here in Asia it was that the Son of God came
on earth to bring the boon of redemption to fallen man.  My long
and warmly-cherished wish to tread this most wonderful of the four quarters
of the earth was at length fulfilled, and with God’s help I might
confidently hope to reach the sacred region whence the true light of
the world had shone forth.

Scutari is the place towards which the Mussulman looks with the hope
of one day reposing beneath its shade.  No disciple of any other
creed is allowed to be buried here; and here, therefore, the Mahometan
feels himself at home, and worthy of his Prophet.  The cemetery
is the grandest in the world.  One may wander for hours through
this grove of cypresses, without reaching the end.  On the gravestones
of the men turbans are sculptured; on those of the women fruits and
flowers: the execution is in most cases very indifferent.

Though neither the chief nor the tributary streets in Scutari are
even, they are neither so badly paved nor quite so narrow as those at
Pera.  The great barracks, on a height in the foreground, present
a splendid appearance, and also afford a delicious view towards the
Sea of Marmora and the inimitably beautiful Bosphorus.  The barracks
are said to contain accommodation for 10,000 men.

THE HOWLING DERVISHES.

At two o’clock we entered the temple, a miserable wooden building. 
Every Mussulman may take part in this religious ceremony; it is not
requisite that he should have attained to the rank and dignity of a
dervish.  Even children of eight or nine stand up in a row outside
the circle of men, to gain an early proficiency in these holy exercises.

The commencement of the ceremony is the same as with the dancing
dervishes; they have spread out carpets and skins of beasts, and are
bowing and kissing the ground.  Now they stand up and form a circle
together with the laymen, when the chief begins in a yelling voice to
recite prayers from the Koran; by degrees those forming the circle join
in, and scream in concert.  For the first hour some degree of order
is still preserved; the performers rest frequently to husband their
strength, which will be exerted to the utmost at the close of the ceremony. 
But then the sight becomes as horrible as one can well imagine any thing. 
They vie with one another in yelling and howling, and torture their
faces, heads, and bodies into an infinite variety of fantastic attitudes. 
The roaring, which resembles that of wild beasts, and the dreadful spasmodic
contortions of the actors’ countenances, render this religious
ceremony a horrible and revolting spectacle.

The men stamp with their feet on the ground, jerk their heads backwards
and forwards, and certainly throw themselves into worse contortions
than those who are described as having been in old times “vexed
with a devil.”  During the exercise they snatch the covering
from their heads, and gradually take off all their clothes, with the
exception of shirt and trousers.  The two high priests who stand
within the circle receive the garments one after another, kiss them,
and lay them on a heap together.  The priests beat time with their
hands, and after the garments have been laid aside the dance becomes
faster and faster.  Heavy drops of perspiration stand on every
brow; some are even foaming at the mouth.  The howling and roaring
at length reach such a dreadful pitch, that the spectator feels stunned
and bewildered.

Suddenly one of these maniacs fell lifeless to the ground. 
The priests and a few from the circle hurried towards him, stretched
him out flat, crossed his hands and feet, and covered him with a cloth.

The doctor and I were both considerably alarmed, for we thought the
poor man had been seized with apoplexy.  To our surprise and joy,
however, we saw him about six or eight minutes afterwards suddenly throw
off the cloth, jump up, and once more take his place in the circle to
howl like a maniac.

At three o’clock the ceremony concluded.  I would not
advise any person afflicted with weak nerves to witness it, for he certainly
could not endure the sight.  I could have fancied myself among
raving lunatics and men possessed, rather than amidst reasonable beings. 
It was long before I could recover my composure, and realise the idea
that the infatuation of man could attain such a pitch.  I was informed
that before the ceremony they swallow opium, to increase the wildness
of their excitement!

The Achmaidon (place of arrows) deserves a visit, on account of the
beautiful view obtained thence; the traveller should see it, if he be
not too much pressed for time.  This is the place which the Sultan
sometimes honours by his presence when he wishes to practise archery.

On an open space stands a kind of pulpit of masonry, from which the
Sultan shoots arrows into the air without mark or aim.  Where the
arrow falls, a pillar or pyramid is erected to commemorate the remarkable
event.  The whole space is thus covered with a number of these
monuments, most of them broken and weather-stained, and all scattered
in the greatest confusion.  Not far from this place is an imperial
kiosk, with a garden.  Both promise much when viewed from a distance,
but realise nothing when seen from within.

THE TOWER IN GALATA.

Whoever wishes to appreciate in its fullest extent the charm of the
views round Constantinople should ascend the tower in Galata near Pera,
or the Serasker in Constantinople.  According to my notion, the
former course is preferable.  In this tower there is a room with
twelve windows placed in a circle, from which we see pictures such as
the most vivid imagination could hardly create.

Two quarters of the globe, on the shores of two seas united by the
Bosphorus, lie spread before us.  The glorious hills with their
towns and villages, the number of palaces, gardens, kiosks, and mosques,
Chalcedon, the Prince’s Islands, the Golden Horn, the continual
bustle on the sea, the immense fleet, besides the numerous ships of
other nations, the crowds of people in Pera, Galata, and Topana—all
unite to form a panorama of singular beauty.  The richest fancy
would fail in the attempt to portray such a scene; the most practised
pen would be unequal to the task of adequately describing it. 
But the gorgeous picture will be ever present to my memory, though I
lack the power of presenting it to the minds of others.

Frequently, and each time with renewed pleasure, I ascended this
tower, and would sit there for hours, in admiration of the works of
the created and of the Creator.  Exhausted and weary with gazing
was I each time I returned to my home.  I think I may affirm that
no spot in the world can present such a view, or any thing that can
be compared with it.  I found how right I had been in undertaking
this journey in preference to any other.  Here another world lies
unfolded before my view.  Every thing here is new—nature,
art, men, manners, customs, and mode of life.  He who would see
something totally different from the every-day routine of European life
in European towns should come here.

THE BAZAAR.

In the town of Constantinople we come upon a wooden bridge, large,
long, and broad, stretching across the Golden Horn.  The streets
of the town are rather better paved than those of Pera.  In the
bazaars and on the sea-coast alone do we find an appearance of bustle;
the remaining streets are quiet enough.

The Bazaar is of vast extent, comprehending many covered streets,
which cross each other in every direction and receive light from above. 
Every article of merchandise has its peculiar alley.  In one all
the goldsmiths have their shops, in another the shoemakers; in this
street you see nothing but silks, in another real Cashmere shawls, etc.

Every dealer has a little open shop, before which he sits, and unceasingly
invites the passers-by to purchase.  Whoever wishes to buy or to
look at any thing sits down also in front of the booth.  The merchants
are very good-natured and obliging; they always willingly unfold and
display their treasures, even when they notice that the person to whom
they are shewing them does not intend to become a purchaser.  I
had, however, imagined the display of goods to be much more varied and
magnificent than I found it; but the reason of this apparent poverty
is that the true treasures of art and nature, such as shawls, precious
stones, pearls, valuable arms, gold brocades, etc., must not be sought
in the bazaars; they are kept securely under lock and key in the dwellings
or warehouses of the proprietors, whither the stranger must go if he
wishes to see the richest merchandise.

The greatest number of streets occupied by the followers of any one
trade are those inhabited by the makers of shoes and slippers. 
A degree of magnificence is displayed in their shops such as a stranger
would scarcely expect to see.  There are slippers which are worth
1000 piastres {53}
a pair and more.  They are embroidered with gold, and ornamented
with pearls and precious stones.

The Bazaar is generally so much crowded, that it is a work of no
slight difficulty to get through it; yet the space in the middle is
very broad, and one has rarely to step aside to allow a carriage or
a horseman to pass.  But the bazaars and baths are the lounges
and gossiping places of the Turkish women.  Under the pretence
of bathing or of wishing to purchase something, they walk about here
for half a day together, amusing themselves with small-talk, love-affairs,
and with looking at the wares.

THE MOSQUES.

Without spending a great deal of money, it is very difficult to obtain
admittance into the mosques.  You are compelled to take out a firmann,
which costs from 1000 to 1200 piastres.  A guide of an enterprising
spirit is frequently sufficiently acute to inquire in the different
hotels if there are any guests who wish to visit the mosques. 
Each person who is desirous of doing so gives four or five colonati
{54} to the guide,
who thereupon procures the firmann, and frequently clears forty or fifty
guilders by the transaction.  An opportunity of this description
to visit the mosques generally offers itself several times in the course
of a month.

I had made up my mind that it would be impossible to quit Constantinople
without first seeing the four wonder-mosques, the Aja Sofia, Sultan
Achmed, Osmanije, and Soleimanije.

I had the good fortune to obtain admittance on paying a very trifling
sum; I think I should regret it to this day if I had paid five colonati
for such a purpose.

To an architect these mosques are no doubt highly interesting; to
a profane person like myself they offer little attraction.  Their
principal beauty generally consists in the bold arches of the cupolas. 
The interior is always empty, with the exception of a few large chandeliers
placed at intervals, and furnished with a large number of perfectly
plain glass lamps.  The marble floors are covered with straw mats. 
In the Sofia mosque we find a few pillars which have been brought hither
from Ephesus and Baalbec, and in a compartment on one side several sarcophagi
are deposited.

Before entering the mosque, you must either take off your shoes or
put on slippers over them.  The outer courts, which are open to
all, are very spacious, paved with slabs of marble, and kept scrupulously
clean.  In the midst stands a fountain, at which the Mussulman
washes his hands, his face, and his feet, before entering the mosque. 
An open colonnade resting on pillars usually runs round the mosques,
and splendid plantains and other trees throw a delicious shade around.

The mosque of Sultan Achmed, on the Hippodrome, is surrounded by
six minarets.  Most of the others have only two, and some few four.

The kitchens for the poor, situated in the immediate neighbourhood
of the mosques, are a very praiseworthy institution.  Here the
poor Mussulman is regaled on simple dishes, such as rice, beans, cucumbers,
etc., at the public expense.  I marvelled greatly to find no crowding
at these places.  Another and an equally useful measure is the
erection of numerous fountains of clear good water.  This is the
more welcome when we remember that the Turkish religion forbids the
use of all spirituous liquors.  At many of these fountains servants
are stationed, whose only duty is to keep ten or twelve goblets of shining
brass constantly filled with this refreshing nectar, and to offer them
to every passer-by, be he Turk or Frank.  Beer-houses and wine-shops
are not to be found here.  Would to Heaven this were every where
the case!  How many a poor wretch would never have been poor, and
how many a madman would never have lost his senses!

Not far from the Osmanije mosque is the

SLAVE-MARKET.

I entered it with a beating heart, and already before I had even
seen them, pitied the poor slaves.  How glad, therefore, was I
when I found them not half so forlorn and neglected as we Europeans
are accustomed to imagine!  I saw around me friendly smiling faces,
from the grimaces and contortions of which I could easily discover that
their owners were making quizzical remarks on every passing stranger.

The market is a great yard, surrounded by rooms, in which the slaves
live.  By day they may walk about in the yard, pay one another
visits, and chatter as much as they please.

In a market of this kind we, of course, see every gradation of colour,
from light brown to the deepest black.  The white slaves, and the
most beautiful of the blacks, are not however to be seen by every stranger,
but are shut up in the dwellings of the traffickers in human flesh. 
The dress of these people is simple in the extreme.  They either
wear only a large linen sheet, which is wrapped round them, or some
light garment.  Even this they are obliged to take off when a purchaser
appears.  So long as they are in the hands of the dealers, they
are certainly not kept in very good style; so they all look forward
with great joy to the prospect of getting a master.  When they
are once purchased, their fate is generally far from hard.  They
always adopt the religion of their master, are not overburdened with
work, are well clothed and fed, and kindly treated.  Europeans
also purchase slaves, but may not look upon them and treat them as such;
from the moment when a slave is purchased by a Frank he becomes free. 
Slaves bought in this way, however, generally stay with their masters.

THE OLD SERAIL

is, of course, an object of paramount attraction to us Europeans. 
I betook myself thither with my expectations at full stretch, and once
more found the reality to be far below my anticipations.  The effect
of the whole is certainly grand; many a little town would not cover
so much ground as this place, which consists of a number of houses and
buildings, kiosks, and summer-houses, surrounded with plantains and
cypress-trees, the latter half hidden amid gardens and arbours. 
Everywhere there is a total want of symmetry and taste.  I saw
something of the garden, walked through the first and second courtyard,
and even peeped into the third.  In the last two yards the buildings
are remarkable for the number of cupolas they exhibit.  I saw a
few rooms and large halls quite full of a number of European things,
such as furniture, clocks, vases, etc.  My expectations were sadly
damped.  The place where the heads of pashas who had fallen into
disfavour were exhibited is in the third yard.  Heaven be praised,
no severed heads are now seen stuck on the palings.

I was not fortunate enough to be admitted into the imperial harem;
I did not possess sufficient interest to obtain a view of it. 
At a later period of my journey, however, I succeeded in viewing several
harems.

THE HIPPODROME

is the largest and finest open place in Constantinople.  After
those of Cairo and Padua, it is the most spacious I have seen any where. 
Two obelisks of red granite, covered with hieroglyphics, are the only
ornaments of this place.  The houses surrounding it are built,
according to the general fashion, of wood, and painted with oil-colours
of different tints.  I here noticed a great number of pretty children’s
carriages, drawn by servants.  Many parents assembled here to let
their children be driven about.

Not far from the Hippodrome are the great cisterns with the thousand
and one pillars.  Once on a time this gigantic fabric must have
presented a magnificent appearance.  Now a miserable wooden staircase,
lamentably out of repair, leads you down a flight of thirty or forty
steps into the depths of one of these cisterns, the roof of which is
supported by three hundred pillars.  This cistern is no longer
filled with water, but serves as a workshop for silk-spinners. 
The place seems almost as if it had been expressly built for such a
purpose, as it receives light from above, and is cool in summer, and
warm during the winter.  It is now impossible to penetrate into
the lower stories, as they are either filled with earth or with water.

The aqueducts of Justinian and Valentinian are stupendous works. 
They extend from Belgrade to the “Sweet Waters,” a distance
of about fourteen miles, and supply the whole of Constantinople with
a sufficiency of water.

COFFEE-HOUSES—STORY-TELLERS.

Before I bade farewell to Constantinople for the present and betook
me to Pera, I requested my guide to conduct me to a few coffee-houses,
that I might have a new opportunity of observing the peculiar customs
and mode of life of the Turks.  I had already obtained some notion
of the appearance of these places in Giurgewo and Galatz; but in this
imperial town I had fancied I should find them somewhat neater and more
ornamental.  But this delusion vanished as soon as I entered the
first coffee-house.  A wretchedly dirty room, in which Turks, Greeks,
Armenians, and others sat cross-legged on divans, smoking and drinking
coffee, was all I could discover.  In the second house I visited
I saw, with great disgust, that the coffee-room was also used as a barber’s
shop; on one side they were serving coffee, and on the other a Turk
was having his head shaved.  They say that bleeding is sometimes
even carried on in these booths.

In a coffee-house of a rather superior class we found one of the
so-called “story-tellers.”  The audience sit round
in a half-circle, and the narrator stands in the foreground, and quietly
begins a tale from the Thousand and One Nights; but as he continues
he becomes inspired, and at length roars and gesticulates like the veriest
ranter among a company of strolling players.

Sherbet is not drunk in all the coffee-houses; but every where we
find stalls and booths where this cooling and delicious beverage is
to be had.  It is made from the juice of fruits, mixed with that
of lemons and pomegranates.  In Pera ice is only to be had in the
coffee-houses of the Franks, or of Christian confectioners.  All
coffee-house keepers are obliged to buy their coffee ready burnt and
ground from the government, the monopoly of this article being an imperial
privilege.  A building has been expressly constructed for its preparation,
where the coffee is ground to powder by machinery.  The coffee
is made very strong, and poured out without being strained, a custom
which I could not bring myself to like.

It is well worth the traveller’s while to make an

EXCURSION TO EJUB,

the greatest suburb of Constantinople, and also the place where the
richest and most noble of the Turks are buried.

Ejub, the standard-bearer of Mahomet, rests here in a magnificent
mosque, built entirely of white marble.  None but a Mussulman may
tread this hallowed shrine.  A tolerably good view of the interior
can, however, be obtained from without, as the windows are lofty and
broad, and reach nearly to the ground.  The sarcophagus stands
in a hall; it is covered with a richly embroidered pall, over which
are spread five or six “real” shawls.  The part beneath
which the head rests is surmounted by a turban, also of real shawls. 
The chief sarcophagus is surrounded by several smaller coffins, in which
repose the wives, children, and nearest relations of Ejub.  Hard
by the mosque we find a beautiful fountain of white marble, surrounded
by a railing of gilded iron, and furnished with twelve bright drinking-cups
of polished brass.  A Turk here is appointed expressly to hand
these to the passers-by.  A little crooked garden occupies the
space behind the mosque.  The mosques in which the dead sultans
are deposited are all built in the same manner as that of Ejub. 
Instead of the turban, handsome fez-caps, with the heron’s feather,
lie on the coffins.  Among the finest mosques is that in which
repose the remains of the late emperor.  In Ejub many very costly
monuments are to be seen.  They are generally surrounded by richly-gilt
iron railings, their peaks surmounted by the shining crescent, and forming
an arch above a sarcophagus, round which are planted rose-bushes and
dwarf cypresses, with ivy and myrtle clinging to their stems. 
It would, however, be very erroneous to suppose that the rich alone
lie buried here.  The poor man also finds his nook; and frequently
we see close by a splendid monument the modest stone which marks the
resting-place of the humble Mussulman.

On my return I met the funeral of a poor Turk.  If my attention
had not been attracted to the circumstance, I should have passed by
without heeding it.  The corpse was rolled in a cloth, fastened
at the head and at the feet, and laid on a board which a man carried
on his shoulder.  At the grave the dead man is once more washed,
wrapped in clean linen cloths, and thus lowered into the earth. 
And this is as it should be.  Why should the pomp and extravagance
of man accompany him to his last resting-place?  Were it not well
if in this matter we abated something of our conventionality and ostentation? 
I do not mean to say that interments need be stripped of every thing
like ornament; in all things the middle way is the safest.  A simple
funeral has surely in it more that awakes true religious feeling than
the pomp and splendour which are too frequently made the order of the
day in these proceedings.  In this case are not men sometimes led
away to canvass and to criticise the splendour of the show, while they
should be deducing a wholesome moral lesson for themselves, or offering
up a fervent prayer to the Almighty for the peace of the departed spirit?

HOUSES—THEATRES—CARRIAGES.

The houses in the whole of Constantinople, in which we may include
Pera, Topana, etc., are very slightly and carelessly put together. 
No door, no window, closes and fits well; the floorings frequently exhibit
gaps an inch in breadth; and yet rents are very high.  The reason
of this is to be found in the continual danger of fire to which all
towns built of wood are exposed.  Every proprietor of a house calculates
that he may be burnt out in the course of five or six years, and therefore
endeavours to gain back his capital with interest within this period. 
Thus we do not find the houses so well built or so comfortably furnished
as in the generality of European towns.

There is a theatre in Pera, which will hold from six to seven hundred
spectators.  At the time of my sojourn there, a company of Italian
singers were giving four representations every week.  Operas of
the most celebrated masters were here to be heard; but I attended one
representation, and had quite enough.  The wonder is that such
an undertaking answers at all, as the Turks have no taste for music,
and the Franks are too fastidious to be easily satisfied.

The carriages—which are, generally speaking, only used by women—are
of two kinds.  The first is in the shape of a balloon, finely painted
and gilt, and furnished with high wheels.  On each side is an opening,
to enter which the passenger mounts on a wooden stool, placed there
by the coachman every time he ascends or descends.  The windows
or openings can be closed with Venetian blinds.  These carriages
contain neither seats nor cushion.  Every one who drives out takes
carpets or bolsters with him, spreads them out inside the coach, and
sits down cross-legged.  A carriage of this description will hold
four persons.  The second species of carriage only differs from
that already described in having still higher wheels, and consisting
of a kind of square box, covered in at the top, but open on all sides. 
The passengers enter at the back, and there is generally room for eight
persons.  The former kind of vehicle is drawn by one horse in shafts,
and sometimes by two; the latter by one or two oxen, also harnessed
in shafts, which are, however, furnished in addition with a wooden arch
decorated with flowers, coloured paper, and ribbons.  The coachman
walks on foot beside his cattle, to guide them with greater security
through the uneven ill-paved streets, in which you are continually either
ascending or descending a hill.

Wagons there are none; every thing is carried either by men, horses,
or asses.  This circumstance explains the fact that more porters
are found here than in any other city.  These men are agile and
very strong; a porter often bears a load of from one hundred to a hundred
and fifty pounds through the rugged hilly streets.  Wood, coals,
provisions, and building-materials are carried by horses and asses. 
This may be one reason why every thing is so dear in Constantinople.

CHAPTER IV.

Walks and drives of the townspeople—The “Sweet Waters”—Chalcedonia—Baluklid—The
great and little Campo—Feasts in Constantinople—Anniversary
of Mahomet’s death—Easter holidays of the Greeks—Gladiators
and wrestlers—Excursion to Brussa—Olive-trees—Mosques
at Brussa—Stone bridge—Wild dogs—Baths and mineral
springs—Return to Constantinople.

On Sundays and holydays the “Sweet Waters” of Europe
are much frequented.  One generally crosses the Golden Horn, into
which the sweet water runs, in a kaik.  There is, however, another
way thither across the mountains.

A large grass-plat, surrounded by trees, is the goal towards which
the heaving multitude pours.  Here are to be seen people from all
quarters of the globe, and of all shades of colour, reclining in perfect
harmony on carpets, mats, and pillows, and solacing themselves, pipe
in mouth, with coffee and sweetmeats.  Many pretty Jewesses, mostly
unveiled, are to be seen among the crowd.

On Friday, the holiday of the Turks, the scene in the Asiatic Sweet
Waters is just as animated; and here there is much more to interest
us Europeans, as the company consists chiefly of Turks, male and female. 
The latter have, as usual, their faces covered: the most beautiful feature,
the flaming eye, is, however, visible.

The trip across the sea to the Asiatic Sweet Waters is incomparably
more beautiful and interesting than the journey to the European. 
We travel up the Bosphorus, in the direction of the Black Sea, past
the splendid new palace of the Sultan.  Though this palace is chiefly
of wood, the pillars, staircases, and the ground-floor, built of marble
of dazzling whiteness, are strikingly beautiful.  The great gates,
of gilded cast-iron, may be called masterpieces; they were purchased
in England for the sum of £8000.  The roof of the palace
is in the form of a terrace, and round this terrace runs a magnificent
gallery, built only of wood, but artistically carved.  We also
pass the two ancient castles which command the approach to Constantinople,
and then turn to the right towards the Sweet Waters.  The situation
of this place is most lovely; it lies in a beautiful valley surrounded
by green hills.

Very interesting is also an excursion to Chalcedonia, a peninsula
in the Sea of Marmora, on the Asiatic side, adjoining Scutari. 
We were rowed thither in a two-oared kaik in an hour and a quarter. 
The finest possible weather favoured our trip.  A number of dolphins
gambolled around our boat; we saw these tame fishes darting to and fro
in all directions, and leaping into the air.  It is a peculiar
circumstance with regard to these creatures, that they never swim separately,
but always either in pairs or larger companies.

The views which we enjoy during these trips are peculiarly lovely. 
Scutari lies close on our left; the foreground is occupied by mountains
of moderate elevation; and above them, in the far distance, gleams the
snow-clad summit of Olympus.  The uninhabited Prince’s Island
and the two Dog Islands are not the most picturesque objects to be introduced
in such a landscape.  To make up for the disadvantage of their
presence we have, however, a good view of the Sea of Marmora, and can
also distinguish the greater portion of the city of Constantinople.

On Chalcedonia itself there is nothing to be seen but a lighthouse. 
Beautiful grass-plats, with a few trees and a coffee-house, are the
chief points of attraction with the townspeople.

An excursion by sea to Baluklid is also to be recommended. 
You pass the entire Turkish fleet, which is very considerable, and see
the largest ship in the world, the “Mahmud,” of 140 guns,
built during the reign of the late Sultan Mahmud.  Several three-deckers
of 120 guns, some of them unrigged, and many men-of-war mounting from
forty to sixty cannons, lie in the harbour.  For an hour and a
half we are riding through the Sea of Marmora, to the left of the great
quay which surrounds the walls of Constantinople.  Here, for the
first time, we see the giant city in all its magnificent proportions. 
We also passed the “Seven Towers,” of which, however, only
five remain standing; the other two, I was told, had fallen in. 
If these towers really answer no other purpose than that of prisons
for the European ambassadors during tumults or in the event of hostilities,
I think the sooner the remaining five tumble down the better; for the
European powers will certainly not brook such an insult from the Turks,
now in the day of their decline.

We disembarked immediately beyond the “Seven Towers,”
and walked for half an hour through long empty streets, then out at
the town-gate, where the cypress-grove for a time conceals from our
view a large open space on which is built a pretty Greek church. 
I was told that during the holidays at Easter such riotous scenes were
here enacted that broken heads were far from being phenomena of rare
occurrence.  In the church there is a cold spring containing little
fishes.  A legend goes, that on the high days at Easter these poor
little creatures swim about half fried and yet alive, because once upon
a time, when Constantinople was besieged, a general said that it was
no more likely that the city could be taken than that fishes could swim
about half fried.  Ever since that period the wonderful miracle
of the fried fish is said to occur annually at Easter.

On our return to our kaik, we saw near the shore an enormous cuttle-fish,
more than fourteen feet in length, which had just been taken and killed. 
A number of fishermen were trying with ropes and poles to drag the monster
ashore.

The walks in the immediate neighbourhood of Pera are the great and
little Campo, and somewhat farther distant the great bridge which unites
Topana with Constantinople; the latter is a most amusing walk, during
which we can view the life and bustle on both shores at the same time. 
In the little Campo are two Frankish coffee-houses, before which we
sit quite in European fashion on handsome chairs and benches, listening
to pleasant music, and regaling ourselves with ices.

FEASTS IN CONSTANTINOPLE.

During my residence in Constantinople I had the good fortune to be
present at some very entertaining festivities.  The most magnificent
of these took place on the 23d of April, the anniversary of Mahomet’s
death.

On the eve of this feast we enjoyed a fairy-like spectacle. 
The tops of all the minarets were illuminated with hundreds of little
lamps; and as there are a great many of these slender spires, it can
be readily imagined that this sea of light must have a beautiful effect. 
The Turkish ships in the harbour presented a similar appearance. 
At every loop-hole a large lamp occupied the place of the muzzle of
the cannon.  At nine o’clock in the evening, salvoes were
fired from the ships; and at the moment that the cannons were fired,
the lamps vanished, flashes of light and gunpowder-smoke filled the
air; a few seconds afterwards, as if by magic, the lamps had reappeared. 
This salute was repeated three times.

The morning of the 23d was ushered in by the booming of the cannon. 
All the Turkish ships had hoisted their flags, and garlands of coloured
paper were twined round the masts to their very tops.

At nine o’clock I proceeded in the company of several friends
to Constantinople, to see the grand progress of the Sultan to the mosque. 
As with us, it is here the custom to post soldiers on either side of
the way.  The procession was headed by the officers and government
officials; but after every couple of officers or statesmen followed
their servants, generally to the number of twelve or fifteen persons,
in very variegated costumes, partly Turkish, partly European, and withal
somewhat military; in fact, a perfect motley.  Then came the Emperor’s
state-horses, splendid creatures, the majority of them of the true Arabian
breed, decorated with saddle-cloths richly embroidered with gold, pearls,
and precious stones, and proudly moving their plumed heads.  Their
spirited appearance and beautiful paces excited the admiration of all
the learned in such matters.  They were followed by a number of
pages on foot; these pages are not, however, youths, as in other countries,
but men of tried fidelity.  In their midst rode the youthful Emperor,
wrapped in his cape, and wearing in his fez-cap a fine heron’s
plume, buckled with the largest diamond in Europe.  As the Sultan
passed by, he was greeted by the acclamations of the military, but not
of the people.  The soldiers closed the procession; but their bearing
is not nearly so haughty as that of the horses.  The reason of
this is simple enough—no one dares look upon the Arabians with
an evil eye, but the soldiers are entirely subject to the caprice of
their officers.  I would certainly rather be the Sultan’s
horse than his soldier.

The uniforms of the officers, in their profusion of gold embroidery,
resemble those of our hussars.  The privates have very comfortable
jackets and trousers of blue cloth with red trimmings; some have jackets
entirely of a red colour.  The artillerymen wear red facings. 
Their chaussure is pitiable in the extreme: some have boots,
not unfrequently decorated with spurs; others have shoes, trodden down
at heel and terribly tattered; and some even appear in slippers. 
All are without stockings, and thus naked feet peer forth every where. 
The position of the men with regard to each other is just as irregular;
a little dwarf may frequently be seen posted next to a giant, a boy
of twelve or fourteen years near a grey-headed veteran, and a negro
standing next to a white man.

At this feast a great concourse of people was assembled, and every
window was crowded with muffled female heads.

We had been advised not to be present at this ceremony, as it was
stated to be of a purely religious nature, and it was feared we should
be exposed to annoyance from the fanaticism of the Mussulmen. 
I am glad to say, however, that the curiosity of my party was stronger
than their apprehensions.  We pushed through every where, and I
had again occasion to feel assured that grievous wrong is frequently
done the good Turks.  Not only was there no appearance of a disposition
to annoy us, but we even obtained very good places without much trouble.

On their Easter days the Greeks have a feast in the great Campo. 
On all the three holidays, the hamaks (water-carriers and porters),
after the service is over, march in large numbers to the Campo with
songs and music, with noise and shouting, waving their handkerchiefs
in the air.  Arrived at their destination, they divide into different
groups, and proceed to amuse themselves much after the manner of other
nations.  A number of tents are erected, where a great deal of
cooking and baking is carried on.  Large companies are sitting
on the ground or on the tombstones, eating and drinking in quiet enjoyment. 
We see a number of swings laden with men and children; on this side
we hear the squeaking of a bagpipe, on that the sound of a pipe and
drum, uttering such dismal music that the hearer instinctively puts
a finger into each ear.  To this music a real bear’s dance
is going on.  Six or eight fellows stand in a half circle round
the musician, and two leaders of these light-toed clodhoppers continually
wave their handkerchiefs in the air as they stamp slowly and heavily
round in a circle.  The women are allowed to appear at this feast,
but may neither take part in the swinging nor in the dancing. 
They therefore keep up a brave skirmishing with the sweetmeats, coffee,
and delicacies of all kinds.  The more wealthy portion of the community
employ these days in riding to Baluklid, to gaze and wonder at the miracle
of the half-baked and yet living fishes.

As the Greeks are not so good-natured as the Turks, the latter seldom
take part in their festivities.  Turkish women never appear on
these occasions.

On the 8th of May I saw a truly Turkish fête in the
neighbourhood of the Achmaidon (place of arrows).

In a plain surrounded on all sides by hills, men of all nations formed
a large but closely-packed circle.  Kavasses (gens d’arme)
were there to keep order among the people, and several officers sat
among the circle to keep order among the kavasses.  The spectacle
began.  Two wrestlers or gladiators made their appearance, completely
undressed, with the exception of trousers of strong leather.  They
had rubbed themselves all over with oil, so that their joints might
be soft and supple, and also that their adversary should not be able
to obtain a firm hold when they grappled together.  They made several
obeisances to the spectators, began with minor feats of wrestling, and
frequently stopped for a few moments in order to husband their strength. 
Then the battle began afresh, and became hotter and hotter, till at
length one of the combatants was hailed as victor by the shouting mob. 
He is declared the conqueror who succeeds in throwing his opponent in
such a manner that he can sit down upon him as on a horse.  A combat
of this kind usually lasts a quarter of an hour.  The victor walks
triumphantly round the circle to collect his reward.  The unfortunate
vanquished conceals himself among the spectators, scarcely daring to
lift his eyes.  These games last for several hours; as one pair
of gladiators retire, they are replaced by another.

Greek, Turkish, and Armenian women may only be spectators of these
games from a distance; they therefore occupy the adjoining heights. 
For the rest, the arrangements are the same as at the Greek Easter feast. 
People eat, drink, and dance.  No signs of beer, wine, or liqueur
are to be discovered, and consequently there is no drunkenness.

The Turkish officers were here polite enough to surrender the best
places to us strangers.  I had many opportunities of noticing the
character of the Mussulman, and found, to my great delight, that he
is much better and more honest than prejudices generally allow us to
believe.  Even in matters of commerce and business it is better
to have to do with a Turk than with a votary of any other creed, not
even excepting my own.

During my stay at Constantinople (from the 5th of April until May
17th) I found the weather just as changeable as in my own country; so
much so, in fact, that the temperature frequently varied twelve or fourteen
degrees within four-and-twenty hours.

EXCURSION TO BRUSSA.

The two brothers, Baron Charles and Frederick von Buseck, and Herr
Sattler, the talented artist, resolved to make an excursion to Brussa;
and as I had expressed a similar wish, they were obliging enough to
invite me to make a fourth in their party.  But when it came to
the point, I had almost become irresolute.  I was asked by some
one if I was a good rider; “for if you are not,” said my
questioner, “it would be far better for you not to accompany them,
as Brussa is four German miles distant from Gemlek, and the road is
bad, so that the gentlemen must ride briskly if they wish to reach the
town before sundown, starting as they would at half-past two in the
afternoon, the general hour of landing at Gemlek.  In the event
of your being unable to keep up with the rest, you would put them to
great inconvenience, or they will be compelled to leave you behind on
the road.”

I had never mounted a horse, and felt almost inclined to confess
the fact; but my curiosity to see Brussa, the beautiful town at the
foot of Olympus, gained the day, and I boldly declared that I had no
doubt I should be able to keep pace with my companions.

On the 13th of May we left Constantinople at half-past six in the
morning, on board a little steamer of forty-horse power.  Passing
the Prince’s and Dog Islands, we swept across the Sea of Marmora
towards the snow-crowned Olympus, until, after a voyage of seven hours,
we reached Gemlek.

Gemlek, distant thirty sea miles from Constantinople, is a miserable
place, but nevertheless does some trade as the harbour of Bithynia. 
The agent of the Danube Navigation Company was civil enough to procure
us good horses, and a genuine, stalwart, and fierce-looking Turkoman
for a guide.  This man wore in his girdle several pistols and a
dagger; a long crooked scimitar hung at his side; and instead of shoes
and slippers, large boots decked his feet, bordered at the top by a
wide stripe of white cloth, on which were depicted blue flowers and
other ornaments.  His head was graced by a handsome turban.

At half-past two o’clock the horses arrived.  I swung
myself boldly upon my Rosinante, called on my good angel to defend me,
and away we started, slowly at first, over stock and stone.  My
joy was boundless when I found that I could sit steadily upon my horse;
but shortly afterwards, when we broke into a trot, I began to feel particularly
uncomfortable, as I could not get on at all with the stirrup, which
was continually slipping to my heel, while sometimes my foot slid out
of it altogether, and I ran the risk of losing my balance.  Oh,
what would I not have given to have asked advice of any one!  But
unfortunately I could not do so without at once betraying my ignorance
of horsemanship.  I therefore took care to bring up the rear, under
the pretence that my horse was shy, and would not go well unless it
saw the others before it.  My real reason was that I wished to
hide my manœuvres from the gentlemen, for every moment I expected
to fall.  Frequently I clutched the saddle with both hands, as
I swayed from side to side.  I looked forward in terror to the
gallop, but to my surprise found that I could manage this pace better
than the trot.  My courage brought its reward, for I reached the
goal of our journey thoroughly shaken, but without mishap.  During
the time that we travelled at a foot-pace, I had found leisure to contemplate
the scenery around us.  For half the entire distance we ride from
one valley into another; as often as a hill is reached, there is a limited
prospect before the traveller, who has, however, only to turn his head,
and he enjoys a beautiful view over the Sea of Marmora.  After
a ride of two hours and a half we arrived at a little khan, {71a}
where we rested for half an hour.  Proceeding thence a short distance,
we reached the last hills; and the great valley, at the end of which
Brussa is seen leaning against Olympus, lay stretched before our eager
eyes, while behind us we could still distinguish, far beyond hill and
dale, the distant sea skirting the horizon.  Yet, beautiful as
this landscape undoubtedly is, I had seen it surpassed in Switzerland. 
The immense valley which lies spread out before Brussa is uncultivated,
deserted, and unwatered; no carpet of luxuriant verdure, no rushing
river, no pretty village, gives an air of life to this magnificent and
yet monotonous region; and no giant mountains covered with eternal snow
look down upon the plain beneath.  Pictures like these I had frequently
found in Switzerland, in the Tyrol, and also near Salzburg.  Here
I saw, indeed, separate beauties, but no harmonious whole.  Olympus
is a fine majestic mountain, forming an extended barrier; but its height
can scarcely exceed 6000 feet; {71b}
and during the present month it is totally despoiled of its surface
of glittering snow.  Brussa, with its innumerable minarets, is
the only point of relief to which the eye continually recurs, because
there is nothing beyond to attract it.  A little brook, crossed
by a very high stone bridge, but so shallow already in the middle of
May as hardly to cover our horses’ hoofs; and towards Brussa,
a miserable village, with a few plantations of olives and mulberry-trees,—are
the only objects to be discovered throughout the whole wide expanse. 
Wherever I found the olive-tree—here, near Trieste, and in Sicily,—it
was alike ugly.  The stem is gnarled, and the leaves are narrow
and of a dingy green colour.  The mulberry-tree, with its luxuriant
bright green foliage, forms an agreeable contrast to the olive. 
The silk produced in this neighbourhood is peculiarly fine in quality,
and the stuffs from Brussa are renowned far and wide.

We reached the town in safety before sunset.  It is one of the
most disagreeable circumstances that can happen to the traveller to
arrive at an Oriental town after evening has closed in.  He finds
the gates locked, and may clamour for admittance in vain.

In order to gain our inn, we were obliged to ride through the greater
part of the town.  I had here an opportunity of observing that
it is just as unsightly as the interior of Constantinople.  The
streets are narrow, and the houses built of wood, plaster, and some
even of stone; but all wear an aspect of poverty, and at the same time
of singularity;—the gables projecting so much that they occupy
half the width of the street, and render it completely dark, while they
increase its narrowness.  The inn, too, at which we put up, looked
far from inviting when viewed from the outside, so that we had some
dark misgivings respecting the quality of the accommodation that awaited
us.  But in proportion as the outside had looked unpropitious,
were we agreeably surprised on entering.  A neat and roomy courtyard,
with a basin of pure sparkling water in the midst, surrounded by mulberry-trees,
was the first thing we beheld.  Round this courtyard were two stories
of clean but simply-furnished rooms.  The fare was good, and we
were even regaled with a bottle of excellent wine from the lower regions
of Olympus.

May 14th.

Next morning we visited the town and its environs, under the guidance
and protection of a kavasse.  The town itself is of great extent,
and is reported to contain above 10,000 houses, inhabited exclusively
by Turks.  The population of the suburbs, which comprise nearly
4000 houses, is a mixed one of Christians, Jews, Greeks, etc. 
The town numbers three hundred and sixty mosques; but the greater portion
of them are so insignificant and in such a dilapidated condition, that
we scarcely observed them.

Strangers are here permitted to enter the mosques in company of a
kavasse.  We visited some of the principal, among which the Ulla
Drchamy may decidedly be reckoned.  The cupola of this mosque is
considered a masterpiece, and rests upon graceful columns.  It
is open at the top, thus diffusing a chastened light and a clear atmosphere
throughout the building.  Immediately beneath this cupola stands
a large marble basin, in which small fishes swim merrily about.

The mosque of Sultan Mahomed I. and of Sultan Ildirim Bojasid must
also be noticed on account of their splendid architecture; the latter,
too, for the fine view which is thence obtained.  In the mosque
of Murad I. visitors are still shewn weapons and garments which once
belonged to that sultan.  I saw none of the magnificent regal buildings
mentioned by some writers.  The imperial kiosk is so simple in
its appearance, that if we had not climbed the hill on which it stands
for the sake of the view, it would not have been worth the trouble of
the walk.

A stone bridge, roofed throughout its entire length, crosses the
bed of the river, which has very steep banks, but contains very little
water.  A double row of small cottages, in which silk-weavers live
and ply their trade, lines this bridge, which I was surprised to see
here, as its architecture seemed rather to appertain to my own country
than to the East.  During my whole journey I did not see a second
bridge of this kind, either in Syria or Egypt.

The streets are all very dull and deserted, a fact which is rather
remarkable in a town of 100,000 inhabitants.  In most of the streets
more dogs than men are to be seen.  Not only in Constantinople,
but almost in every Oriental town, vast numbers of these creatures run
about in a wild state.

Here, as every where, some degree of bustle is to be found in the
bazaars, particularly in those which are covered in.  Beautiful
and durable silk stuffs, the most valuable of which are kept in warehouses
under lock and key, form the chief article of traffic.  In the
public bazaar we found nothing exposed for sale except provisions. 
Among these I remarked some small, very unpalatable cherries. 
Asia Minor is the fatherland of this fruit, but I did not find it in
any degree of perfection either here or at Smyrna.

Brussa is peculiarly rich in cold springs, clear as crystal, which
burst forth from Mount Olympus.  The town is intersected in all
directions by subterranean canals; in many streets, the ripple of the
waters below can be distinctly heard, and every house is provided with
wells and stone basins of the limpid element; in some of the bazaars
we find a similar arrangement.

On a nearer approach, the appearance of Mount Olympus is not nearly
so grand as when viewed from a distance.  The mountain is surrounded
by several small hills, which detract from the general effect.

The baths, distant about a mile from the town, are prettily and healthfully
situated, and, moreover, abundantly supplied with mineral water. 
Many strangers resort thither to recruit their weakened frames.

The finest among these baths is called Jeni Caplidche.  A lofty
circular hall contains a great swimming bath of marble, above which
rises a splendid cupola.  A number of refracting glasses (six hundred,
they told me) diffuse a magic light around.

Our journey back to Constantinople was not accomplished entirely
without mishap.  One of the gentlemen fell from his horse and broke
his watch.  The saddles and bridles of hired horses are here generally
in such bad condition that there is every moment something to buckle
or to cobble up.  We were riding at a pretty round pace, when suddenly
the girths burst, and the saddle and rider tumbled off together. 
I arrived without accident at my destination, although I had frequently
been in danger of falling from my horse without its being necessary
that the girth should break.

The gentlemen were satisfied with my performance, for I had never
lagged behind, nor had they once been detained on my account. 
It was not until we were safely on board the ship that I told them how
venturesome I had been, and what terror I had undergone.

CHAPTER V.

Contradictory reports—Departure from Constantinople on board
the Archduke John—Scene on the steamer—Galipoli—The
Dardanelles—Tschenekalesi and Kilidil Bahar—The field of
Troy—Tenedos—Smyrna—Halizar—The date-palm—Burnaba—The
Acropolis—Female beauty—Rhodes—Strong fortifications—Deserted
appearance of the town—Cyprus.

The extremely unfavourable reports I heard from Beyrout and Palestine
caused me to defer my departure from day to day.  When I applied
to my consul for a “firmann” (Turkish passport), I was strongly
advised not to travel to the Holy Land.  The disturbances on Mount
Lebanon and the plague were, they assured me, enemies too powerful to
be encountered except in cases of the most urgent necessity.

A priest who had arrived from Beyrout about two months previously
affirmed positively that, in consequence of the serious disturbances,
even he, known though he was far and wide as a physician, had not dared
to venture more than a mile from the town without exposing himself to
the greatest danger.  He advised me to stay in Constantinople until
the end of September, and then to travel to Jerusalem with the Greek
caravan.  This, he said, was the only method to reach that city
in safety.

One day I met a pilgrim in a church who came from Palestine. 
On my asking his advice, he not only confirmed the priest’s report,
but even added that one of his companions had been murdered whilst journeying
homeward, and that he himself had been despoiled of his goods, and had
only escaped death through the special interposition of Providence. 
I did not at all believe the asseverations of this man; he related all
his adventures with such a Baron Munchausen air, assumed probably to
excite admiration.  I continued my investigations on this subject
until I was at length fortunate enough to find some one who told an
entirely different tale.  From this I felt assured at least of
the fact, that it would be almost impossible to learn the true state
of the case here in Constantinople, and at length made up my mind to
avail myself of the earliest opportunity of proceeding as far as Beyrout,
where there was a chance of my getting at the truth.

I was advised to perform this journey in male attire; but I did not
think it advisable to do so, as my short, spare figure would have seemed
to belong to a youth, and my face to an old man.  Moreover, as
I had no beard, my disguise would instantly have been seen through,
and I should have been exposed to much annoyance.  I therefore
preferred retaining the simple costume, consisting of a kind of blouse
and wide Turkish trousers, which I then wore.  The further I travelled,
the more I became persuaded how rightly I had acted in not concealing
my sex.  Every where I was treated with respect, and kindness and
consideration were frequently shewn me merely because I was a woman. 
On

May 17th

I embarked on board a steamboat belonging to the Austrian Lloyd. 
It was called the Archduke John.

It was with a feeling of painful emotion that I stood on the deck,
gazing with an air of abstraction at the preparations for the long voyage
which were actively going on around me.  Once more I was alone
among a crowd of people, with nothing to depend on but my trust in Providence. 
No friendly sympathetic being accompanied me on board.  All was
strange.  The people, the climate, country, language, the manners
and customs—all strange.  But a glance upward at the unchanging
stars, and the thought came into my soul, “Trust in God, and thou
art not alone.”  And the feeling of despondency passed away,
and soon I could once more contemplate with pleasure and interest all
that was going on around me.

Near me stood a poor mother who could not bear to part with her son. 
Time after time she folded him in her arms, and kissed and blessed him. 
Poor mother! wilt thou see him again, or will the cold ground be a barrier
between you till this life is past?  Peace be with you both!

A whole tribe of people came noisily towards us;—they were
friends of the crew, who bounced about the ship from stem to stern,
canvassing its merits in comparison with French and English vessels.

Suddenly there was a great crowding on the swinging ladder, of chests,
boxes, and baskets.  Men were pushing and crushing backwards and
forwards.  Turks, Greeks, and others quarrelled and jostled each
other for the best places on the upper deck, and in a few moments the
whole large expanse wore the appearance of a bivouac.  Mats and
mattresses were every where spread forth, provisions were piled up in
heaps, and culinary utensils placed in order beside them; and before
these preparations had been half completed the Turks began washing their
faces, hands, and feet, and unfolding their carpets, to perform their
devotions.  In one corner of the ship I even noticed that a little
low tent had been erected; it was so closely locked, that for a long
time I could not discern whether human beings or merchandise lay concealed
within.  No movement of the interior was to be perceived, and it
was not until some days afterwards that I was informed by a Turk what
the tent really contained.  A scheick from the Syrian coast had
purchased two girls at Constantinople, and was endeavouring to conceal
them from the gaze of the curious.  I was for nine days on the
same vessel with these poor creatures, and during the whole time had
not an opportunity of seeing either of them.  At the debarcation,
too, they were so closely muffled that it was impossible to discover
whether they were white or black.

At six o’clock the bell was rung to warn all strangers to go
ashore; and now I could discover who were really to be the companions
of my journey.  I had flattered myself that I should find several
Franks on board, who might be bound to the same destination as myself;
but this hope waxed fainter and fainter every moment, as one European
after another left the ship, until at length I found myself alone among
the strange Oriental nations.

The anchor was now weighed, and we moved slowly out of the harbour. 
I offered up a short but fervent prayer for protection on my long and
dangerous voyage, and with a calmed and strengthened spirit I could
once more turn my attention towards my fellow-passengers, who having
concluded their devotions were sitting at their frugal meal.  During
the whole time they remained on the steamer these people subsisted on
cold provisions, such as cheese, bread, hard-boiled eggs, anchovies,
olives, walnuts, a great number of onions, and dried “mishmish,”
a kind of small apricot, which instead of being boiled is soaked in
water for a few hours.  In a sailing vessel it is usual to bring
a small stove and some wood, in order to cook pilau, beans, fowls, and
to boil coffee, etc.  This, of course, is not allowed on board
a steamboat.

The beauty of the evening kept me on deck, and I looked with a regretful
feeling towards the imperial city, until the increasing distance and
the soft veil of evening combined to hide it from my view, though at
intervals the graceful minarets were still dimly discernible through
the mist.  But who shall describe my feelings of joy when I discovered
a European among the passengers?  Now I was no longer alone; in
the first moments we even seemed fellow-countrymen, for the barriers
that divide Europeans into different nations fall as they enter a new
quarter of the globe.  We did not ask each other, Are you from
England, France, Italy; we inquired, Whither are you going? and on its
appearing that this gentleman intended proceeding, like myself, to Jerusalem,
we at once found so much to talk about concerning the journey, that
neither of us thought for a moment of inquiring to what country the
other belonged.  We conversed in the universal French language,
and were perfectly satisfied when we found we could understand each
other.  It was not until the following day that I discovered the
gentleman to be an Englishman, and learned that his name was Bartlett.
{79}

In Constantinople we had both met with the same fate.  He had
been, like myself, unable to obtain any certain intelligence, either
at his consul’s or from the inhabitants, as to the feasibility
of a journey to Jerusalem, and so he was going to seek further information
at Beyrout.  We arranged that we would perform the journey from
Beyrout to Jerusalem in company,—if, indeed, we found it possible
to penetrate among the savage tribes of Druses and Maronites. 
So now I no longer stood unprotected in the wide world.  I had
found a companion as far as Jerusalem, the goal of my journey, which
I could now hope to reach.

I was well satisfied with the arrangements on board.  I had
made up my mind, though not without sundry misgivings, to take a second-class
berth; and on entering the steamer of the Austrian Lloyd, I discovered
to my surprise how much may be effected by order and good management. 
Here the men and the women were separately lodged, wash-hand basins
were not wanting, we fared well, and could not be cheated when we paid
for our board, as the accounts were managed by the first mate: on the
remaining steamers belonging to this company I found the arrangements
equally good.

Crossing the Sea of Marmora, we passed the “Seven Towers,”
leaving the Prince’s Islands behind us on the left.

Early on the following day,

May 18th,

we reached the little town of Galipoli, situate on an eminence near
the Hellespont.  A few fragments of ruins in the last stage of
dilapidation cause us to think of the ages that have fled, as we speed
rapidly on.  We waited here a quarter of an hour to increase the
motley assemblage on deck by some new arrivals.

For the next 20 miles, as far as Sed Bahe, the sea is confined within
such narrow bounds, that one could almost fancy it was a channel dug
to unite the Sea of Marmora with the Archipelago.  It is very appropriately
called the STRAIT of the Dardanelles.  On the left we have always
the mainland of Asia, and on the right a tongue of land belonging to
Europe, and terminating at Sed Bahe.  The shores on both sides
are desert and bare.  It is a great contrast to former times, a
contrast which every educated traveller must feel as he travels hither
from the Bosphorus.  What stirring scenes were once enacted here! 
Of what deeds of daring, chronicled in history, were not these regions
the scene!  Every moment brought us nearer to the classic ground. 
Alas, that we were not permitted to land on any of the Greek Islands,
past which we flew so closely!  I was obliged, perforce, to content
myself with thinking of the past, of the history of ancient Greece,
without viewing the sites where the great deeds had been done.

The two castles of the Dardanelles, Tschenekalesi and Kilidil Bahar,
that on the Asiatic shore looking like a ruin, while its European neighbour
wore the appearance of a fortress, let us steam past unchallenged. 
And how shall I describe the emotions I felt as we approached the plains
of Troy?

I was constantly on deck, lest I should lose any portion of the view,
and scarcely dared to breathe when at length the long-wished-for plain
came in sight.

Here it is, then, that this famous city is supposed to have stood. 
Yonder mounds, perchance, cover the resting-places of Achilles, Patroclus,
Ajax, Hector, and many other heroes who may have served their country
as faithfully as these, though their names do not live in the page of
history.  How gladly would I have trodden the plain, there to muse
on the legends which in my youth had already awakened in me such deep
and awe-struck interest, and had first aroused the wish to visit these
lands—a desire now partially fulfilled!  But we flew by with
relentless rapidity.  The whole region is deserted and bare. 
It seems as if nature and mankind were mourning together for the days
gone by.  The inhabitants may indeed weep, for they will never
again be what they once were.

In the course of the day we passed several islands.  In the
foreground towered the peak of the Hydræ, shortly afterwards Samothrace
rose from the waves, and we sailed close by the island of Tenedos. 
At first this island does not present a striking appearance, but after
rounding a small promontory we obtained a view of the fine fortress
skirting the sea; it seems to have been built for the protection of
the town beyond.

After passing Tenedos we lost sight of the Greek islands for a short
time (the mainland of Asia can always be distinguished on our left),
but soon afterwards we reached the most beautiful of them all—Mytelene,
which has justly been sung by many poets as the Island of the Fairies. 
For seven hours we glided by its coast.  It resembles a garden
of olives, orange-trees, pomegranates, etc.  The view is bounded
at the back by a double row of peaked mountains, and the town lies nearly
in the midst.  It is built in a circular form, round a hill, strengthened
with fortifications.  In front the town is girded by a strong wall,
and in the rear extends a deep bay.  A few masts peered forth and
shewed us where the bay ended.  From this point we saw numerous
villages prettily situated among the luxuriant shade of large trees. 
It must be a delightful thing to spend the spring-time on this island.

I remained on deck till late in the night, so charming, so rich in
varied pictures of verdant isles is this voyage on the Ægæan
Sea.  Had I been a magician, I would have fixed the sun in the
heavens until we had arrived at Smyrna.  Unfortunately many a beauteous
island which we next morning contemplated ruefully on the map was hidden
from us by the shades of night.

May 19th.

Long before the sun was up, I had resumed my post on deck, to welcome
Smyrna from afar.

A double chain of mountains, rising higher and higher, warned us
of our approach to the rich commercial city.  At first we can only
distinguish the ancient dilapidated castle on a rock, then the city
itself, built at the foot of the rock, on the sea-shore; at the back
the view is closed by the “Brother Mountains.”

The harbour is very spacious, but has rather the appearance of a
wharf, with room for whole fleets to anchor.  Many ships were lying
here, and there was evidently plenty of business going on.

The “Franks’ town,” which can be distinctly viewed
from the steamer, extends along the harbour, and has a decidedly European
air.

Herr von Cramer had been previously apprised of my arrival, and was
obliging enough to come on board to fetch me.  We at once rode
to Halizar, the summer residence of many of the citizens, where I was
introduced to my host’s family.

Halizar is distant about five English miles from Smyrna.  The
road thither is beautiful beyond description, so that one has no time
to think about the distance.  Immediately outside the town we pass
a large open place near a river, where the camels rest, and where they
are loaded and unloaded; I saw a whole herd of these animals. 
Their Arab or Bedouin drivers were reclining on mats, resting after
their labours, while others were still fully employed about their camels. 
It was a truly Arabian picture, and moreover so new to me, that I involuntarily
stopped my long-eared Bucephalus to contemplate it at my leisure.

Not far from this resting-place is the chief place of rendezvous
and pastime of the citizens.  It consists of a coffee-booth and
a few rows of trees, surrounded by numerous gardens, all rich in beautiful
fruit-trees.  Charming beyond all the rest, the flower of the pomegranate-tree
shines with the deepest crimson among the green leaves.  Wild oleanders
bloomed every where by the roadside.  We wandered through beautiful
shrubberies of cypress-trees and olives, and never yet had I beheld
so rich a luxuriance of vegetation.  This valley, with its one
side flanked by wild and rugged rocks, in remarkable contrast to the
fruitful landscape around, has a peculiar effect when viewed from the
hill across which we ride.  I was also much amazed by the numerous
little troops of from six to ten, or even twenty camels, which sometimes
came towards us with their grave majestic pace, and were sometimes overtaken
by our fleet donkeys.  Surrounded on all sides by objects at once
novel and interesting, it will not be wondered at that I found the time
passing far too rapidly.

The heat is said not to be more oppressive at Smyrna during the summer
than at Constantinople.  Spring, however, commences here earlier,
and the autumn is longer.  This fact, I thought, accounted for
the lovely vegetation, which was here so much more forward than at Constantinople.

Herr von Cramer’s country-house stands in the midst of a smiling
garden; it is spacious and built of stone.  The large and lofty
apartments are flagged with marble or tiles.  In the garden I found
the first date-palm, a beautiful tree with a tall slender stem, from
the extremity of which depend leaves five or six feet in length, forming
a magnificent crown.  In these regions and also in Syria, whither
my journey afterwards led me, the date-palm does not attain so great
a height as in Egypt, nor does it bear any fruit, but only stands as
a noble ornament beside the pomegranate and orange trees.  My attention
was also attracted to numerous kinds of splendid acacias; some of these
grew to an immense size, as high as the walnut-trees of my own country.

The villas of the townspeople all strongly resemble each other. 
The house stands in the midst of the garden, and the whole is surrounded
by a wall.

In the evening I visited some of the peasants, in company with Herr
von C.  This gentleman informed me that these people were very
poor, but still I found them decently clad and comfortably lodged in
large roomy dwellings built of stone.  Altogether, the condition
of affairs seems here vastly superior to that in Galicia and in Hungary
near the Carpathian mountains.

I reckoned the day I spent with this amiable family among the most
pleasant I had yet passed.  How gladly would I have accepted their
hearty invitation to remain several weeks with them!  But I had
lost so much time in Constantinople, that on the morning of

May 20th

I was compelled to bid adieu to Frau von C. and her dear children. 
Herr von C. escorted me back to Smyrna.  We took the opportunity
of roaming through many streets of the Franks’ quarter, which
I found, generally speaking, pretty and cheerful enough, and moreover
level and well paved.  The handsomest street is that in which the
consuls reside.  The houses are finely built of stone, and the
halls are tastefully paved with little coloured pebbles, arranged in
the form of wreaths, stars, and squares.  The inhabitants generally
take up their quarters in these entrance-halls during the day, as it
is cooler there than in the rooms.  To nearly every house a pretty
garden is attached.

The Turkish town is certainly quite different; it is built of wood,
and is angular and narrow; dogs lie about in the streets, just as at
Brussa and Constantinople.  And why should it be otherwise here? 
Turks live in all this quarter, and they do not feel the necessity of
clean and airy dwellings like the fastidious Franks.

The bazaars are not roofed; and here also the costlier portion of
the wares is kept under lock and key.

It is well worth the traveller’s while to make an excursion
to Burnaba, a place lying on the sea-coast not far from the town, and
serving, like Halizar, as a retreat for the townspeople during the summer. 
The views in this direction are various, and the road is good. 
The whole appearance of the place is that of a very extended village,
with all its houses standing in the midst of gardens and surrounded
by walls.

From the Acropolis we have a fine view in every direction, and find,
in fact, a union of advantages only met with separately elsewhere.

In Smyrna I found the most beautiful women I had yet seen; and even
during my further journey I met with few who equalled, and none who
surpassed them.  These fairy forms are, however, only to be sought
among the Greeks.  The natural charms of these Graces are heightened
by the rich costume they wear.  They have a peculiarly tasteful
manner of fastening their little round fez-caps, beneath which their
rich hair falls in heavy plaits upon their shoulders, or is wound with
a richly embroidered handkerchief round the head and brow.

Smyrna is, however, not only celebrated as possessing the loveliest
women, but also as the birthplace of one of the greatest men. {85} 
O Homer, in the Greece of to-day thou wouldst find no materials for
thine immortal Iliad!

At five o’clock in the afternoon we quitted the harbour of
Smyrna.  In this direction the town is seen to much greater advantage
after we have advanced a mile than when we approach it from Constantinople;
for now the Turks’ town lies spread in all its magnitude before
us, whereas on the other side it is half hidden by the Franks’
quarter.

The sea ran high, and adverse winds checked the speed of our good
ship; but I am thankful to say that, except when the gale is very strong,
it does not affect my health.  I felt perfectly well, and stood
enjoying the aspect of the waves as they came dancing towards our vessel. 
In Smyrna our company had been augmented by the arrival of a few more
Franks.

May 21st.

Yesterday evening and all this day we have been sailing among islands. 
The principal of these were Scio, Samos, and Cos, and even these form
a desolate picture of bare, inhospitable mountains and desert regions. 
On the island of Cos alone we saw a neat town, with strong fortifications.

May 22d.

This morning, shortly after five o’clock, we ran into the superb
harbour of Rhodes.  Here, for the first time, I obtained a correct
notion of a harbour.  That of Rhodes is shut in on all sides by
walls and masses of rock, leaving only a gap of a hundred and fifty
to two hundred paces in width for the ships to enter.  Here every
vessel can lie in perfect safety, be the sea outside the bar as stormy
as it may; the only drawback is, that the entering of this harbour,
a task of some difficulty in calm weather, becomes totally impracticable
during a storm.  A round tower stands as a protection on either
side of the entrance to the harbour.  The venerable church of St.
John and the palace of the Komthur can be distinguished towering high
above the houses and fortifications.

Our captain imparted to us the pleasant intelligence that we might
spend the hours between this and three o’clock in the afternoon
on shore.  Our ship had for some time lain surrounded by little
boats, and so we lost no time in being conveyed to the land.  The
first thing we did on reaching it was to ask questions concerning the
ancient site of the celebrated Colossus.  But we could gain no
information, as neither our books nor the people here could point out
the place to us with certainty; so we left the coast, to make up for
the disappointment by exploring the ancient city.

Rhodes is surrounded with three rows of strong fortifications. 
We passed over three drawbridges before entering the town.  We
were quite surprised to see the beautiful streets, the well-kept houses,
and the excellent pavement.  The principal street, containing the
houses of the ancient Knights of St. John, is very broad, with buildings
so massively constructed of stone as almost to resemble fortresses. 
Heraldic bearings, with dates carved in stone, grace many of the Gothic
gateways.  The French shield, with the three lilies and the date
1402, occurs most frequently.  On the highest point in the city
are built the church of St. John and the house of the governor.

All the exteriors seem in such good preservation, that one could
almost fancy the knights had only departed to plant their victorious
banner on the Holy Sepulchre.  They have in truth departed—departed
to a better home.  Centuries have breathed upon their ashes, scattered
in all the regions of the earth.  But their deeds have been chronicled
both in heaven and among men, and the heroes still live in the admiration
of posterity.

The churches, the house of the governor, and many other buildings,
are not nearly so well preserved inside as a first glance would lead
us to imagine.  The reason of this is that the upper part of the
town is but thinly inhabited.  A gloomy air of silence and vacancy
reigns around.  We could wander about every where without being
stared at or annoyed by the vulgar and envious.  Mr. Bartlett,
the Englishman, made a few sketches in his drawing-book of some of the
chief beauties, such as the Gothic gateways, the windows, balconies,
etc., and no inhabitant came to disturb him.

The pavement in the city, and even in the streets around the fortifications,
consists wholly of handsome slabs of stone, often of different colours,
like mosaic, and in such good preservation that we could fancy the work
had been but recently concluded.  This is certainly partly owing
to the fact that no loaded wagon ever crushes over these stones, for
the use of vehicles is entirely unknown in these parts; every thing
is carried by horses, asses, or camels.

Cannons dating from the time of the Genoese still stand upon the
ramparts.  The carriages of these guns are very clumsy, the wheels
consisting of round discs without spokes.

From our tower of observation we can form a perfect estimate of the
extent and strength of the fortifications.  The city is completely
surrounded by three lofty walls, which seem to have been calculated
to last an eternity, for they still stand almost uninjured in all their
glory.  In some places images of the Virgin, of the size of life,
are hewn out of the walls.

The neighbourhood of Rhodes is most charming, and almost resembles
a park.  Many country houses lie scattered throughout this natural
garden.  The vegetation is here no less luxuriant than in Smyrna.

The architecture of the houses already begins to assume a new character. 
Many dwellings have towers attached, and the roofs are flat, forming
numerous terraces, which are all built of stone.  Some streets
in the lower part of the town, inhabited chiefly by Jews, are bordered
with cannon-balls, and present a most peculiar appearance.

I was also much struck with the costumes worn by the country-people,
who were dressed quite in the Swabian fashion.  It was in vain
that I inquired the reason of this circumstance.  The books we
had with us gave no information on the subject, and I could not ask
the natives through my ignorance of their language.

By three o’clock in the afternoon we were once more on board,
and an hour afterwards we sailed out into the open sea.  To-day
we saw nothing further, except a high and lengthened mountain-range
on the Asiatic mainland.  It was a branch of the Taurus. 
The highest peaks glistened like silver in the evening light, enveloped
in a garment of snow.

May 23d.

To-day our organs of vision had a rest, for we were sailing on the
high seas.  Late in the evening, however, the sailors descried
the mountains of Cyprus looming in the far distance like a misty cloud. 
With my less practised eyes I could see nothing but the sunset at sea—a
phenomenon of which I had had a more exalted conception.  The rising
and setting of the sun at sea is not nearly so striking a spectacle
as the same phenomenon in a rocky landscape.  At sea the sky is
generally cloudless in the evening, and the sun gradually sinks, without
refraction of rays or prismatic play of colours, into its ocean-bed,
to pursue its unchanging course the next day.  How infinitely more
grand is this spectacle when seen from the “Rigi Kulm” in
Switzerland!  There it is really a spectacle, in contemplating
which we feel impelled to fall on our knees in speechless adoration,
and admire the wisdom of the Almighty in his wondrous works.

May 24th.

On mounting to the deck this morning at five o’clock I could
distinguish the island of Cyprus, which looks uglier the nearer we approach. 
Both the foreground and the mountain-peaks have an uncomfortable barren
air.  At ten o’clock we entered the harbour of Larnaka. 
The situation of this town is any thing but fine; the country looks
like an Arabian desert, and a few unfruitful date-palms rise beside
the roofless stone houses.

I should not have gone on shore at all, if Doctor Faaslanc, whose
acquaintance I had made at Constantinople, and who had been appointed
quarantine physician here four weeks before my departure, had not come
to fetch me.  The streets of Larnaka are unpaved, so that we were
obliged literally to wade more than ankle-deep in sand and dust. 
The houses are small, with irregular windows, sometimes high and sometimes
low, furnished with wooden grated shutters; and the roofs are in the
form of terraces.  This style of building I found to be universal
throughout Syria.

Of a garden or a green place not a trace was to be seen.  The
sandy expanse reaches to the foot of the mountains, which viewed from
this direction form an equally barren picture.  Behind these mountains
the appearance of the landscape is said to be very fruitful; but I did
not penetrate into the interior, nor did I go to Nikosia, the capital
of the island, distant some twelve miles from Larnaka.

Doctor Faaslanc took me to his house, which had an appearance of
greater comfort than I had expected to find, for it consisted of two
spacious rooms which might almost have been termed halls.  An agreeable
coolness reigned every where.

Neither stoves nor chimneys were to be seen, as winter is here replaced
by a very mild rainy season.  The heat in summer is often said
to be insupportable, the temperature rising to more than 36° Reaumur. 
To-day it reached 30° in the sun.

We drank to my safe return to my country, in real old Cyprian wine. 
Shall I ever see it again?  I hope so, if my journey progresses
as favourably as it has begun.  But Syria is a bad country, and
the climate is difficult to bear; yet with courage and perseverance
for my companions, I may look forward to the accomplishment of my task. 
The good doctor seemed much annoyed that he had nothing to offer me
but Cyprian wine and a few German biscuits.  At this early season
fruit is not to be had, and cherries do not flourish here because the
climate is too hot for them.  In Smyrna I ate the last for this
year.  When I re-embarked in the afternoon, Mr. Bartlett came with
the English consul, who wished, he said, to make the acquaintance of
a lady possessing sufficient courage to undertake so long and perilous
a journey by herself.  His astonishment increased when he was informed
that I was an unpretending native of Vienna.  The consul was kind
enough to offer me the use of his house if I returned by way of Cyprus;
he also inquired if he could give me some letters of recommendation
to the Syrian consuls.  I was touched by this hearty politeness
on the part of a perfect stranger—an Englishman moreover, a race
on whom we are accustomed to look as cold and exclusive!

CHAPTER VI.

Arrival at Beyrout—Fellahs—Backsheesh—Uncomfortable
quarters—Saida—Tyre—St. Jean d’Acre—Cæsarea—Excursion
among the ruins—Jaffa—An eastern family—The Indian
fig-tree—An Oriental dinner—Costume of the women of Jaffa—Oppressive
heat—Gnats—Ramla—Syrian convents—Bedouins and
Arabs—Kariet el Areb, or Emmaus—The Scheikh—Arrival
at Jerusalem.

May 25th.

This morning I could discern the Syrian coast, which becomes more
glorious the nearer we approach.  Beyrout, the goal of our voyage,
was jealously hidden from our eyes to the very last moment.  We
had still to round a promontory, and then this Eden of the earth lay
before us in all its glory.  How gladly would I have retarded the
course of our vessel, as we passed from the last rocky point into the
harbour, to have enjoyed this sight a little longer!  One pair
of eyes does not suffice to take in this view; the objects are too numerous,
and the spectator is at a loss whither he should first direct his gaze,—upon
the town, with its many ancient towers attached to the houses, giving
them the air of knights’ castles—upon the numerous country-houses
in the shade of luxurious mulberry plantations—upon the beautiful
valley between Beyrout and Mount Lebanon—or on the distant mountain-range
itself.  The towering masses of this magnificent chain, the peculiar
colour of its rocks, and its snowclad summits, riveted my attention
longer than any thing else.

Scarcely had the anchor descended from the bows, before our ship
was besieged by a number of small boats, with more noise and bustle
than even at Constantinople.  The half-naked and excitable Arabs
or Fellahs are so ready with offers of service, that it is difficult
to keep them off.  It almost becomes necessary to threaten these
poor people with a stick, as they obstinately refuse to take a gentler
hint.  As the water is here very shallow, so that even the little
boats cannot come quite close to shore, some others of these brown forms
immediately approached, seized us by the arms, took us upon their backs
amidst continual shouting and quarrelling, and carried us triumphantly
to land.

Before the stranger puts himself into the hands of men of this kind,
such as captains of small craft, donkey-drivers, porters, etc., he will
find it a very wise precaution to settle the price he is to pay for
their services.  I generally spoke to the captain, or to some old
stager among the passengers, on this subject.  Even when I gave
these people double their usual price, they were not contented, but
demanded an additional backsheesh (gratuity).  It is therefore
advisable to make the first offer very small, and to retain something
for the backsheesh.  At length I safely reached the house of Herr
Battista (the only inn in the place), and was rejoicing in the prospect
of rest and refreshment, when the dismal cry of “no room”
was raised.  I was thus placed in a deplorable position. 
There was no second inn, no convent, no place of any kind, where I,
poor desolate creature that I was, could find shelter.  This circumstance
worked so much on the host’s feelings, that he introduced me to
his wife, and promised to procure me a private lodging.

I had now certainly a roof above my head, but yet I could get no
rest, nor even command a corner where I might change my dress. 
I sat with my hostess from eleven in the morning until five in the afternoon,
and a miserably long time it appeared.  I could not read, write,
or even talk, for neither my hostess nor her children knew any language
but Arabic.  I had, however, time to notice what was going on around
me, and observed that these children were much more lively than those
in Constantinople, for here they were continually chattering and running
about.  According to the custom of the country, the wife does nothing
but play with the children or gossip with the neighbours, while her
husband attends to kitchen and cellar, makes all the requisite purchases,
and besides attending to the guests, even lays the tablecloth for his
wife and children.  He told me that in a week at furthest, his
wife would go with the children to a convent on the Lebanon, to remain
there during the hot season of the year.  What a difference between
an Oriental and a European woman!

I still found the heat at sea far from unendurable; a soft wind continually
wafted its cooling influence towards us, and an awning had been spread
out to shelter us from the rays of the sun.  But what a contrast
when we come to land!  As I sat in the room here the perspiration
dropped continually from my brow, and now I began to understand what
is meant by being in the tropics.  I could scarcely await the hour
when I should be shewn to a room to change my clothes; but to-day I
was not to have an opportunity of doing so, for at five o’clock
a messenger came from Mr. Bartlett with the welcome intelligence that
we could continue our journey, as nothing was to be feared from the
Druses and Maronites, and the plague only reigned in isolated places
through which it was not necessary that we should pass.  He had
already engaged a servant who would act as cook and dragoman (interpreter);
provisions and cooking utensils had also been bought, and places were
engaged on an Arab craft.  Nothing, therefore, remained for me
to do but to be on the sea-shore by six o’clock, where his servant
would be waiting for me.  I was much rejoiced on hearing this good
news: I forgot that I required rest and a change of clothes, packed
up my bundle, and hurried to the beach.  Of the town I only saw
a few streets, where there was a great bustle.  I also noticed
many swarthy Arabs and Bedouins, who wore nothing but a shirt. 
I did not feel particularly anxious to see Beyrout and its vicinity,
as I intended to return soon and visit any part I could not examine
now.

Before sunset we had already embarked on board the craft that was
to carry us to the long-wished-for, the sacred coast of Joppa. 
Every thing was in readiness, and we lacked only the one thing indispensable—a
breeze.

No steamers sail between Joppa and Beyrout; travellers must be content
with sailing vessels, deficient alike as regards cleanliness and convenience;
they are not provided with a cabin, or even with an awning, so that
the passengers remain day and night under the open sky.  Our vessel
carried a cargo of pottery, besides rice and corn in sacks.

Midnight approached, and still we were in harbour, with not a breath
of wind to fill our sails.

Wrapping my cloak tightly round me, I lay down on the sacks, in the
absence of a mattress; but I was not yet sufficiently tired out to be
able to find rest on such an unusual couch.  So I rose again in
rather a bad humour, and looked with an evil eye on the Arabs lying
on the sacks around me, who were not “slumbering softly,”
but snoring lustily.  By way of forcing myself, if possible, into
a poetical train of thought, I endeavoured to concentrate my attention
on the contemplation of the beautiful landscape by moonlight; but even
this would not keep me from yawning.  My companion seemed much
in the same mood; for he had also risen from his soft couch,
and was staring gloomingly straight before him.  At length, towards
three o’clock in the morning of

May 26th,

a slight breath of wind arose, we hoisted two or three sails, and
glided slowly and noiselessly towards the sea.

Mr. B. had bargained with the captain to keep as close to the shore
as possible, in order that we might see the towns as we passed. 
Excepting in Cæsarea, it was forbidden to cast anchor any where,
for the plague was raging at Sur (Tyre) and in several other places.

Bargains of this kind must be taken down in writing at the consulates,
and only one-half of the sum agreed should be paid in advance; the other
half must be kept in hand, to operate as a check on the crew. 
After every precaution has been taken, one can seldom escape without
some bickering and quarrelling.  On these occasions it is always
advisable at once to take high ground, and not to give way in the most
trifling particular, for this is the only method of gaining peace and
quietness.

Towards seven o’clock in the morning we sailed by the town
and fortress of Saida.  The town looks respectable enough, and
contains some spacious houses.  The fortress is separated from
the town by a small bay, across which a wooden bridge has been built. 
The fortress seems in a very dilapidated condition; many breaches are
still in the same state in which they were left after the taking of
the town by the English in 1840, and part of the wall has fallen into
the sea.  In the background we could descry some ruins on a rock,
apparently the remains of an ancient castle.

The next place we saw was Sarepta, where Elijah the prophet was fed
by the poor widow during the famine.

The Lebanon range becomes lower and lower, while its namesake, the
Anti-Lebanon, begins to rise.  It is quite as lofty as the first-named
range, which it closely resembles in form.  Both are traversed
by fields of snow, and between them stands a third colossus, Mount Hermon.

Next came the town of Tyre or Sur, now barren and deserted; for that
mighty scourge of humanity, the plague, was raging there to a fearful
extent.  A few scattered fragments of fortifications and numerous
fallen pillars lie strewed on the shore.

And now at length I was about to see places which many have longed
to behold, but which few have reached.  With a beating heart I
gazed unceasingly towards St. Jean d’Acre, which I at length saw
rising from the waves, with Mount Carmel in the background.  Here,
then, was the holy ground on which the Redeemer walked for us fallen
creatures!  Both St. Jean d’Acre and Mount Carmel can be
distinguished a long distance off.

For a second time did a mild and calm night sink gently on the earth
without bringing me repose.  How unlucky it is that we find it
so much harder to miss comforts we have been used to enjoy, than to
acquire the habit of using comforts to which we have been unaccustomed! 
Were this not the case, how much easier would travelling be!  As
it is, it costs us many an effort ere we can look hardships boldly in
the face.  “But patience!” thought I to myself; “I
shall have more to endure yet; and if I return safely, I shall be as
thoroughly case-hardened as any native.”

Our meals and our beverage were very simple.  In the morning
we had pilau, and in the evening we had pilau; our drink was lukewarm
water, qualified with a little rum.

From Beyrout to the neighbourhood of St. Jean d’Acre, the coast
and a considerable belt of land adjoining it are sandy and barren. 
Near Acre every thing changed; we once more beheld pretty country-houses
surrounded by pomegranate and orange plantations, and a noble aqueduct
intersects the plain.  Mount Carmel, alone barren and unfruitful,
stands in striking contrast to the beauteous landscape around; jutting
boldly out towards the sea, it forms the site of a handsome and spacious
convent.

The town of St. Jean d’Acre and its fortifications were completely
destroyed during the last war (in 1840), and appear to sigh in vain
for repairs.  The houses and mosques are full of cannon-balls and
shot-holes.  Every thing stands and lies about as though the enemy
had departed but yesterday.  Six cannons peer threateningly from
the wall.  The town and fortifications are both built on a tongue
of land washed by the sea.

May 27th.

During the night we reached Cæsarea.  With the eloquence
of a Demosthenes, our captain endeavoured to dissuade us from our project
of landing here; he pointed out to us the dangers to which we were exposing
ourselves, and the risks we should run from Bedouins and snakes. 
The former, he averred, were accustomed to conceal themselves in hordes
among the ruins, in order to ease travellers of their effects and money;
being well aware that such spots were only visited by curious tourists
with well-filled purses, they were continually on the watch, like the
robber-knights of the good old German empire.  “An enemy
no less formidable,” said the captain, “was to be encountered
in the persons of numerous snakes lurking in the old walls and on the
weed-covered ground, which endangered the life of the traveller at every
step.”  We were perfectly well aware of these facts, having
gleaned them partly from descriptions of voyages, partly from oral traditions;
and so they were not powerful enough to arrest our curiosity. 
The captain himself was really less actuated by the sense of our danger,
in advising us to abandon our undertaking, than by the reflection of
the time it lost him; but he exerted himself in vain.  He was obliged
to cast anchor, and at daybreak to send a boat ashore with us.

Our arms consisted of parasols and sticks (the latter we carried
in order to beat the bushes); we were escorted by the captain, his servant,
and a couple of sailors.

In the ruins we certainly met with a few suspicious-looking characters
in the shape of wandering Bedouins.  As it was too late to beat
a retreat, we advanced bravely towards them with trusting and friendly
looks.  The Bedouins did the same, and so there was an end of this
dangerous affair.  We climbed from one fragment to another, and
certainly spent more than two hours among the ruins, without sustaining
the slightest injury at the hands of these people.  Of the threatened
snakes we saw not a single one.

Ruins, indeed, we found every where in plenty.  Whole side-walls,
which appeared to have belonged to private houses, but not to splendid
palaces or temples, stood erect and almost unscathed.  Fragments
of pillars lay scattered about in great abundance, but without capitals,
pedestals, or friezes.

It was with a feeling of awe hitherto unknown to me that I trod the
ground where my Redeemer had walked.  Every spot, every building
became invested with a double interest.  “Perchance,”
I thought, “I may be lingering within the very house where Jesus
once sojourned.”  More than satisfied with my excursion,
I returned to our bark.

By three o’clock in the afternoon we were close under the walls
of Joppa.  To enter this harbour, partially choked up as it is
with sand, is described as a difficult feat.  We were assured that
we should see many wrecks of stranded ships and boats; accordingly I
strained my eyes to the utmost, and could discover nothing.  We
ran safely in; and thus ended a little journey in the course of which
I had seen many new and interesting objects, besides gaining some insight
into the mode of life among the sailors.  Frequently, when it fell
calm, our Arabs would recline on the ground in a circle, singing songs
of an inconceivably inharmonious and lugubrious character, while they
clapped their hands in cadence, and burst at intervals into a barking
laugh.  I could not find any thing very amusing in this entertainment;
on the contrary, it had the effect of making me feel very melancholy,
as displaying these good people in a very idiotic and degrading light.

The costume of the sailors was simple in the extreme.  A shirt
covered them in rather an imperfect manner, and a handkerchief bound
round their heads protected them from a coup de soleil. 
The captain was distinguished from the rest only by his turban, which
looked ridiculous enough, surmounting his half-clad form.  Their
diet consisted of a single warm meal of pilau or beans, eaten in the
evening.  During the day they stayed their appetites with bread. 
Their drink was water.

The town of Joppa, extending from the sea-shore to the summit of
a rather considerable and completely isolated hill, has a most peculiar
appearance.  The lower street is surrounded by a wall, and appears
sufficiently broad; the remaining streets run up the face of the hills,
and seem at a distance to be resting on the houses below.  Viewing
the town from our boat, I could have sworn that people were walking
about on flat house-tops.

As Joppa boasts neither an inn nor a convent which might shelter
a traveller, I waited upon the Consul of the Austrian Empire, Herr D—,
who received me very kindly and introduced me to his family, which comprised
his lady, three sons, and three daughters.  They wore the Turkish
costume.  The daughters, two of whom were exceedingly beautiful,
wore wide trousers, a caftan, and a sash round the waist.  On their
heads they had little fez-caps, and their hair was divided into fifteen
or twenty narrow plaits, interwoven with little gold coins, and a larger
one at the end of each plait.  A necklace of gold coins encircled
their necks.  The mother was dressed in exactly the same way. 
When elderly women have little or no hair left, they make up with artificial
silk plaits for the deficiencies of nature.

The custom of wearing coins as ornaments is so prevalent throughout
Syria, that the very poorest women, girls, and children strive to display
as many as possible.  Where they cannot sport gold, they content
themselves with silver money; and where even this metal is not attainable,
with little coins of copper and other baser metals.

The Consul and his son were also clothed in the Turkish garb; but
instead of a turban the father wore an old cocked hat, which gave him
an indescribably ludicrous appearance.  A son and a daughter of
this worthy patron of the semi-Turkish, semi-European garb, had but
one eye, a defect frequently met with in Syria.  It is generally
supposed to be caused by the dry heat, the fine particles of sand, and
the intense glare of the chalky hills.

As I reached Joppa early in the afternoon, I proceeded in company
of the Consul to view the town and its environs.  In dirt, bad
paving, etc., I found it equal to any of the towns I had yet seen. 
The lower street, near the sea, alone is broad and bustling, with loaded
and unloaded camels passing continually to and fro.  The bazaar
is composed of some miserable booths containing common provisions and
a few cheap wares.

The neighbourhood of Joppa is exceedingly fertile.  Numerous
large gardens, with trees laden with all kinds of tropical fruits, and
guarded by impenetrable hedges of the Indian fig-tree, form a half-circle
round the lower portion of the town.

The Indian fig-tree, which I here saw for the first time, has an
odd appearance.  From its stem, which is very dwarfish, leaves
a foot in length, six inches in breadth, and half an inch in thickness,
shoot forth.  This tree seldom sends forth branches; the leaves
grow one out of another, and at the extremity the fruit is formed. 
Its length is about two or three inches.  Ten or twenty such figs
are frequently found adhering to a single leaf.

I could not conceive how it happened that in these hot countries,
without rain to refresh them, the trees all looked so healthy and beautiful. 
This fact, I found, was owing to the numerous channels cut through the
gardens, which are thus artificially irrigated.  The heavy dews
and cool nights also tend to restore the drooping vegetation. 
One great ornament of our gardens was, however, totally wanting—a
lawn with wild flowers.  Trees and vegetables here grow out of
the sandy or stony earth, a circumstance hardly noticed at a distance,
but which produces a disagreeable effect on a near view.  Flowers
I found none.

The whole region round Joppa is so covered with sand, that one sinks
ankle-deep at every step.

Consul D— fulfils the duties of two consulates, the Austrian and
the French.  From both these offices he derives no benefit but
the honour.  By some people this honour would be highly valued,
but many would rate it at nothing at all.  This family, however,
seems to have a great idea of honour; for the consul’s office
is hereditary, and I found the son of the present dignitary already
looking forward to filling his place.

In the evening I was present at a real Oriental entertainment in
the house of this friendly family.

Mats, carpets, and pillows were spread out on the terrace of the
house, and a very low table placed in the centre.  Round this the
family sat, or rather reclined, cross-legged.  I was accommodated
with a chair somewhat higher than the table.  Beside my plate and
that of the Consul were laid a knife and fork, that appeared to have
been hunted out from some lumber closet; the rest ate with a species
of natural knife and fork, namely—fingers.

The dishes were not at all to my taste.  I had still too much
of the European about me, and too little appetite, to be able to endure
what these good people seemed to consider immense delicacies.

The first dish appeared in the form of a delicate pilau, composed
of mutton, cucumbers, and a quantity of spice, which rendered it more
unpalatable to me than common pilau.  Then followed sliced cucumbers
sprinkled with salt; but as the chief ingredients, vinegar and oil,
were entirely wanting, I was obliged to force down the cucumber as best
I could.  Next came rice-milk, so strongly flavoured with attar
of roses, that the smell alone was more than enough for me; and now
at length the last course was put on the table—stale cheese made
of ewe’s milk, little unpeeled girkins, which my entertainers
coolly discussed rind and all, and burnt hazel-nuts.  The bread,
which is flat like pancakes, is not baked in ovens, but laid on metal
plates or hot stones, and turned when one side is sufficiently done. 
It tastes better than I should have expected. {101}

Our conversation during dinner was most interesting.  Some of
the family spoke a little Italian, but this little was pronounced with
such a strong Greek accent, that I was obliged to guess at the greater
portion of what was said.  No doubt they had to do the same with
me.  The worthy Consul, indeed, affirmed that he knew French very
well; but for this evening at least, his memory seemed to have given
him the slip.  Much was spoken, and little understood.  The
same thing is said often to be the case in learned societies; so it
was not of much consequence.

There are many different kinds of cucumber in Syria, where they are
a favourite dish with rich and poor.  I found numerous varieties,
but none that I found superior to our German one.  Another favourite
fruit is the water-melon, here called “bastek.”  These
also I found neither larger in size nor better flavoured than the melons
I had eaten in southern Hungary.

The Consul’s house seems sufficiently large; but the architectural
arrangement is so irregular that the extended area contains but few
rooms and very little comfort.  The apartments are lofty and large,
extremely ill-furnished, and not kept in the best possible order.

I slept in the apartment of the married daughter; but had it not
been for the beds standing round, I should rather have looked upon it
as an old store-closet than a lady’s sleeping-room.

May 28th.

At five o’clock in the morning Mr. Bartlett’s servant
came to fetch me away, as we were at once to continue our journey. 
I betook myself to the house of the English Consul, where I found neither
a horse nor any thing else prepared for our departure.  It is necessary
to look calmly upon these irregularities here in the East, where it
is esteemed a fortunate occurrence if the horses and mukers (as the
drivers of horses and donkeys are called) are only a few hours behind
their time.  Thus our horses made their appearance at half-past
five instead of at four, the hour for which they had been ordered. 
Our baggage was soon securely fixed, for we left the greater portion
of our effects at Joppa, and took with us only what was indispensably
necessary.

As the clock struck six we rode out of the gate of Joppa, and immediately
afterwards reached a large well with a marble basin.  Near places
of this description a great number of people are always congregated,
and more women and girls are seen than appear elsewhere.

The dress of females belonging to the lower orders consists of a
long blue garment fastened round the throat, and reaching below the
ankle.  They completely cover the head and face, frequently without
even leaving openings for the eyes.  Some females, on the other
hand, go abroad with their faces totally uncovered.  These are,
however, exceptional cases.

The women carry their water-pitchers on their head or shoulder, as
their ancestors have done for thousands of years, in the manner we find
represented in the oldest pictures.  But unfortunately I could
discover neither the grace in their gait, the dignity in their movements,
nor the physical beauty in their appearance, that I had been led to
expect.  On the contrary, I found squalor and poverty more prevalent
than I had thought possible.  We rode on amid the gardens, every
moment meeting a little caravan of camels.  Immediately beyond
the gardens we descry the fruitful valley of Sharon, extending more
than eight miles in length, and to a still greater distance in breadth. 
Here and there we find villages built on hills, and the whole presents
the appearance of an extremely fertile and well-populated region. 
In all directions we saw large herds of sheep and goats; the latter
generally of a black or brown colour, with long pendent ears.

The foreground of the picture is formed by the Judæan mountains,
a range apparently composed of a number of barren rocks.

A ride of two hours through this plain, which is less sandy than
the immediate neighbourhood of Joppa, brought us to a mosque, where
we made halt for a quarter of an hour and ate our breakfast, consisting
of some hard-boiled eggs, a piece of bread, and a draught of lukewarm
water from the cistern.  Our poor beasts fared even worse than
ourselves—they received nothing but water.

On leaving this place to resume our journey across the plain, we
not only suffered dreadfully from the heat, which had reached 30°
Reaumur, but were further persecuted by a species of minute gnats, which
hovered round us in large swarms, crept into our noses and ears, and
annoyed us in such a manner that it required the utmost of our patience
and determination to prevent us from turning back at once.  Fortunately
we only met with these tormentors in those parts where the corn had
been cut and was still in the fields.  They are not much larger
than a pin’s head, and look more like flies than gnats. 
They are always met with in great swarms, and sting so sharply that
they frequently raise large boils.

The vegetation was at this season already in so forward a state that
we frequently passed stubble-fields, and found that the wheat had in
several cases been already garnered up.  Throughout the whole of
Syria, and in that part of Egypt whither my journey afterwards led me,
I never once saw corn or vegetables, wood or stores, carried in wagons;
they were invariably borne by horses or asses.  In Syria I could
understand the reason of this proceeding.  With the exception,
perhaps, of the eight or ten miles across the valley of Sharon, the
road is too stony and uneven to admit the passage of the lightest and
smallest carts.  In Egypt, however, this is not the case, and yet
wagons have not been introduced.

A most comical effect was produced when we met long processions of
small donkeys, so completely laden with corn, that neither their heads
nor their feet remained visible.  The sheaves seemed to be moving
spontaneously, or to be propelled by the power of steam.  Frequently
after a train of this kind has passed, lofty grey heads appear, surrounded
by a load piled up to so great a height, that one would suppose large
corn-wagons were approaching rather than the “ship of the desert,”
the camel.  The traveller’s attention is continually attracted
to some novel and curious object totally dissimilar to any thing he
has seen at home.

Towards ten o’clock we arrived at Ramla, a place situate on
a little hill, and discernible from a great distance.  Before reaching
the town, we had to pass through an olive-wood.  Leaving our horses
beneath a shady tree, we entered the coppice on the right: a walk of
about a quarter of a mile brought us to the “Tower of the Forty
Martyrs,” which was converted into a church during the time of
the Knights Templars, and now serves as a dwelling for dervishes. 
It is a complete ruin, and I could scarcely believe that it was still
habitable.

We made no stay at Ramda, a place only remarkable for a convent built,
it is said, on the site of Joseph of Arimathea’s house.

The Syrian convents are built more like fortresses than like peaceful
dwellings.  They are usually surrounded by strong and lofty walls,
furnished with loopholes for cannon.  The great gate is kept continually
closed, and barred and bolted from within for greater security; a little
postern is opened to admit visitors, but even this is only done in time
of peace, and when there is no fear of the plague.

At length, towards noon, we approached the mountains of Judæa. 
Here we must bid farewell to the beautiful fruitful valley and to the
charming road, and pursue our journey through a stony region, which
we do not pass without difficulty.

At the entrance of the mountain-chain lies a miserable village; near
this village is a well, and here we halted to refresh ourselves and
water our poor horses.  It was not without a great deal of trouble
and some expense that we managed to obtain a little water; for all the
camels, asses, goats, and sheep from far and wide were collected here,
eagerly licking up every drop of the refreshing element they could secure. 
Little did I think that I should ever be glad to quench my thirst with
so disgusting a beverage as the muddy, turbid, and lukewarm water they
gave me from this well.  We once more filled our leathern bottles,
and proceeded with fresh courage up the stony path, which quickly became
so narrow, that without great difficulty and danger we could not pass
the camels which we frequently met.  Fortunately a few camels out
of every herd are generally provided with bells, so that their approach
is heard at some distance, and one can prepare for them accordingly.

The Bedouins and Arabs generally wear no garment but a shirt barely
reaching to the knee.  Their head is protected by a linen cloth,
to which a thick rope wound twice round the head gives a very good effect. 
A few have a striped jacket over their shirt, and the rich men or chiefs
frequently wear turbans.

Our road now continues to wind upwards, through ravines between rocks
and mountains, and over heaps of stones.  Here and there single
olive-trees are seen sprouting from the rocky clefts.  Ugly as
this tree is, it still forms a cheerful feature in the desert places
where it grows.  Now and then we climbed hills whence we had a
distant view of the sea.  These glimpses increase the awe which
inspires the traveller when he considers on what ground he is wandering,
and whither he is bending his steps.  Every step we now take leads
us past places of religious importance; every ruin, every fragment of
a fortress or tower, above which the rocky walls rise like terraces,
speaks of eventful times long gone by.

An uninterrupted ride of five hours over very bad roads, from the
entrance of the mountain-range, added to the extreme heat and total
want of proper refreshment, suddenly brought on such a violent giddiness
that I could scarcely keep myself from falling off my horse.  Although
we had been on horseback for eleven hours since leaving Joppa, I was
so much afraid that Mr. B. would consider me weak and ailing, and perhaps
change his intention of accompanying me from Jerusalem back to Joppa,
that I refrained from acquainting him with the condition in which I
felt myself.  I therefore dismounted (had I not done so, I should
soon have fallen down), and walked with tottering steps beside my horse,
until I felt so far recovered that I could mount once more.  Mr.
B. had determined to perform the distance from Joppa to Jerusalem (a
sixteen hours’ ride) at one stretch.  He indeed asked me
if I could bear so much fatigue; but I was unwilling to abuse his kindness,
and therefore assured him that I could manage to ride on for five or
six hours longer.  Fortunately for my reputation, my companion
was soon afterwards attacked with the same symptoms that troubled me
so much; he now began to think that it might, after all, be advisable
to rest for a few hours in the next village, especially as we could
not hope in any case to reach the gates of Jerusalem before sundown. 
I felt silently thankful for this opportune occurrence, and left the
question of going on or stopping altogether to the decision of my fellow-traveller,
particularly as I knew the course he would choose.  Thus I accomplished
my object without being obliged to confess my weakness.  In pursuance
of this resolve, we stayed in the neighbouring village of “Kariet
el Areb,” the ancient Emmaus, where the risen Saviour met the
disciples, and where we find a ruin of a Christian church in a tolerable
state of preservation.  The building is now used as a stable. 
Some years ago this was the haunt of a famous robber, who was scheikh
of the place, and let no Frank pass before he had paid whatever tribute
he chose to demand.  Since the accession of Mehemet Ali these exactions
have ceased both here and in Jerusalem, where money was demanded of
the stranger for admission into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and
other sacred places.  Even highway robberies, which were once on
a time of daily occurrence among these mountains, are now rarely heard
of.

We took possession of the entrance-hall of a mosque, near which a
delicious spring sparkled forth from a grotto.  Seldom has any
thing strengthened and refreshed me so much as the water of this spring. 
I recovered completely from my indisposition, and was able to enjoy
the beautiful evening.

As soon as the scheikh of the village heard that a party of Franks
had arrived, he despatched four or five dishes of provisions to us. 
Of all these preparations we could only eat one—the butter-milk. 
The other dishes, a mixture of honey, cucumbers, hard-boiled eggs, onions,
oil, olives, etc., we generously bestowed upon the dragoman and the
muker, who caused them quickly to disappear.  An hour afterwards
the scheikh came in person to pay his respects.  We reclined on
the steps of the hall; and while the men smoked and drank coffee, a
conversation of a very uninteresting kind was kept up, the dragoman
acting as interpreter.  At length the scheikh seemed seized with
the idea that we might possibly be tired with our journey.  He
took his leave, and offered unasked to send us two men as sentries,
which he did.  Thus we could go to rest in perfect safety under
the open sky in the midst of a Turkish village.

But before we retired to rest, my companion was seized with the rather
original idea that we should pursue our journey at midnight.  He
asked me, indeed, if I was afraid, but at the same time observed, that
it would be much safer for us to act upon his suggestion, as no one
would suspect our departure by such a dangerous road at midnight. 
I certainly felt a little afraid, but my pride would not allow me to
confess the truth; so our people received the order to be prepared to
set out at midnight.

Thus we four persons, alone and totally unarmed, travelled at midnight
through the wildest and most dangerous regions.  Fortunately the
bright moon looked smilingly down upon us, and illuminated our path
so brightly, that the horses carried us with firm step over every obstruction. 
I was, I must confess, grievously frightened by the shadows!  I
saw living things moving to and fro—forms gigantic and forms dwarfish
seemed sometimes approaching us, sometimes hiding behind masses of rock,
or sinking back into nothingness.  Lights and shadows, fears and
anxiety, thus took alternate possession of my imagination.

A couple of miles from our starting-place we came upon a brook crossed
by a narrow stone bridge.  This brook is remarkable only as having
been that from which David collected the five stones wherewith he slew
the Philistine giant.  At the season of my visit there was no water
to be seen; the bed of the stream was completely dry.

About an hour’s journey from Jerusalem the valley opens, and
little orchards give indication of a more fertile country, as well as
of the proximity of the Holy City.  Silently and thoughtfully we
approached our destination, straining our eyes to the utmost to pierce
the jealous twilight that shrouded the distance from our gaze. 
From the next hill we hoped to behold our sacred goal; but “hope
deferred” is often the lot of mortals.  We had to ascend
another height, and another; at length the Mount of Olives lay spread
before us, and lastly JERUSALEM.

CHAPTER VII.

Residence at Jerusalem—Catholic church—The “Nuova
Casa”—Via Dolorosa—Pilate’s house—The
Mosque Omar—Herod’s house—Church of the Holy Sepulchre—Disturbances
at the Greek Easter feasts—Knights of the Holy Sepulchre—Mount
of Olives—Adventure among the ruin—Mount of Offence—Valley
of Jehosaphat—Siloam—Mount Sion—Jeremiah’s grotto—Graves.

The red morning dawn had began to tinge the sky as we stood before
the walls of Jerusalem, and with it the most beauteous morning of my
life dawned upon me!  I was so lost in reflection and in thankful
emotion, that I saw and heard nothing of what was passing around me. 
And yet I should find it impossible to describe what I thought, what
I felt.  My emotion was deep and powerful; my expression of it
would be poor and cold.

At half past four o’clock in the morning of the 29th May we
arrived at the “Bethlehem Gate.”  We were obliged to
wait half an hour before this gate was opened; then we rode through
the still silent and deserted streets of the Nuova Casa (Pilgrim-house),
a building devoted by the Franciscan friars to the reception of rich
and poor Roman Catholics and Protestants.

I left my baggage in the room allotted to me, and hastened into the
church, to lighten the weight on my heart by fervent prayer.  The
entrance into the church looks like the door of a private house; the
building is small, but still sufficiently large for the Roman Catholic
congregation.  The altar is richly furnished, and the organ is
a very bad one.  The male and female portions of the congregation
are separated from each other, the young as well as the old, and all
sit or kneel on the ground.  Chairs there are none in this church. 
The costume of the Christians is precisely the same as that of the Syrians. 
The women wear boots of yellow morocco, and over these slippers, which
they take off on entering the church.  In the street their faces
are completely, in the church only partially, muffled, and the faces
of the girls not at all.  Their dress consists of a white linen
gown, and a large shawl of the same material, which completely envelops
them.  They were all cleanly and neatly dressed.

The amount of devotion manifested by these people is very small;
the most trifling circumstance suffices to distract their attention. 
For instance, my appearance seemed to create quite a sensation among
them, and they made their remarks upon me to one another so openly both
by words and gestures, that I found it quite impossible to give my mind
to seriousness and devotion.  Some of them pushed purposely against
me, and put out their hands to grasp my bonnet, etc.  They conversed
together a good deal, and prayed very little.  The children behaved
no better; these little people ate their breakfast while the service
was going on, and occasionally jostled each other, probably to keep
themselves awake.  The good people here must fancy they are doing
a meritorious work by passing two or three hours in the church; no one
seems to care how this time is spent, or they would assuredly
have been taught better.

I had been in the church rather more than an hour when a clergyman
stepped up to me and accosted me in my native language.  He was
a German, and, in fact, an Austrian.  He promised to visit me in
the course of a few hours.  I returned to the Nuova Casa, and now,
for the first time, had leisure to examine my apartment.  The arrangement
was simple in the extreme.  An iron bedstead, with a mattress,
coverlet, and bolster, a very dingy table, with two chairs, a small
bench, and a cupboard, all of deal, composed the whole furniture. 
These chattels, and also the windows, some panes of which were broken,
may once, in very ancient times, have been clean.  The walls were
of plaster, and the floor was paved with large slabs of stone. 
Chimneys are no more to be found in this country.  I did not see
any until my return to Sicily.

I now laid myself down for a couple of hours to get a little rest;
for during my journey hither from Constantinople I had scarcely slept
at all.

At eleven o’clock the German priest, Father Paul, visited me,
in order to explain the domestic arrangements to me.  Dinner is
eaten at twelve o’clock, and supper at seven.  At breakfast
we get coffee without sugar or milk; for dinner, mutton-broth, a piece
of roast kid, pastry prepared with oil or a dish of cucumbers, and,
as a concluding course, roast or spiced mutton.  Twice in the week,
namely on Fridays and Saturdays, we have fast-day fare; but if the feast
of a particular saint falls during the week, a thing that frequently
occurs, we hold three fast-days, the one of the saint’s day being
kept as a time of abstinence.  The fare on fast-days consists of
a dish of lentils, an omelette, and two dishes of salt fish, one hot
and the other cold.  Bread and wine, as also these provisions,
are doled out in sufficient quantities.  But every thing is very
indifferently cooked, and it takes a long time for a stranger to accustom
himself to the ever-recurring dishes of mutton.  In Syria oxen
and calves are not killed during the summer season; so that from the
19th of May until my journey to Egypt in the beginning of September,
I could get neither beef-soup nor beef.

In this convent no charge is made either for board or lodging, and
every visitor may stay there for a whole month.  At most it is
customary to give a voluntary subscription towards the masses; but no
one asks if a traveller has given much, little, or nothing at all, or
whether he is a Roman Catholic, a Protestant, or a votary of any other
religion.  In this respect the Franciscan order is much to be commended. 
The priests are mostly Spaniards and Italians; very few of them belong
to other nations.

Father Paul was kind enough to offer his services as my guide, and
to-day I visited several of the holy places in company with him.

We began with the Via Dolorosa, the road which our Lord is said to
have trodden when for the last time he wandered as God-man on earth,
bowed down by the weight of the cross, on his way to Golgotha. 
The spots where Christ sank exhausted are marked by fragments of the
pillars which St. Helena caused to be attached to the houses on either
side of the way.  Further on we reach the “Zwerchgasse,”
the place whither the Virgin Mary is said to have come in haste to see
her beloved Son for the last time.

Next we visited Pilate’s house, which is partly a ruin, the
remaining portion serving as a barrack for Turkish soldiers.  I
was shewn the spot where the “holy stairs” stood, up which
our Lord is said to have walked.  On my return, I saw these stairs
in the church of S. Giovanni di Laterani.  They also pretend to
show the place where the Saviour was brought out before the multitude
by Pilate.  A little distance off, in the midst of a dark vault,
they shew the traveller the stone to which Jesus was bound when “they
scourged Him.”

We ascended the highest terrace of this house, as this spot affords
the best view of the magnificent mosque of Omar, standing in a large
courtyard.  With this exterior view the traveller is fain to be
content; for the Turks are here much more fanatical than those in Constantinople
and many other towns, so that an attempt to penetrate even into the
courtyard would be unsuccessful; the intruder would run the risk of
being assailed with a shower of stones.  But in proportion as the
Turks are strict in the observance of their own ceremonies and customs,
so they respect those Christians who are religious and devotional.

Every Christian can go with perfect impunity to pray at all the places
which are sacred in his eyes, without fear of being taunted or annoyed
by the Turkish passers-by.  On the contrary, the Mussulman steps
respectfully aside; for even he venerates the Saviour as a great prophet,
and the Virgin as his mother.

Not far from Pilate’s house stands the building designated
as that of Herod; it is, however, a complete ruin.  The house of
the rich man, at whose gate the beggar Lazarus lay, has shared the same
fate; but from the ruins one may conclude how magnificent the building
must originally have been.

In the house of Saint Veronica a stone is pointed out on which they
shew you a footprint of the Saviour.  In another house two footprints
of the Virgin Mary are exhibited.  Father Paul also drew my attention
to the houses which stood on the spot where Mary Magdalene and the other
Mary were born.  These houses are all inhabited by Turks, but any
one may obtain admittance upon payment of a small fee.

The following day I visited the church of the Holy Sepulchre. 
The way lies through several narrow and dirty streets.  In the
lanes near the church are booths like those at Maria Zell in Steiermark,
and many other places of pilgrimage, where they sell wreaths of roses,
shells of mother-of-pearl, crucifixes, etc.  The open space before
the church is neat enough.  Opposite lies the finest house in Jerusalem,
its terraces gay with flowers.

Visitors to this church will do wisely to provide themselves with
a sufficient number of para, as they may expect to be surrounded by
a goodly tribe of beggars.  The church is always locked; the key
is in the custody of some Turks, who open the sacred edifice when asked
to do so.  It is customary to give them three or four piastres
for their pains, with which sum they are satisfied, and remain at the
entrance during the whole time the stranger is in the church, reclining
on divans, drinking coffee and smoking tobacco.  At the entrance
of the church we noticed a long square stone on the ground; this is
the “stone of anointing.”

In the centre of the nave a little chapel has been built; it is divided
into two parts.  In the first of these compartments is a stone
slab encased in marble.  This is vehemently asserted to be the
identical stone on which the angel sat when he announced our Lord’s
resurrection to the women who came to embalm his body.  In the
second compartment, which is of the same size as the first, stands the
sarcophagus or tomb of the Saviour, of white marble.  The approach
is by such a low door that one has to stoop exceedingly in order to
enter.  The tomb occupies the whole length of the chapel, and answers
the purpose of an altar.  We could not look into the sarcophagus. 
The illumination of this chapel is very grand both by night and day;
forty-seven lamps are kept continually burning above the grave. 
The portion of the chapel containing the tomb is so small, that when
the priest reads mass only two or three people have room to stand and
listen.  The chapel is entirely built of marble, and belongs to
the Roman Catholics; but the Greeks have the right of celebrating mass
alternately with them.

At the farther end of the chapel the Copts have a little mean-looking
altar of wood, surrounded by walls of lath.  All round the chapel
are niches belonging to the different religious sects.

In this church I was also shewn the subterranean niche in which Jesus
is said to have been a prisoner; also the niche where the soldiers cast
lots for our Saviour’s garments, and the chapel containing the
grave of St. Nicodemus.  Not far from this chapel is the little
Roman Catholic church.  A flight of twenty-seven steps leads downwards
to the chapel of St. Helena, where the holy woman sat continually and
prayed, while she caused search to be made for the true cross. 
A few steps more lead us down to the spot where the cross was found. 
A marble slab points out the place.

Mounting the steps once more, we come to the niche containing the
pillar to which Jesus was bound when they crowned him with thorns. 
It is called the pillar of scorn.  The pillar at which Jesus was
scourged, a piece of which is preserved in Rome, is also shown.

The chapel belonging to the Greeks is very spacious, and may almost
be termed a church within a church.  It is beautifully decorated.

It is very difficult to find the way in this church, which resembles
a labyrinth.  Now we are obliged to ascend a flight of stairs,
now again to descend.  The architect certainly deserves great praise
for having managed so cleverly to unite all these holy places under
one roof; and St. Helena has performed a most meritorious action in
thus rescuing from oblivion the sacred sites in Jerusalem, Bethlehem,
and Nazareth.

I was told, that when the Greeks celebrate their Easter here, the
ceremonies seldom conclude without much quarrelling and confusion. 
These irregularities are considerably increased when the Greek Easter
happens to fall at the same time as that of the Roman Catholics. 
On these occasions, there are not only numerous broken heads, but some
of the combatants are even frequently carried away dead.  The Turks
generally find it necessary to interfere, to restore peace and order
among the Christians.  What opinion can these nations, whom we
call Infidels, have of us Christians, when they see with what hatred
and virulence each sect of Christians pursues the other?  When
will this dishonourable bigotry cease?

On the third day after my arrival at Jerusalem, a small caravan of
six or seven travellers, two gentlemen namely, and their attendants,
applied for admittance at our convent.  An arrival of this kind,
particularly if the new-comers are Franks, is far too important to admit
of our delaying the inquiry from what country the wanderers have arrived. 
How agreeably was I surprised, when Father Paul came to me with the
intelligence that these gentlemen were both Austrian subjects. 
What a singular coincidence!  So far from my native country, I
was thus suddenly placed in the midst of my own people.  Father
Paul was a native of Vienna, and the two counts, Berchtold and Salm
Reifferscheit, were Bohemian cavaliers.

As soon as I had completely recovered from the fatigues of my journey,
and had collected my thoughts, I passed a whole night in the church
of the Holy Sepulchre.  I confessed in the afternoon, and afterwards
joined the procession, which at four o’clock visits all the places
rendered sacred by our Saviour’s passion; I carried a wax taper,
the remains of which I afterwards took back with me into my native country,
as a lasting memorial.  This ceremony ended, the priests retired
to their cells, and the few people who were present left the church. 
I alone stayed behind, as I intended to remain there all night. 
A solemn stillness reigned throughout the church; and now I was enabled
to visit, uninterrupted and alone, all the sacred places, and to give
myself wholly up to my meditations.  Truly these were the most
blissful hours of my life; and he who has lived to enjoy such hours
has lived long enough.

A place near the organ was pointed out to me where I might enjoy
a few hours of repose.  An old Spanish woman, who lives like a
nun, acts as guide to those who pass a night in the church.

At midnight the different services begin.  The Greeks and Armenians
beat and hammer upon pendent plates or rods of metal; the Roman Catholics
play on the organ, and sing and pray aloud; while the priests of other
religions likewise sing and shout.  A great and inharmonious din
is thus caused.  I must confess that this midnight mass did not
produce upon me the effect I had anticipated.  The constant noise
and multifarious ceremonies are calculated rather to disconcert than
to inspire the stranger.  I much preferred the peace and repose
that reigned around, after the service had concluded, to all the pomp
and circumstance attending it.

Accompanied by my Spanish guide, I ascended to the Roman Catholics’
choir, where prayers were said aloud from midnight until one o’clock. 
At four o’clock in the morning I heard several masses, and received
the Eucharist.  At eight o’clock the Turks opened the door
at my request, and I went home.

The few Roman Catholic priests who live in the church of the Holy
Sepulchre stay there for three months at a time, to perform the services. 
During this time they are not allowed to quit the church or the convent
for a single instant.  After the three months have elapsed, they
are relieved by other priests.

On the 10th of June I was present at the ceremony of admission into
the Order of the Holy Sepulchre.  Counts Zichy, Wratislaw, and
Salm Reifferscheit were, at their own request, installed as knights
of the Sepulchre.  The inauguration took place in the chapel.

The chief priest having taken his seat on a chair of state, the candidate
for knighthood knelt before him, and took the customary oaths to defend
the holy church, to protect widows and orphans, etc.  During this
time the priests who stood round said prayers.  Now one of the
spurs of Godfrey de Bouillon was fastened on the heel of the knight;
the sword of this hero was put into his hands, the sheath fastened to
his side, and a cross with a heavy gold chain, that had also belonged
to Godfrey de Bouillon, was put round his neck.  Then the kneeling
man received the stroke of knighthood on his head and shoulders, the
priests embraced the newly-elected knight, and the ceremony was over.

A plentiful feast, given by the new-chosen knights, concluded the
solemnity.

Distant somewhat less than a mile from Jerusalem is the Mount of
Olives.  Emerging from St. Stephen’s Gate, we pass the Turkish
burial-ground, and reach the spot where St. Stephen was stoned. 
Not far off we see the bed of the brook Cedron, which is at this season
of the year completely dried up.  A stone bridge leads across the
brook; adjoining it is a stone slab where they shew traces of the footsteps
of the Saviour, as He was brought across this bridge from Gethsemane,
and stumbled and fell.  Crossing this bridge, we arrive at the
grotto where Jesus sweat blood.  This grotto still retains its
original form.  A plain wooden altar has been erected there, a
few years since, by a Bavarian prince, and the entrance is closed by
an iron gate.  Not far off is Gethsemane.  Eight olive-trees
are here to be seen that have attained a great age; nowhere else had
I seen these trees with such massive trunks, though I had frequently
passed through whole plantations of olives.  Those who are learned
in natural history assert that the olive-tree cannot live to so great
an age as to render it possible that these venerable trunks existed
at the time when Jesus passed his last night at Gethsemane in prayer
and supplication.  As this tree, however, propagates itself, these
trees may be sprouts from the ancient stems.  The space around
the roots has been strengthened with masonry, to afford a support to
these patriarchal trunks, and the eight trees are surrounded by a wall
three or four feet in height.  No layman may enter this spot unaccompanied
by a priest, on pain of excommunication; it is also forbidden to pluck
a single leaf.  The Turks also hold these trees in reverence, and
would not injure one of them.

Close by is the spot where the three disciples are said to have slept
during the night of their Master’s agony.  We were shown
marks on two rocks, said to have been footsteps of these apostles! 
The footsteps of the third disciple we could not discover.  A little
to one side is the place where Judas betrayed his Master.

The little church containing the grave of the Virgin Mary stands
near the “Grotto of Anguish.”  We descend by a broad
marble flight of fifty steps to the tomb, which is also used as an altar. 
About the middle of the staircase are two niches with altars; within
these are deposited the bones of the Virgin Mary’s parents and
of St. Joseph.  This chapel belongs to the Greeks.

From the foot of the Mount of Olives to its summit is a walk of three
quarters of an hour.  The whole mountain is desert and sterile;
nothing is found growing upon it but olives; and from the summit of
this mountain our Saviour ascended into heaven.  The spot was once
marked by a church, which was afterwards replaced by a mosque: even
this building is now in ruins.  Only twelve years ago a little
chapel, of very humble appearance, was erected here; it now stands in
the midst of old walls; but here again a footprint of our Lord is shown
and reverenced.  On this stone it is asserted that He stood before
He was taken up into heaven.  Not far off, we are shown the place
where the fig-tree grew that Jesus cursed, and the field where Judas
hanged himself.

One afternoon I visited many of these sites, in company with Count
Berchtold.  As we were climbing about the ruins near the mosque,
a sturdy goatherd, armed with a formidable bludgeon, came before us,
and demanded “backsheesh” (a gift, or an alms) in a very
peremptory tone.  Neither of us liked to take out our purse, for,
fear the insolent beggar should snatch it from our hands; so we gave
him nothing.  Upon this he seized the Count by the arm, and shouted
out something in Arabic which we could not understand, though we could
guess pretty accurately what he meant.  The Count disengaged his
arm, and we proceeded almost to push and wrestle our way into the open
field, which was luckily only a few paces off.  By good fortune,
also, several people appeared near us, upon seeing whom the fellow retired. 
This incident convinced us of the fact that Franks should not leave
the city unattended.

As the Mount of Olives is the highest point in the neighbourhood
of Jerusalem, it commands the best view of the town and its environs. 
The city is large, and lies spread over a considerable area.  The
number of inhabitants is estimated at 25,000.  As in the remaining
cities of Syria, the houses here are built of stone, and frequently
adorned with round cupolas.  Jerusalem is surrounded by a very
lofty and well-preserved wall, the lower portion composed of such massive
blocks of stone, that one might imagine these huge fragments date from
the period of the city’s capture by Titus.  Of the mosques,
that of Omar, with its lead-covered roof, has the best appearance; it
lies in an immense courtyard, which is neatly kept.  This mosque
is said to occupy the site of Solomon’s temple.

From the Mount of Olives we can plainly distinguish all the convents,
and the different quarters of the Catholics, Armenians, Jews, Greeks,
etc.  The “Mount of Offence” (so called on account
of Solomon’s idolatry) rises at the side of the Mount of Olives,
and is of no great elevation.  Of the temple, and the buildings
which Solomon caused to be erected for his wives, but few fragments
of walls remain.  I had also been told, that the Jordan and the
Dead Sea might be seen from this mountain; but I could distinguish neither,
probably on account of a mist which obscured the horizon.

At the foot of the Mount of Olives lies the valley of Jehosaphat. 
The length of this valley does not certainly exceed three miles; neither
is it remarkable for its breadth.  The brook Cedron intersects
this valley; but it only contains water during the rainy season; at
other times all trace of it is lost.

The town of Jerusalem is rather bustling, particularly the poor-looking
bazaar and the Jews’ quarter; the latter portion of the city is
very densely populated, and exhales an odour offensive beyond description;
and here the plague always seizes its first victims.

The Greek convent is not only very handsome, but of great extent. 
Hither most of the pilgrims flock, at Easter-time to the number of five
or six thousand.  Then they are all herded together, and every
place is crowded with occupants; even the courtyard and terraces are
full.  This convent is the richest of all, because every pilgrim
received here has to pay an exorbitant price for the very worst accommodation. 
It is said that the poorest seldom escape for less than four hundred
piastres.

Handsomest of all is the Armenian convent; standing in the midst
of gardens, it has a most cheerful appearance.  It is asserted
to be built on the site where St. James was decapitated, an event commemorated
by numerous pictures in the church; but most of the pictures, both here
and in the remaining churches, are bad beyond conception.  Like
the Greeks, the Armenian priests enjoy the reputation of thoroughly
understanding how to make a harvest out of their visitors, whom they
are said generally to send away with empty pockets.  As an amends,
however, they offer them a great quantity of spiritual food.

In the valley of Jehosaphat we find many tombs of ancient and modern
date.  The most ancient among these tombs is that of Absolom; a
little temple of pieces of rock, but without an entrance.  The
second is the tomb of Zacharias, also hewn out of the rock, and divided
within into two compartments.  The third belongs to King Jehosaphat,
and is small and unimportant; one might almost call it a mere block
of stone.  There are many more tombs cut out of the rock. 
From this place we reach the Jewish burial-ground.

The little village of Sila also lies in this valley.  It is
so humble, and all its houses (which are constructed of stone) are so
small, that wandering continually among tombs, the traveller would rather
take them to be ruined resting-places of the dead than habitations of
the living.

Opposite this village lies “Mary’s Well,” so called
because the Virgin Mary fetched water here every day.  The inhabitants
of Siloam follow her example to this day.  A little farther on
is the pool of Siloam, where our Lord healed the man who was born blind. 
This pool is said to possess the remarkable property, that the water
disappears and returns several times in the course of twenty-four hours.

At the extremity of the valley of Jehosaphat a small hill rises like
a keystone; in this hill are several grottoes, formed either by nature
or art, which also once served as sepulchres.  They are called
the “rock-graves.”  At present the greater portion
of them are converted into stables, and are in so filthy a state that
it is impossible to enter them.  I peeped into one or two, and
saw nothing but a cavern divided into two parts.  At the summit
of these rock-graves lies the “Field of Blood,” bought by
the priests for the thirty pieces of silver which Judas cast down in
the temple.

In the neighbourhood of the Field of Blood rises the hill of Sion. 
Here, it is said, stood the house of Caiaphas the high-priest, whither
our Lord was brought a prisoner.  A little Armenian church now
occupies the supposed site.  The tomb of David, also situated on
this hill, has been converted into a mosque, in which we are shewn the
place where the Son of Man ate the last Passover with His disciples.

The burial-grounds of the Roman Catholics, Armenians, and Greeks
surround this hill.

The “Hill of Bad Counsel,” so called because it is said
that here the judges determined to crucify Christ, rises in the immediate
vicinity of Mount Sion.  A few traces of the ruins of Caiaphas’
house are yet visible.

The “Grotto of Jeremiah” lies beyond the “Gate
of Damascus,” in front of which we found, near a cistern, an elaborately-sculptured
sarcophagus, which is used as a water-trough.  This grotto is larger
than any I have yet mentioned.  At the entrance stands a great
stone, called Jeremiah’s bed, because the prophet is said generally
to have slept upon it.  Two miles farther on we come to the graves
of the judges and the kings.  We descend an open pit, three or
four fathoms deep, forming the courtyard.  This pit is a square
about seventy feet long and as many wide.  On one side of this
open space we enter a large hall, its broad portal ornamented with beautiful
sculpture, in the form of flowers, fruit, and arabesques.  This
hall leads to the graves, which run round it, and consist of niches
hewn in the rock, just sufficiently large to contain a sarcophagus. 
Most of these niches were choked up with rubbish, but into some we could
still see; they were all exactly alike.  These long, narrow, rock-hewn
graves reminded me exactly of those I had seen in a vault at Gran, in
Hungary.  I could almost have supposed the architect at Gran had
taken the graves of the valley of Jehosaphat for his model.

CHAPTER VIII.

Bethlehem—Rachel’s grave—Convent at Bethlehem—Beggars—Grotto
of the Nativity—Solomon’s cisterns—St. John’s—Franciscan
church at Jerusalem—Mourning women—Eastern weddings—Mish-mish—Excursion
to the Jordan and the Dead Sea—Wilderness near Jerusalem—Convent
of St. Saba.

On the 2d of June I rode, in the company of Counts Berchtold and
Salm Reifferscheit and Pater Paul, to Bethlehem.  Although, on
account of the bad roads, we are obliged to ride nearly the whole distance
at a foot-pace, it does not take more than an hour and a half to accomplish
the journey.  The view we enjoy during this excursion is as grand
as it is peculiar.  So far as the eye can reach, it rests upon
stone; the ground is entirely composed of stones; and yet between the
rocky interstices grow fruit-trees of all kinds, and grape-vines trail
along, besides fields whose productions force their way upwards from
the shingly soil.

I had already wondered when I saw the “Karst,” near Trieste,
and the desert region of Görz; but these sink into insignificance
when compared to the scenery of the Judean mountains.

It is difficult to conceive how these regions can ever have been
smiling and fertile.  Doubtless they have appeared to better advantage
than at the present period, when the poor inhabitants are ground to
the bone by their pachas and officers; but I do not think that meadows
and woods can ever have existed here to any extent.

On the way we pass a well, surrounded by blocks of stone.  At
this well the wise men from the East rested, and here the guiding star
appeared to them.  Midway between Jerusalem and Bethlehem lies
the Greek convent dedicated to the prophet Elijah.  From hence
we can see both towns; on the one hand, the spacious Jerusalem, and
on the other, the humble Bethlehem, with some small villages scattered
round it.  On the right hand we pass “Rachel’s grave,”
a ruined building with a small cupola.

Bethlehem lies on a hill, surrounded by several others; with the
exception of the convent, it contains not a single handsome building. 
The inhabitants, half of whom are Catholics, muster about 2500 strong;
many live in grottoes and semi-subterranean domiciles, cutting out garlands
and other devices in mother-of pearl, etc.  The number of houses
does not exceed a hundred at the most, and the poverty here seems excessive,
for nowhere have I been so much pestered with beggar children as in
this town.  Hardly has the stranger reached the convent-gates before
these urchins are seen rapidly approaching from all quarters. 
One rushes forward to hold the horse, while a second grasps the stirrup;
a third and a fourth present their arm to help you to dismount; and
in the end the whole swarm unanimously stretch forth their hands for
“backsheesh.”  In cases like these it is quite necessary
to come furnished either with a multiplicity of small coins or with
a riding-whip, in order to be delivered in one way or another from the
horrible importunity of the diminutive mob.  It is very fortunate
that the horses here are perfectly accustomed to such scenes; were this
not the case, they would take fright and gallop headlong away.

The little convent and church are both situated near the town, and
are built on the spot where the Saviour was born.  The whole is
surrounded by a strong fortress-wall, a very low, narrow gate forming
the entrance.  In front of this fortress extends a handsome well-paved
area.  So soon as we have passed through the little gate, we find
ourselves in the courtyard, or rather in the nave of the church, which
is unfortunately more than half destroyed, but must once have been eminent
both for its size and beauty.  Some traces of mosaic can still
be detected on the walls.  Two rows of high handsome pillars, forty-eight
in number, intersect the interior; and the beam-work, said to be of
cedar-wood from Lebanon, looks almost new.  Beneath the high altar
of this great church is the grotto in which Christ was born.  Two
staircases lead downwards to it.  One of the staircases belongs
to the Armenians, the other to the Greeks; the Catholics have none at
all.  Both the walls and the floor are covered with marble slabs. 
A marble tablet, with the inscription,

“HIC DE VIRGINE MARIA JESUS CHRISTUS NATUS EST,”

marks the spot whence the true Light shone abroad over the world. 
A figure of a beaming sun, which receives its light from numerous lamps
kept continually burning, is placed in the back-ground of this tablet.

The spot where our Saviour was shewn to the worshipping Magi is but
few paces distant.  An altar is erected opposite, on the place
where the manger stood in which the shepherds found our Lord. 
The manger itself is deposited in the basilica Santa Maria Maggiore,
in Rome.  This altar belongs to the Roman Catholics.  A little
door, quite in the background of the grotto, leads to a subterranean
passage communicating with the convent and the Catholic chapel. 
In this passage another altar has been erected to the memory of the
innocents slaughtered and buried here.  Proceeding along the passage
we come upon the grave of St. Paula and her daughter Eustachia on one
side, and that of St. Hieronymus on the other.  The body of the
latter is, however, deposited at Rome.

Like the church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, this great church
at Bethlehem belongs at once to the Catholics, the Armenians, and the
Greeks.  Each of these sects has built for itself a little convent
adjoining the church.

After spending at least a couple of hours here, we rode two miles
farther, towards Mount Hebron.  At the foot of this mountain we
turned off to the left towards the three cisterns of Solomon. 
These reservoirs are very wide and deep, hewn out of the rock, and still
partially covered with a kind of cement resembling marble in its consistency
and polish.  We descended into the third of these cisterns; it
was about five hundred paces long, four hundred broad, and a hundred
deep.

Not one of these cisterns now contains water; the aqueducts which
once communicated with them have entirely vanished.  A single rivulet,
across which one may easily step, flows beside these giant reservoirs. 
The region around is barren in the extreme.

On returning to our convent at about two o’clock to partake
of our frugal but welcome meal, we were surprised to find that another
party of travellers, Franks like ourselves, had arrived.  The new-comers
proved to be Count Zichy and Count Wratislaw, who had travelled from
Vienna to Cairo in company with Counts Berchtold and Salm Reifferscheit. 
At the last-mentioned place the voyagers parted company, one party proceeding
to Jerusalem by way of Alexandria, Damietta, and Joppa, while the other
bent their course across the burning sands of Africa towards Mount Sinai,
and thence continued their journey to Jerusalem by land.  Here
at length they had the pleasure of meeting once more.  A great
and general rejoicing, in which we all joined, was the consequence of
this event.

After dinner we once more visited all the holy places in company
of the new-comers; we afterwards went to the so-called “Milk Grotto,”
distant about half a mile from our convent.  In this grotto there
is nothing to be seen but a simple altar, before which lights are continually
burning.  It is not locked, and every passer-by is at liberty to
enter.  This place is held sacred not only by the Christians, but
also by the Turks, who bring many a cruise of oil to fill the lamps
after they have cleaned them.  In this grotto the Holy Family concealed
themselves before the flight into Egypt, and the Virgin for a long time
nourished the infant Jesus with her milk, from which circumstance the
grotto derives its name.  The women in the neighbourhood believe
that if they feel unwell during the time they are nursing their children,
they have merely to scrape some of the sand from the rocks in this grotto,
and to take it as a powder, to regain their health.

Half a mile from this grotto we were shown the field in which the
angel appeared to announce the birth of the Redeemer to the shepherds. 
But our newly-arrived friends were not able to visit this spot. 
They were fain to content themselves with a distant view, as it was
high time to think of our return.

ST. JOHN’S.

On the 4th of June I rode out, accompanied by a guide, to the birth-place
of St. John the Baptist, distant about four miles from Jerusalem. 
The way to this convent lies through the Bethlehem Gate, opposite the
convent of the “Holy Cross,” a building supposed to stand
on the site where the wood was felled for our Saviour’s cross! 
Not far off, the place was pointed out to me where a battle was fought
between the Israelites and the Philistines, and where David slew Goliath.

Situated in a rocky valley, the convent of St. John is, like all
the monasteries in these lands, surrounded by very strong walls. 
The church of the convent is erected on the spot where the house of
Zacharias once stood, and a chapel commemorates the place where St.
John first beheld the light.  The ascent to this chapel is by a
staircase, where a round tablet of stone bears the inscription,

“HIC PRÆCURSOR DOMINI CHRISTI NATUS EST.”

Many events of the prophet’s life are here portrayed by sculptures
in white marble.

About a mile from the convent we find the “Grotto of Visitation,”
where St. Mary met St. Elizabeth.  The remains of the latter are
interred here.

On the very first day of my arrival at Jerusalem I had made some
observations, during a visit to the church of St. Francis, which gave
me any thing but a high opinion of the behaviour of the Catholics here. 
This unfavourable impression was confirmed by subsequent visits to the
church, so that at length I felt obliged to tell Father Paul that I
would rather pray at home than among people who seemed to attend to
any thing rather than their devotions.  My Frankish costume seemed
to be such a stumbling-block in the eyes of these people, that at length
a priest came to me, and requested that I would make an alteration in
my dress, or at any rate exchange my straw hat for a veil, in which
I could muffle my head and face.  I promised to discard the obnoxious
hat and to wear a handkerchief round my head when I attended church,
but refused to muffle my face, and begged the reverend gentleman to
inform my fellow-worshippers that this was the first time such a thing
had been required of a Frankish woman, and that I thought they would
be more profitably employed in looking at their prayer-books than at
me, for that He whom we go to church to adore is not a respecter of
outward things.  In spite of this remonstrance, their behaviour
remained the same, so that I was compelled almost to discontinue attending
public worship.

On great festival-days the high altar of the church of St. Francis
is very profusely decorated.  It is, in fact, almost overloaded
with ornament, and sparkles and glitters with a most dazzling brilliancy. 
Innumerable candles display the lustre of gold and precious stones. 
Foremost among the costly ornaments appear a huge gold monstrance presented
by the king of Naples, and two splendid candelabra, a gift of the imperial
house of Austria.

I happened one day to pass a house, from within which a great screaming
was to be heard.  On inquiring of my companion what was the matter,
I was informed that some person had died in that house the day before,
and that the sound I heard was the wail of the “mourning women.” 
I requested admission to the room where the deceased lay.  Had
it not been for the circumstance that a few pictures of saints and a
crucifix decorated the walls, I could never have imagined that the dead
man was a Catholic.  Several “mourning women” sat near
the corpse, uttering every now and then such frantic yells, that the
neighbourhood rang with their din.  In the intervals between these
demonstrations they sat comfortably regaling themselves with coffee;
after a little time they would again raise their horrible cry. 
I had seen enough to feel excessively disgusted, and so went away.

I was also fortunate enough to visit a newly-married pair. 
The bride was gorgeously dressed in a silk under-garment, wide trousers
of peach-blossom satin, and a caftan of the same material; a rich shawl
encircled her waist, and on her feet she wore boots of yellow morocco
leather; the slippers had been left, according to the Turkish fashion,
at the entrance of the chamber.  An ornamental head-dress of rich
gold brocade and fresh flowers completed the bride’s attire; her
hair, arranged in a number of thin plaits and decorated with coins,
fell down upon her shoulders, and on her neck glittered several rows
of ducats and larger gold pieces.

Costumes of this kind are only seen in the family circle, and on
the occasion of some great event.  Seldom or never are strange
men allowed to behold the ladies in their gorgeous apparel; so that
it is fruitless to expect to see picturesque female costumes in the
public places of the East.

After the marriage ceremony, which is always performed during the
forenoon, the young wife is compelled to sit for the remainder of the
day in a corner of the room with her face turned towards the wall. 
She is not allowed to answer any question put by her husband, her parents,
or by any one whatever; still less is she permitted to offer a remark
herself.  This silence is intended to typify the bride’s
sorrow at changing her condition.

During my visit, the bridegroom sat next to his bride, vainly endeavouring
to lure a few words from her.  On my rising to depart, the young
wife inclined her head towards me, but without raising her eyes from
the ground.

In Jerusalem, almost all the women and girls wear veils when they
go abroad.  It was only in church, and in their own houses, that
I had an opportunity of fairly seeing these houris.  Among the
girls I found many an interesting head; but the women who have attained
the age of twenty-six or twenty-eight years already look worn and ugly;
so that here, as in all tropical countries, we behold a great number
of very plain faces, among which handsome ones shine forth at long intervals,
like meteors.  Thin people are rarely met with in Syria; on the
contrary, even the young girls are frequently decidedly stout.

Not far from the bazaar is a great hall, wherein the Turks hold their
judicial sittings, decide disputes, and pass sentence on criminals. 
Some ordinary-looking divans are placed round the interior of this hall,
and in one corner a wooden cell, about ten feet long, six wide, and
eight feet high, has been erected.  This cell, furnished with a
little door, and a grated hole by way of window, is intended for the
reception of the criminal during his period of punishment.

Throughout the thirteen days I passed at Jerusalem, I did not find
the heat excessive.  The thermometer generally stood in the shade
at from 20° to 22°, and in the sun at 28° (Reaum.), very
seldom reaching 30°.

Fruit I saw none, with the exception of the little apricots called
mish-mish, which are not larger than a walnut, but nevertheless have
a very fine flavour.  It is a pity that the inhabitants of these
countries contribute absolutely nothing towards the cultivation and
improvement of their natural productions; if they would but exert themselves,
many a plant would doubtless flourish luxuriantly.  But here the
people do not even know how to turn those gifts to advantage which nature
has bestowed upon them in rich profusion, and of superior quality; for
instance, olives.  Worse oil can hardly be procured than that which
they give you in Syria.  The Syrian oil and olives can scarcely
be used by Europeans.  The oil is of a perfectly green colour,
thick, and disgusting alike to the smell and taste; the olives are generally
black, a consequence of the negligent manner in which they are prepared. 
The same remark holds good with regard to the wine, which would be of
excellent quality if the people did but understand the proper method
of preparing it, and of cultivating the vineyards.  At present,
however, they adulterate their wine with a kind of herb, which gives
it a very sharp and disagreeable taste.

On the whole, the neighbourhood of Jerusalem is very desolate, barren,
and sterile.  I found the town itself neither more nor less animated
than most Syrian cities.  I should depart from truth if I were
to say, with many travellers, that it appeared as though a peculiar
curse rested upon this city.  The whole of Judea is a stony country,
and this region contains many places with environs as rugged and barren
as those of Jerusalem.

Birds and butterflies are rarely seen at the present season of the
year, not only in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, but throughout the
whole of Syria.  Where, indeed, could a butterfly or a bee find
nourishment, while not a flower nor a blade of grass shoots up from
the stony earth?  And a bird cannot live where there are neither
seeds nor insects, but must soar away across the seas to cooler and
more fertile climes.  Not only here, but throughout the whole of
Syria, I missed the delightful minstrels of the air.  The sparrow
alone can find sustenance every where, for he lives in towns and villages,
wherever man is seen.  A whole flock of these little twittering
birds woke me every morning.

I was as yet much less troubled by insects than I had anticipated. 
With the exception of the small flies on the plain of Sharon, and of
certain little sable jumpers which seem naturalised throughout the whole
world, I could not complain of having been annoyed by any creature.

Our common house-flies I saw every where; but they were not more
numerous or more troublesome than in Germany.

EXCURSION TO THE RIVER JORDAN AND TO THE DEAD SEA.

To travel with any degree of security in Palestine, Phœnicia,
etc., it is necessary to go in large companies, and in some places it
even becomes advisable to have an escort.  The stranger should
further be provided with cooking utensils, provisions, tents, and servants. 
To provide all these things would have been a hopeless task for me;
I had therefore resolved to return from Jerusalem as I had come, namely,
via Joppa, and so to proceed to Alexandria or Beyrout, when,
luckily for me, the gentlemen whom I have already mentioned arrived
at Jerusalem.  They intended making several excursions by land,
and the first of these was to be a trip to the banks of the Jordan and
to the Dead Sea.

I ardently wished to visit these places, and therefore begged the
gentlemen, through Father Paul, to permit my accompanying them on their
arduous journey.  The gentlemen were of opinion that their proposed
tour would be too fatiguing for one of my sex, and seemed disinclined
to accede to my request.  But then Count Wratislaw took my part,
and said that he had watched me during our ride from Bethlehem to Jerusalem,
and had noticed that I wanted neither courage, skill, nor endurance,
so that they might safely take me with them.  Father Paul immediately
came to me with the joyful intelligence that I was to go, and that I
had nothing to do but to provide myself with a horse.  He particularly
mentioned how kindly Count Wratislaw, to whom I still feel obliged,
had interested himself in my behalf.

The journey to the Jordan and the Dead Sea should never be undertaken
by a small party.  The best and safest course is to send for some
Arab or Bedouin chiefs, either at Jerusalem or Bethlehem, and to make
a contract with them for protection.  In consideration of a certain
tribute, these chiefs accompany you in person, with some of their tribe,
to your place of destination and back again.  The Counts paid the
two chiefs three hundred piastres, with the travelling expenses for
themselves and their twelve men.

At three o’clock in the afternoon of the 7th of June our cavalcade
started.  The caravan consisted of the four counts, Mr. Bartlett,
a certain Baron Wrede, two doctors, and myself, besides five or six
servants, and the two chiefs with the body-guard of twelve Arabs. 
All were strongly armed with guns, pistols, swords, and lances, and
we really looked as though we sallied forth with the intention of having
a sharp skirmish.

Our way lay through the Via Dolorosa, and through St. Stephen’s
Gate, past the Mount of Olives, over hill and dale.  Every where
the scene was alike barren.  At first we still saw many fruit-trees
and olive-trees in bloom, and even vines, but of flowers or grass there
was not a trace; the trees, however, stood green and fresh, in spite
of the heat of the atmosphere and the total lack of rain.  This
luxuriance may partly be owing to the coolness and dampness which reigns
during the night in tropical countries, quickening and renewing the
whole face of nature.

The goal of our journey for to-day lay about eight miles distant
from Jerusalem.  It was the Greek convent of “St. Saba in
the Waste.”  The appellation already indicates that the region
around becomes more and more sterile, until at length not a single tree
or shrub can be detected.  Throughout the whole expanse not the
lowliest human habitation was to be seen.  We only passed a horde
of Bedouins, who had erected their sooty-black tents in the dry bed
of a river.  A few goats, horses, and asses climbed about the declivities,
laboriously searching for herbs or roots.

About half an hour before we reach the convent we enter upon the
wilderness in which our Saviour fasted forty days, and was afterwards
“tempted of the devil.”  Vegetation here entirely ceases;
not a shrub nor a root appears; and the bed of the brook Cedron is completely
dry.  This river only flows during the rainy season, at which period
it runs through a deep ravine.  Majestic rocky terraces, piled
one above the other by nature with such exquisite symmetry that the
beholder gazes in silent wonder, overhang both banks of the stream in
the form of galleries.

A silence of death brooded over the whole landscape, broken only
by the footfalls of our horses echoing sullenly from the rocks, among
which the poor animals struggled heavily forward.  At intervals
some little birds fluttered above our heads, silently and fearfully,
as though they had lost their way.  At length we turn sharply round
an angle of the road,—and what a surprise awaits us!  A large
handsome building, surrounded by a very strong fortified wall, pierced
for cannon in several places, lies spread before us near the bed of
the river, and rises in the form of terraces towards the brow of the
hill.  From the position we occupied, we could see over the whole
extent of wall from without and from within.  Fortified as it was,
it lay open before our gaze.  Several buildings, and in front of
all a church with a small cupola, told us plainly that St. Saba lay
stretched below.

On the farther bank, seven or eight hundred paces from the convent,
rose a single square tower, apparently of great strength.  I little
thought that I should soon become much better acquainted with this isolated
building.

The priests had observed our procession winding down the hill, and
at the first knocking the gate was opened.  Masters, servants,
Arabs, and Bedouins, all passed through; but when my turn came, the
cry was, “Shut the gate!” and I was shut out, with the prospect
of passing the night in the open air,—a thing which would have
been rather disagreeable, considering how unsafe the neighbourhood was. 
At length, however, a lay brother appeared, and, pointing to the tower,
gave me to understand that I should be lodged there.  He procured
a ladder from the convent, and went with me to the tower, where we mounted
by its aid to a little low doorway of iron.  My conductor pushed
this open, and we crept in.  The interior of the tower seemed spacious
enough.  A wooden staircase led us farther upwards to two tiny
rooms, situated about the centre of the tower.  One of these apartments,
dimly lighted by the rays of a lamp, contained a small altar, and served
as a chapel, while the second was used as a sleeping-room for female
pilgrims.  A wooden divan was the only piece of furniture this
room contained.  My conductor now took his leave, promising to
return in a short time with some provisions, a bolster, and a coverlet
for me.

So now I was at least sheltered for the night, and guarded like a
captive princess by bolt and bar.  I could not even have fled had
I wished to do so, for my leader had locked the creaking door behind
him, and taken away the ladder.  After carefully examining the
chapel and my neatly-furnished apartment in this dreary prison-house,
I mounted the staircase, and gained the summit of the tower.  Here
I had a splendid view of the country round about, my elevated position
enabling me distinctly to trace the greater part of the desert, with
its several rows of hills and mountains skirting the horizon. 
All these hills were alike barren and naked; not a tree nor a shrub,
not a human habitation, could I discover.  Silence lay heavily
on every thing around, and it seemed to me almost as though no earth
might here nourish a green tree, but that the place was ordained to
remain a desert, as a lasting memorial of our Saviour’s fasting. 
Unheeded by human eye, the sun sank beneath the mountains; I was, perhaps,
the only mortal here who was watching its beautiful declining tints. 
Deeply moved by the scene around me, I fell on my knees, to offer up
my prayers and praise to the Almighty, here in the rugged grandeur of
the desert.

But I had only to turn away from the death-like silence, and to cast
my eye towards the convent as it lay spread out before me, to view once
more the bustle and turmoil of life.  In the courtyard the Bedouins
and Arabs were employed in ministering to the wants of their horses,
bringing them water and food; beyond these a group of men was seen spreading
mats on the ground, while others, with their faces bowed to the earth,
were adoring, with other forms of prayer, the Omnipotent Spirit whose
protection I had so lately invoked; others, again, were washing their
hands and feet as a preparation for offering up their worship; priests
and lay brethren passed hastily across the courtyard, busied in preparations
for entertaining and lodging the numerous guests; while some of my fellow-travellers
stood apart, in earnest conversation, and Mr. B. and Count Salm Reifferscheit
reclined in a quiet spot and made sketches of the convent.  Had
a painter been standing on my tower, what a picture of the building
might he not have drawn as the wild Arab and the thievish Bedouin leant
quietly beside the peaceful priest and the curious European!  Many
a pleasant recollection of this evening have I borne away with me.

I was very unwilling to leave the battlements of the tower; but the
increasing darkness at length drove me back into my chamber.  Shortly
afterwards a priest and a lay brother appeared, and with them Mr. Bartlett. 
The priest’s errand was to bring me my supper and bedding, and
my English fellow-traveller had kindly come to inquire if I would have
a few servants as a guard, as it must be rather a dreary thing to pass
a night quite alone in that solitary tower.  I was much flattered
by Mr. Bartlett’s politeness to a total stranger, but, summoning
all my courage, replied that I was not in the least afraid.  Thereupon
they all took their leave; I heard the door creak, the bolt was drawn,
and the ladder removed, and I was left to my meditations for the night.

After a good night’s rest, I rose with the sun, and had been
waiting some time before my warder appeared with the coffee for my breakfast. 
He afterwards accompanied me to the convent gate, where my companions
greeted me with high praises; some of them even confessed that they
would not like to pass a solitary night as I had done.

CHAPTER IX.

Ride through the wilderness to the Dead Sea—The Dead Sea—The
river Jordan—Horde of Bedouins—Arab horses—The Sultan’s
well—Bivouac in the open air—Return to Jerusalem—Bethany—Departure
from Jerusalem—Jacob’s grave—Nablus or Sichem—Sebasta—Costume
of Samaritan women—Plain of Esdralon—Sagun.

June 8th.

At five o’clock in the morning we departed, and bent our course
towards the Dead Sea.  After a ride of two hours we could see it,
apparently at such a short distance, that we thought half an hour at
the most would bring us there.  But the road wound betwixt the
mountains, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, so that it took
us another two hours to reach the shore of the lake.  All around
us was sand.  The rocks seem pulverised; we ride through a labyrinth
of monotonous sand-heaps and sand-hills, behind which the robber-tribes
of Arabs and Bedouins frequently lurk, making this part of the journey
exceedingly unsafe.

Before we reach the shore, we ride across a plain consisting, like
the rest, of deep sand, so that the horses sink to the fetlocks at every
step.  On the whole of our way we had not met with a single human
being, with the exception of the horde of Bedouins whom we had found
encamped in the river-bed: this was a fortunate circumstance for us,
for the people whom the traveller meets during these journeys are generally
unable to resist the temptation of seizing upon his goods, so that broken
bones are frequently the result of such meetings.

The day was very hot (33° Reaum).  We encamped in the hot
sand on the shore, under the shelter of our parasols, and made our breakfast
of hard-boiled eggs, a piece of bad bread, and some lukewarm water. 
I tasted the sea-water, and found it much more bitter, salt, and pungent
than any I have met with elsewhere.  We all dipped our hands into
the lake, and afterwards suffered the heat of the air to dry them without
having first rinsed them with fresh water; not one of us had to complain
that this brought forth an itching or an eruption on our hands, as many
travellers have asserted.  The temperature of the water was 33°
Reaum.; in colour it is a pale green.  Near the shore the water
is to a certain extent transparent; but as it deepens it seems turbid,
and the eye can no longer pierce the surface.  We could not even
see far across the water, for a light mist seemed to rest upon it, thus
preventing us from forming a good estimate of its breadth.

To judge from what we could distinguish, however, the Dead Sea does
not appear to be very broad; it may rather be termed an oblong lake,
shut in by mountains, than a sea.  Not the slightest sign of life
can be detected in the water; not a ripple disturbs its sleeping surface. 
A boat of any kind is of course quite out of the question.  Some
years since, however, an Englishman made an attempt to navigate this
lake; for this purpose he caused a boat to be built, but did not progress
far in his undertaking,—a sickness came upon him, he was carried
to Jerusalem, and died soon after he had made the experiment. 
It is rather a remarkable fact that, up to the present moment, no Englishman
has been found who was sufficiently weary of his life to imitate his
countryman’s attempt.

Stunted fragments of drift-wood, most probably driven to shore by
tempests, lay scattered every where around.  We could, however,
discover no fields of salt; neither did we see smoke rising, or find
the exhalations from the sea unpleasant.  These phenomena are perhaps
observed at a different season of the year to that in which I visited
the Dead Sea.  On the other hand, I saw not only separate birds,
but sometimes even flights of twelve or fifteen.  Vegetation also
existed here to a certain extent.  Not far from the shore, I noticed,
in a little ravine, a group of eight acicular-leaved trees.  On
this plain there were also some wild shrubs bearing capers, and a description
of tall shrub, not unlike our bramble, bearing a plentiful crop of red
berries, very juicy and sweet.  We all ate largely of them; and
I was the more surprised at finding these plants here, as I had found
it uniformly stated that animal and vegetable life was wholly extinct
on the shores of the Dead Sea.

Five cities, of which not a trace now remains, once lay in the plain
now filled by this sea—their names were Sodom, Gomorrah, Adama,
Zeboin, and Zona.  A feeling of painful emotion, mingled with awe,
took possession of my soul as I thought of the past, and saw how the
works of proud and mighty nations had vanished away, leaving behind
them only a name and a memory.  It was a relief to me when we prepared,
after an hour’s rest, to quit this scene of dreary desolation.

For about an hour and a half we rode through an enormous waste covered
with trailing weeds, towards the verdant banks of the Jordan, which
are known from a distance by the beautiful blooming green of the meadows
that surround it.  We halted in the so-called “Jordan-vale,”
where our Saviour was baptised by St. John.

The water of the Jordan is of a dingy clay-colour; its course is
very rapid.  The breadth of this stream can scarcely exceed twenty-five
feet, but its depth is said to be considerable.  The moment our
Arab companions reached the bank, they flung themselves, heated as they
were, into the river.  Most of the gentlemen followed their example,
but less precipitately.  I was fain to be content with washing
my face, hands, and feet.  We all drank to our hearts’ content,
for it was long since we had obtained water so cool and fresh. 
I filled several tin bottles, which I had brought with me for this purpose
from Jerusalem, with water from the Jordan, and had them soldered down
on my return to the Holy City.  This is the only method with which
I am acquainted for conveying water to the farthest countries without
its turning putrid.

We halted for a few hours beneath the shady trees, and then pursued
our journey across the plain.  Suddenly a disturbance arose among
our Arab protectors; they spoke very anxiously with one another, and
continually pointed to some distant object.  On inquiring the reason
why they were so disturbed, we were told that they saw robbers. 
We strained our eyes in vain; even with the help of good spy-glasses
we could discover nothing, and already began to suspect our escort of
having cried “wolf” without reason, or merely to convince
us that we had not taken them with us for nothing.  But in about
a quarter of an hour we could dimly discern figures emerging, one by
one, from the far, far distance.  Our Bedouins prepared for the
combat, and advised us to take the opposite road while they advanced
to encounter the enemy.  But all the gentlemen wished to take part
in the expedition, and joined the Bedouins, lusting for battle. 
The whole cavalcade rode off at a rapid pace, leaving Count Berchtold
and myself behind.  But when our steeds saw their companions galloping
off in such fiery style, they scorned to remain idly behind, and without
consulting our inclinations in the least, they ran of at a pace which
fairly took away our breath.  The more we attempted to restrain
their headlong course, the more rapidly did they pursue their career,
so that there appeared every prospect of our becoming the first, instead
of the last, among the company.  But when the enemy saw such a
determined troop advancing to oppose them, they hurried off without
awaiting our onset, and left us masters of the field.  So we returned
in triumph to our old course; when suddenly a wild boar, with its hopeful
family, rushed across our path.  Away we all went in chase of the
poor animals.  Count Wratislaw succeeded in cutting down one of
the young ones with his sabre, and it was solemnly delivered up to the
cook.  No further obstacles opposed themselves to our march, and
we reached our resting-place for the night without adventure of any
kind.

On this occasion I had an opportunity of seeing how the Arabs can
manage their horses, and how they can throw their spears and lances
in full career, and pick up the lances as they fly by.  The horses,
too, appear quite different to when they are travelling at their usual
sleepy pace.  At first sight these horses look any thing but handsome. 
They are thin, and generally walk at a slow pace, with their heads hanging
down.  But when skilful riders mount these creatures, they appear
as if transformed.  Lifting their small graceful heads with the
fiery eyes, they throw out their slender feet with matchless swiftness,
and bound away over stock and stone with a step so light and yet so
secure that accidents very rarely occur.  It is quite a treat to
see the Arabs exercise.  Those who escorted us good-naturedly went
through several of their manœuvres for our amusement.

From the valley of the Jordan to the “Sultan’s Well,”
in the vale of Jericho, is a distance of about six miles.  The
road winds, from the commencement of the valley, through a beautiful
natural park of fig-trees and other fruit-trees.  Here, too, was
the first spot where the eye was gladdened by the sight of a piece of
grass, instead of sand and shingle.  Such a change is doubly grateful
to one who has been travelling so long through the barren, sandy desert.

The village lying beside the Sultan’s Well looks most deplorable. 
The inhabitants seem rather to live under than above the ground. 
I went into a few of these hollows.  I do not know how else
to designate these little stoneheap-houses.  Many of them are entirely
destitute of windows, the light finding its way through the hole left
for an entrance.  The interiors contained only straw-mats and a
few dirty mattresses, not stuffed with feathers, but with leaves of
trees.  All the domestic utensils are comprised in a few trenchers
and water-jugs: the poor people were clothed in rags.  In one corner
some grain and a number of cucumbers were stored up.  A few sheep
and goats were roaming about in the open air.  A field of cucumbers
lies in front of every house.  Our Bedouins were in high glee at
finding this valuable vegetable in such abundance.  We encamped
beside the well, under the vault of heaven.

From the appearance of the valley in its present state, it is easy
to conclude, in spite of the poverty of the inhabitants and the air
of desolation spread over the farther landscape, that it must once have
been very blooming and fertile.

On the right, the naked mountains extend in the direction of the
Dead Sea; on the left rises the hill on which Moses completed his earthly
career, and from which his great spirit fled to a better world. 
On the face of the mountain three caves are visible, and in the centre
one we were told the Saviour had dwelt during his preparation in the
wilderness before undertaking his mission of a teacher.  High above
these caves towers the summit of the rock from which Satan promised
to give our Lord the sovereignty of all the earth if He would fall down
and worship him.

Baron Wrede, Mr. Bartlett, and myself were desirous of seeing the
interior of one of these caves, and started with this intention; but
no sooner did one of our Bedouins perceive what we were about, than
he came running up in hot haste to assure us that the whole neighbourhood
was unsafe.  We therefore turned back, the more willingly as the
twilight, or rather sunset, was already approaching.

Twilight in these latitudes is of very short duration.  At sunrise
the shades of night are changed into the blaze of day as suddenly as
the daylight vanishes into night.

Our supper consisted of rather a smoky pilau, which we nevertheless
relished exceedingly; for people who have eaten nothing throughout the
day but a couple of hard-boiled eggs are seldom fastidious about their
fare at night.  Besides, we had now beautiful fresh water from
the spring, and cucumbers in abundance, though without vinegar or oil. 
But to what purpose would the unnatural mixture have been?  Whoever
wishes to travel should first strive to disencumber himself of what
is artificial, and then he will get on capitally.  The ground was
our bed, and the dark blue ether, with its myriads of stars, our canopy. 
On this journey we had not taken a tent with us.

The aspect of the heavens is most beautiful here in Syria. 
By day the whole firmament is of a clear azure—not a cloud sullies
its perfect brightness; and at night it seems spangled with a far greater
number of stars than in our northern climes.

Count Zichy ordered the servants to call us betimes in the morning,
in order that we might set out before sunrise.  For once the servants
obeyed; in fact they more than obeyed, for they roused us before midnight,
and we began our march.  So long as we kept to the plain, all went
well; but whenever we were obliged to climb a mountain, one horse after
another began to stumble and to stagger, so that we were in continual
danger of falling.  Under these circumstances it was unanimously
resolved that we should halt beneath the next declivity, and there await
the coming daylight.

June 9th.

At four o’clock the reveille was beaten for the second time. 
We had now slept for three hours in the immediate neighbourhood of the
Dead Sea, a circumstance of which we were not aware until daybreak:
not one of our party had noticed any noxious exhalation arising from
the water; still less had we been seized with headache or nausea, an
effect stated by several travellers to be produced by the smell of the
Dead Sea.

Our journey homewards now progressed rapidly, though for three or
four hours we were obliged to travel over most formidable mountain-roads
and through crooked ravines.  In one of the valleys we again came
upon a Bedouin’s camp.  We rode up to the tents and asked
for a draught of water, instead of which these people very kindly gave
us some dishes of excellent buttermilk.  In all my life I never
partook of any thing with so keen a relish as that with which I drank
this cooling beverage after my fatiguing ride in the burning heat. 
Count Zichy offered our entertainers some money, but they would not
take it.  The chief stepped forward and shook several of us by
the hand in token of friendship; for from the moment when a stranger
has broken bread with Bedouins or Arabs, or has applied to them for
protection, he is not only safe among their tribe, but they would defend
him with life and limb from the attacks of his enemies.  Still
it is not advisable to meet them on the open plain; so contradictory
are their manners and customs.

We were now advancing with great strides towards a more animated,
if not a more picturesque landscape, and frequently met and overtook
small caravans.  One of these had been attacked the previous evening;
the poor Arabs had offered a brave resistance, and had beaten off the
foe; but one of them was lying half dead upon his camel, with a ghastly
shot-wound in his head.

Nimble long-eared goats were diligently searching among the rocks
for their scanty food, and a few grottoes or huts of stone announced
to us the proximity of a little town or village.  Right thankful
were we to emerge safely from these fearful deserts into a less sterile
and more populous region.

We passed through Bethany, and I visited the cave in which it is
said that Lazarus slumbered before he came forth alive at the voice
of the Redeemer.  Then we journeyed on to Jerusalem by the same
road on which the Saviour travelled when the Jewish people shewed their
attachment and respect, for the last time, by strewing olive and palm
branches in his way.  How soon was this scene of holy rejoicing
changed to the ghastly spectacle of the Redeemer’s torture and
death!

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon we arrived safely at Jerusalem,
and were greeted with a hearty welcome by our kind hosts.

A few days after my return from the foregoing excursion, I left Jerusalem
for ever.  A calm and peaceful feeling of happiness filled my breast;
and ever shall I be thankful to the Almighty that He has vouchsafed
me to behold these realms.  Is this happiness dearly purchased
by the dangers, fatigues, and privations attendant upon it?  Surely
not.  And what, indeed, are all the ills that chequer our existence
here below to the woes endured by the blessed Founder of our religion! 
The remembrance of these holy places, and of Him who lived and suffered
here, shall surely strengthen and console me wherever I may be and whatever
I may be called upon to endure.

FROM JERUSALEM TO BEYROUT.

My gentleman-protectors wished to journey from Jerusalem to Beyrout
by land, and intended taking a circuitous route, by way of Nazareth,
Galilee, Canaan, etc., in order to visit as many of these places as
possible, which are fraught with such interest to us Christians. 
They were once more kind enough to admit me into their party, and the
11th of June was fixed for our departure.

June 11th.

Quitting Jerusalem at three o’clock in the afternoon, we emerged
from the Damascus Gate, and entered a large elevated plateau. 
Though this region is essentially a stony one, I saw several stubble-fields,
and even a few scanty blades of grass.

The view is very extended; at a distance of four miles the walls
of Jerusalem were still in view, till at length the road curved round
a hill, and the Holy City was for ever hidden from our sight.

On the left of the road, an old church, said to have been erected
in the days of Samuel, stands upon a hill.

At six in the evening we reached the little village of Bir, and fixed
our halting-place for the night in a neighbouring stubble-field. 
During my first journey by land (I mean my ride from Joppa to Jerusalem),
I had already had a slight foretaste of what is to be endured by the
traveller in these regions.  Whoever is not very hardy and courageous,
and insensible to hunger, thirst, heat, and cold; whoever cannot sleep
on the hard ground, or even on stones, passing the cold nights under
the open sky, should not pursue his journey farther than from Joppa
to Jerusalem: for, as we proceed, the fatigues become greater and less
endurable, and the roads are more formidable to encounter; besides this,
the food is so bad that we only eat from fear of starvation; and the
only water we can get to drink is lukewarm, and offensive from the leathern
jars in which it is kept.

We usually rode for six or seven hours at a time without alighting
even for a moment, though the thermometer frequently stood at from 30°
to 34° Reaumur.  Afterwards we rested for an hour at the most;
and this halt was often made in the open plain, where not a tree was
in sight.  Refreshment was out of the question, either for the
riders or the poor beasts, and frequently we had not even water to quench
our burning thirst.  The horses were compelled to labour unceasingly
from sunrise until evening, without even receiving a feed during the
day’s journey.  The Arabian horse is the only one capable
of enduring so much hardship.  In the evening these poor creatures
are relieved of their burdens, but very seldom of the saddle; for the
Arabs assert that it is less dangerous for the horse to bear the saddle
day and night, than that it should be exposed when heated by the day’s
toil to the cold night-air.  Bridles, saddles, and stirrups were
all in such bad condition that we were in continual danger of falling
to the ground, saddle and all.  In fact, this misfortune happened
to many of our party, but luckily it was never attended with serious
results.

June 12th.

The night was very chilly; although we slept in a tent, our thick
cloaks scarcely sufficed to shield us from the night-air.  In the
morning the fog was so dense that we could not see thirty paces before
us.  Towards eight o’clock it rolled away, and a few hours
later the heat of the sun began to distress us greatly.  It is
scarcely possible to guard too carefully against the effects of the
heat; the head should in particular be kept always covered, as carelessness
in this respect may bring on coup de soleil.  I always wore
two pocket handkerchiefs round my head, under my straw hat, and continually
used a parasol.

From Bir to Jabrud, where we rested for a few hours, we travelled
for six hours through a monotonous and sterile country.  We had
still a good four hours’ ride before us to Nablus, our resting-place
for the night.

The roads here are bad beyond conception, so that at first the stranger
despairs of passing them either on foot or on horseback.  Frequently
the way leads up hill and down dale, over great masses of rock; and
I was truly surprised at the strength and agility of our poor horses,
which displayed extraordinary sagacity in picking out the little ledges
on which they could place their feet safely in climbing from rock to
rock.  Sometimes we crossed smooth slabs of stone, where the horses
were in imminent danger of slipping; at others, the road led us past
frightful chasms, the sight of which was sufficient to make me dizzy. 
I had read many accounts of these roads, and was prepared to find them
bad enough; but my expectations were far surpassed by the reality. 
All that the traveller can do is to trust in Providence, and abandon
himself to fate and to the sagacity of his horse.

An hour and a half before we reached the goal of this day’s
journey, we passed the grave of the patriarch Jacob.  Had our attention
not been particularly drawn to this monument, we should have ridden
by without noticing it, for a few scattered blocks of stone are all
that remain.  A little farther on we enter the Samaritan territory,
and here is “Jacob’s well,” where our Saviour held
converse with the woman of Samaria.  The masonry of the well has
altogether vanished, but the spring still gushes forth from a rock.

Nablus, the ancient Sichem, the chief town of Samaria, contains four
thousand inhabitants, and is reputed to be one of the most ancient towns
in Palestine.  It is surrounded by a strong wall, and consists
of a long and very dirty street.  We rode through the town from
one end to the other, and past the poor-looking bazaar, where nothing
struck me but the sight of some fresh figs, which were at this early
season already exposed for sale.  Of course we bought the fruit
at once; but it had a very bad flavour.

A number of soldiers are seen in all the towns.  They are Arnauts,
a wild, savage race of men, who appear to be regarded with more dread
by the inhabitants than the wandering tribes whose incursions they are
intended to repress.

We pitched our tents on a little hill immediately outside the town. 
Few things are more disagreeable to the traveller than being compelled
to bivouac near a town or village in the East.  All the inhabitants,
both young and old, flock round in order to examine the European caravan,
which is a most unusual sight for them, as closely as possible. 
They frequently even crowd into the tents, and it becomes necessary
to expel the intruders almost by main force.  Not only are strangers
excessively annoyed at being thus made a gazing-stock, but they also
run a risk of being plundered.

Our cook had the good fortune to obtain a kid only three or four
days old, which was immediately killed and at once boiled with rice. 
We made a most sumptuous meal, for it was seldom we could get such good
fare.

June 13th.

The morning sun found us already on horseback; we rode through the
whole of the beautiful valley at the entrance of which Nablus lies. 
The situation of this town is very charming.  The valley is not
broad, and does not exceed a mile and a half in length; it is completely
surrounded with low hills.  The mountain on the right is called
Ebal, and that on the left Grissim.  The latter is celebrated as
being the meeting-place of the twelve tribes of Israel under Joshua;
they there consulted upon the means of conquering the land of Canaan.

The whole valley is sufficiently fertile; even the hills are in some
instances covered to their summits with olive, fig, lemon, and orange
trees.  Some little brooks, clear as crystal, bubble through the
beautiful plain.  We were frequently compelled to ride through
the water; but all the streams are at this season of the year so shallow,
that our horses’ hoofs were scarcely covered.

After gaining the summit of the neighbouring hill, we turned round
with regret to look our last on this valley; seldom has it been my lot
to behold a more charming picture of blooming vegetation.

Two hours more brought us to Sebasta, the ancient Samaria, which
also lies on a lovely hill, though for beauty of situation it is not
to be compared with Nablus.  Sebasta is a wretched village. 
The ruins of the convent built on the place where St. John the Baptist
was beheaded were here pointed out to us; but even of the ruins there
are few traces left.

Two hours later we reached Djenin, and had now entered the confines
of Galilee.  Though this province, perhaps, no longer smiles with
the rich produce it displayed in the days of old, it still affords a
strong contrast to Judæa.  Here we again find hedges of the
Indian fig-tree, besides palms and large expanses of field; but for
flowers and meadows we still search in vain.

The costume of the Samaritan and Galilean women appears as monotonous
as it is poor and dirty.  They wear only a long dark-blue gown,
and the only difference to be observed in their dress is that some muffle
their faces and others do not.  It would be no loss if all wore
veils; for so few pretty women and girls are to be discovered, that
they might be searched for, like the honest man of Diogenes, with a
lantern.  The women have all an ugly brown complexion, their hair
is matted, and their busts lack the rounded fullness of the Turkish
women.  They have a custom of ornamenting both sides of the head,
from the crown to the chin, with a row of silver coins; and those women
who do not muffle their faces usually wear as head-dress a handkerchief
of blue linen.

Djenin is a dirty little town, which we only entered in consequence
of having been told that we should behold the place where Queen Jezebel
fell from the window and was devoured by dogs.  Both window and
palace have almost vanished; but dogs, who look even now as though they
could relish such royal prey, are seen prowling about the streets. 
Not only in Constantinople, but in every city of Syria we found these
wild dogs; they were, however, nowhere so numerous as in the imperial
city.

We halted for an hour or two outside the town, beside a coffee-house,
and threw ourselves on the ground beneath the open sky.  A kind
of hearth made of masonry, on which hot water was continually in readiness,
stood close by, and near it some mounds of earth had been thrown up
to serve as divans.  A ragged boy was busy pounding coffee, while
his father, the proprietor of the concern, concocted the cheering beverage,
and handed it round to the guests.  Straw-mats were spread for
our accommodation on the earthen divans, and without being questioned
we were immediately served with coffee and argilé.  In the
background stood a large and lofty stable of brickwork, which might
have belonged to a great European inn.

After recruiting ourselves here a little, we once more set forth
to finish our day’s journey.  Immediately after leaving the
town, a remarkably fine view opens before us over the great elevated
plain Esdralon, to the magnificent range of mountains enclosing this
immense plateau.  In the far distance they shewed us Mount Carmel,
and, somewhat nearer, Mount Tabor.  Here, too, the mountains are
mostly barren, without, however, being entirely composed of naked masses
of rock.  Mount Tabor, standing entirely alone and richly clothed
with vegetation, has a very fine appearance.

For nearly two hours we rode across the plain of Esdralon, and had
thus ample leisure to meditate upon the great events that have occurred
here.  It is difficult to imagine a grander battlefield, and we
can readily believe that in such a plain whole nations may have struggled
for victory.  From the time of Nabucodonosor to the period of the
Crusades, and from the days of the Crusades to those of Napoleon, armies
of men from all nations have assembled here to fight for their real
or imaginary rights, or for the glory of conquest.

The great and continuous heat had cracked and burst the ground on
this plain to such a degree, that we were in continual apprehension
lest our horses should catch their feet in one or other of the fissures,
and strain or even break them.  The soil of the plain seems very
good, and is free from stones; it appears, however, generally to lie
fallow, being thickly covered with weeds and wild artichokes. 
The villages are seen in the far distance near the mountains. 
This plain forms part of Canaan.

We pitched our camp for the night beside a little cistern, near the
wretched village of Lagun; and thus slept, for the third night consecutively,
on the hard earth.

June 14th.

To-day we rode for an hour across the plain of Esdralon, and once
more suffered dreadfully from the stings of the minute gnats which had
annoyed us so much on our journey from Joppa to Ramla.  These plagues
did not leave us until we had partly ascended the mountains skirting
the plain, from the summit of which we could see Nazareth, prettily
built on a hill at the entrance of a fruitful valley.  In the background
rises the beautiful Mount Tabor.

From the time we first see Nazareth until we reach the town is a
ride of an hour and a half; thus the journey from Lagun to Nazareth
occupies four hours and a half, and the entire distance from Jerusalem
twenty-six or twenty-seven hours.

CHAPTER X.

Arrival at Nazareth—Franciscan convent—Tabarith—Mount
Tabor—Lake of Gennesareth—Baths—Mount Carmel—Grotto
of the prophet Elijah—Acre—The pacha’s harem—Oriental
women—Their listlessness and ignorance—Sur or Tyre.

It was only nine o’clock when we reached Nazareth, and repaired
to the house for strangers in the Franciscan convent, where the priests
welcomed us very kindly.  As soon as we had made a short survey
of our rooms (which resulted in our finding them very like those at
Jerusalem, both as regards appearance and arrangement), we set forth
once more to visit all the remarkable places, and above all the church
which contains the Grotto of Annunciation.  This church, to which
we were accompanied by a clergyman, was built by St. Helena, and is
of no great size.  In the background a staircase leads down into
the grotto, where it is asserted that the Virgin Mary received the Lord’s
message from the angel.  Three little pillars of granite are still
to be seen in this grotto.  The lower part of one of these pillars
was broken away by the Turks, so that it is only fastened from above. 
On the strength of this circumstance many have averred that the pillar
hangs suspended in air!  Had these men but looked beyond their
noses, had they only cast their eyes upwards, they could not have had
the face to preach a miracle where it is so palpable that none exists. 
A picture on the wall, not badly executed, represents the Annunciation. 
The house of the Virgin is not shewn here, because, according to the
legend, an angel carried it away to Loretto in Italy.  A few steps
lead to another grotto, affirmed to be the residence of a neighbour
of the Virgin, during whose absence she presided over the house and
attended to the duties of the absent Mary.

Another grotto in the town is shewn as “the workshop of Joseph;”
it has been left in its primitive state, except that a plain wooden
altar has been added.  Not far off we find the synagogue where
our Lord taught the people, thereby exasperating the Pharisees to such
a degree, that they wished to cast Him down from a rock outside the
city.  In conclusion we were shewn an immense block of stone on
which the Saviour is said to have eaten the Passover with His disciples(!).

In the afternoon we went to see “Mary’s Well,”
on the road to Tabarith, at a short distance from Nazareth.  This
well is fenced round with masonry, and affords pure clear water. 
Hither, it is said, the Virgin came every day to draw water, and here
the women and girls of Nazareth may still be daily seen walking to and
fro with pitchers on their shoulders.  Those whom we saw were all
poorly clad, and looked dirty.  Many wore no covering on their
head, and, what was far worse, their hair hung down in a most untidy
manner.  Their bright eyes were the only handsome feature these
people possessed.  The custom of wearing silver coins round the
head also prevailed here.

To-day was a day of misfortunes for me; in the morning, when we departed
from Lagun, I had already felt unwell.  On the road I was seized
with violent headache, nausea, and feverish shiverings, so that I hardly
thought I should be able to reach Nazareth.  The worst of all this
was, that I felt obliged to hide my illness, as I had done on our journey
to Jerusalem, for fear I should be left behind.  The wish to view
all the holy places in Nazareth was also so powerful within me, that
I made a great effort, and accompanied the rest of my party for the
whole day, though I was obliged every moment to retire into the background
that my condition might not be observed.  But when we went to table,
the smell of the viands produced such an effect upon me, that I hastily
held my handkerchief before my face as though my nose were bleeding,
and hurried out.  Thanks to my sunburnt skin, through which no
paleness could penetrate, no one noticed that I was ill.  The whole
day long I could eat nothing; but towards evening I recovered a little. 
My appetite now also returned, but unfortunately nothing was to be had
but some bad mutton-broth and an omelette made with rancid oil. 
It is bad enough to be obliged to subsist on such fare when we are in
health, but the hardship increases tenfold when we are ill.  However,
I sent for some bread and wine, and strengthened myself therewith as
best I might.

June 15th.

Thanks be to Heaven, I was to-day once more pretty well.  In
the morning I could already mount my horse and take part in the excursion
we desired to make to

TABARITH.

Passing Mary’s Well and a mountain crowned by some ruins, the
remains of ancient Canaan, we ride for about three miles towards the
foot of Mount Tabor, the highest summit of which we do not reach for
more than an hour.  There were no signs of a beaten road, and we
were obliged to ride over all obstacles; a course of proceeding which
so tired our horses, that in half an hour’s time they were quite
knocked up, so that we had to proceed on foot.  After much toil
and hardship, with a great deal of climbing and much suffering from
the heat, we gained the summit, and were repaid for the toil of the
ascent, not only by the reflection that we stood on classic ground,
but also by the beautiful view which lay spread before our eyes. 
This prospect is indeed magnificent.  We overlook the entire plain
of Saphed, as far as the shores of the Galilean Sea.  Mount Tabor
is also known by the name of the “Mountain of Bliss”—here
it was that our Lord preached His exquisite “Sermon on the Mount.” 
Of all the hills I have seen in Syria, Mount Tabor is the only one covered
to the summit with oaks and carob-trees.  The valleys too are filled
with the richest earth, instead of barren sand; but in spite of all
this the population is thin, and the few villages are wretched and puny. 
The poor inhabitants of Syria are woefully ground down; the taxes are
too high in proportion to the productions of the soil, so that the peasants
cannot possibly grow more produce than they require for their own consumption. 
Thus, for instance, orchards are not taxed in the aggregate, but according
to each separate tree.  For every olive-tree the owner must pay
a piastre, or a piastre and a half; and the same sum for an orange or
lemon tree.  And heavily taxed as he is, the poor peasant is never
safe in saying, “Such and such a thing belongs to me.” 
The pacha may shift him to another piece of land, or drive him away
altogether, if he thinks it advisable to do so; for a pacha’s
power in his province is as great as that of the Sultan himself in Constantinople.

Porcupines are to be met with on Mount Tabor; we found several of
their fine horny quills.

From the farther side of the mountain we descended into the beautiful
and spacious valley of Saphed, the scene of the miracle of the loaves
and fishes, and rode on for some hours until we reached Tabarith.

A very striking scene opens before the eyes of the traveller on the
last mountain before Tabarith.  A lovely landscape lies suddenly
unrolled before him.  The valley sinks deeply down to the Galilean
Sea, round the shores of which a glorious chain of mountains rises in
varied and picturesque terrace-like forms.  More beautiful than
all the rest, towers in snowy grandeur the mighty chain of the Anti-Lebanon,
its white surface glittering in the rays of the sun, and distinctly
mirrored in the clear bosom of the lake.  Deep down lies the little
town of Tabarith, shadowed by palm-trees, and guarded by a castle raised
a little above it.  The unexpected beauty of this scene surprised
us so much that we alighted from our horses, and passed more than half
an hour on the summit of the mountain, to gaze at our leisure upon the
wondrous picture.  Count S. drew a hurried but very successful
sketch of the landscape which we all admired so much, though its mountains
were naked and bare.  But such is the peculiar character of Eastern
scenery; in Europe, meadows, alps, and woods exhibit quite a distinct
class of natural beauty.  In a mountain region of Europe, a sight
like the one we were now admiring would scarcely have charmed us so
much.  But in these regions, poor alike in inhabitants and in scenery,
the traveller is contented with little, and a little thing charms him. 
For instance, would not a plain piece of beef have been a greater luxury
to us on our journey than the most costly delicacies at home? 
Thus we felt also with regard to scenery.

On entering the town we experienced a feeling of painful emotion. 
Tabarith lay still half in ruins; for the dreadful earthquake of 1839
had made this place one of the chief victims of its fury.  How
must the town have looked immediately after the calamity, when even
now, in spite of the extensive repairs, it appears almost like a heap
of ruins!  We saw some houses that had completely fallen in; others
were very much damaged, with large cracks in the walls, and shattered
terraces and towers: every where, in short, we wandered among ruins. 
Above 4000 persons, more than half of the entire population, are said
to have perished by this earthquake.

We alighted at the house of a Jewish doctor, who entertains strangers,
as there is no inn at Tabarith.  I was quite surprised to find
every thing so clean and neat in this man’s house.  The little
rooms were simply but comfortably furnished, the small courtyard was
flagged with large stones, and round the walls of the hall were ranged
narrow benches with soft cushions.  We were greatly astonished
at this appearance of neatness and order; but our wonder rose when we
made the discovery that the Jews, who are very numerous at Tabarith,
are not clothed in the Turkish or Greek fashion, but quite like their
brethren in Poland and Galicia.  Most of them also spoke German. 
I immediately inquired the reason of this peculiarity, and was informed
that all the Jewish families resident in this town originally came from
Poland or Russia, with the intention of dying in the Promised Land. 
As a rule, all Jews seem to cherish a warm desire to pass their last
days in the country of their forefathers, and to be buried there.

We requested our young hostess, whose husband was absent, to prepare
for us without delay a good quantity of pilau and fowls; adding, that
we would in the mean time look at the town and the neighbouring baths
at the Sea of Gennesareth, but that we should return in an hour and
a half at the most.

We then proceeded to the Sea of Gennesareth, which is a fresh-water
lake.  We entered a fisherman’s boat, in order that we might
sail on the waters where our Lord had once bid the winds “be still.” 
We were rowed to the warm springs, which rise near the shore, a few
hundred paces from the town.  On the lake all was calm; but no
sooner had we landed than a storm arose—between the fishermen
and ourselves.  In this country, if strangers neglect to bargain
beforehand for every stage with guides, porters, and people of this
description, they are nearly sure of being charged an exorbitant sum
in the end.  This happened to us on our present little trip, which
certainly did not occupy more than half an hour.  We took our seats
in the boat without arranging for the fares; and on disembarking offered
the fishermen a very handsome reward.  But these worthies threw
down the money, and demanded thirty piastres; whereas, if we had bargained
with them at first, they would certainly not have asked ten.  We
gave them fifteen piastres, to get rid of them; but this did not satisfy
their greediness; on the contrary, they yelled and shouted, until the
Count’s servants threatened to restore peace and quietness with
their sticks.  At length the fishermen were so far brought to their
senses that they walked away, scolding and muttering as they went.

Adjoining the warm springs we found a bathing-house, built in a round
form and covered with a cupola.  Here we also met a considerable
number of pilgrims, mostly Greeks and Armenians from the neighbourhood,
who were journeying to Jerusalem.  They had encamped beside the
bathing-house.  Half of these people were in the water, where a
most animated conversation was going on.  We also wished to enter
the building, not for the purpose of bathing, but to view the beauty
and arrangements of the interior, which have been the subject of many
laudatory descriptions; but at the entrance such a cloud of vapour came
rolling towards us that we were unable to penetrate far.  I saw
enough, however, to feel convinced, that in the description of these
baths poetry or exaggeration had led many a pen far beyond the bounds
of fact.  Neither the exterior of this building, nor the cursory
glance I was enabled to throw into the interior, excited either my curiosity
or my astonishment.  Seen from without, these baths resemble a
small-sized house built in a very mediocre style, and with very slender
claims to beauty.  The interior displayed a large quantity of marble,—for
instance, in the floor, the sides of the bath, etc.  But marble
is not such a rarity in this country that it can raise this bathing-kiosk
into a wonder-building, or render it worthy of more than a passing glance. 
I endeavour to see every thing exactly as it stands before me, and to
describe it in my simple diary without addition or ornament.

At eight o’clock in the evening we returned tired and hungry
to our comfortable quarters, flattering ourselves that we should find
the plain supper we had ordered a few hours before smoking on the covered
table, ready for our arrival.  But neither in the hall nor in the
chamber could we find even a table, much less a covered one.  Half
dead with exhaustion, we threw ourselves on chairs and benches, looking
forward with impatience to the supper and the welcome rest that was
to follow it.  Messenger after messenger was despatched to the
culinary regions, to inquire if the boiled fowls were not yet in an
eatable condition.  Each time we were promised that supper would
be ready “in a quarter of an hour,” and each time nothing
came of it.  At length, at ten o’clock, a table was brought
into the room; after some time a single chair, appeared, and then one
more; then came another interval of waiting, until at length a clean
table-cloth was laid.  These arrivals occupied the time until eleven
o’clock, when the master of the house, who had been absent on
an excursion, made his appearance, and with him came a puny roast fowl. 
No miracle, alas, took place at our table like that of the plain of
Saphed; we were but seven persons, and so the fowl need only have been
increased seven times to satisfy us all; but as it was, each person
received one rib and no more.  Our supper certainly consisted of
several courses brought in one after the other.  Had we known this,
we certainly should soon have arranged the matter, for then each person
would have appropriated the whole of a dish to himself.  In the
space of an hour and a quarter nine or ten little dishes made their
appearance; but the portion of food contained in each was so small,
that our supper may be said to have consisted of a variety of “tastes.” 
We would greatly have preferred two good-sized dishes to all these kickshaws. 
The dishes were, a roast, a boiled, and a baked chicken, a little plate
of prepared cucumbers, an equally small portion of this vegetable in
a raw state, a little pilau, and a few small pieces of mutton.

Our host kindly provided food for the mind during supper by describing
to us a series of horrible scenes which had occurred at the time of
the earthquake.  He, too, had lost his wife and children by this
calamity, and only owed his own life to the circumstance that he was
absent at a sick-bed when the earthquake took place.

Half an hour after midnight we at length sought our resting-places. 
The doctor very kindly gave up his three little bedrooms to us, but
the heat was so oppressive that we preferred quartering ourselves on
the stones in the yard.  They made a very hard bed, but we none
of us felt symptoms of indigestion after our sumptuous meal.

June 16th.

At five o’clock in the morning we took leave of our host, and
returned in six hours to Nazareth by the same road on which we had already
travelled.  We did not, however, ascend Mount Tabor a second time,
but rode along beside its base.  To-day I once more visited all
the spots I had seen when I was so ill two days before; in this pursuit
I passed some very agreeable hours.

June 17th.

In the morning, at half-past four, we once more bade farewell to
the worthy priests of Nazareth, and rode without stopping for nine hours
and a half, until at two o’clock we reached

MOUNT CARMEL.

It was long since we had travelled on such a good road as that on
which we journeyed to-day.  Now and then, however, a piece truly
Syrian in character had to be encountered, probably lest we should lose
the habit of facing hardship and danger.  Another comfort was that
we were not obliged to-day to endure thirst, as we frequently passed
springs of good clear water.  At one time our way even led through
a small oak-wood, a phenomenon almost unprecedented in Syria. 
There was certainly not a single tree in all the wood which a painter
might have chosen for a study, for they were all small and crippled. 
Large leafy trees, like those in my own land, are very seldom seen in
this country.  The carob, which grows here in abundance, is almost
the only handsome tree; it has a beautiful leaf, scarcely larger than
that of a rose-tree, of an oval form, as thick as the back of a knife,
and of a beautiful bright green colour.

Mount Carmel lies on the sea-shore.  It is not high, and half
an hour suffices the traveller to reach its summit, which is crowned
by a spacious and beautiful convent, probably the handsomest in all
Palestine, not even excepting the monasteries at Nazareth and Jerusalem. 
The main front of the building contains a suite of six or seven large
rooms, with folding-doors and lofty regular windows.  These rooms,
together with several in the wings, are devoted to the reception of
strangers.  They are arranged in European style, with very substantial
pieces of furniture, among which neither sofas nor useful chests of
drawers are wanting.

About an hour after we arrived our reverend hosts regaled us with
a more sumptuous meal than any of which I had partaken since my departure
from Constantinople.

In proportion as our fare had been meagre and our accommodation indifferent
at Nazareth and Jerusalem, did we find every thing here excellent. 
In an elegant dining-room stood a large table covered with a fine white
cloth, on which cut glass and clean knives, forks, and china plates
gleamed invitingly.  A servant in European garb placed some capital
fast-day fare on the table (it was Friday), and a polite priest kept
us company; but not in eating, for he rightly considered that such a
hungry company would not require any example to fall to.

During the whole remainder of our journey through Syria this convent
occupied a green spot in our memory.  How capitally would a few
days’ rest here have recruited our strength!  But the gentlemen
had a distant goal before their eyes, and “Forward!” was
still the cry.

After dinner we went down to the sea-shore, to visit the large grotto
called the “Prophets’ school.”  This grotto has
really the appearance of a lofty and spacious hall, where a number of
disciples could have sat and listened to the words of the prophet.

The grotto in which Elijah is said to have lived is situated in a
church at the top of the mountain.  Mount Carmel is quite barren,
being only covered here and there with brambles; but the view is magnificent. 
In the foreground the eye can roam over the boundless expanse of ocean,
while at the foot of the mountain it fords a resting-place in the considerable
town of Haifa, lying in a fertile plain, which extends to the base of
the high mountains, bounded in the distance by the Anti-Libanus, and
farther still by the Lebanon itself.  Along the line of coast we
can distinguish Acre (or Ptolemais), Sur (Tyre), and Soida (Sidon).

June 18th.

This morning we sent our poor over-tired horses on before us to Hese,
and walked on foot at midday under a temperature of 33° to Haifas,
a distance of more than two miles.  Heated and exhausted to the
last degree we reached the house of the Consul, who is a Catholic, but
seems nevertheless to live quite in Oriental fashion.  This gentleman
is consul both for France and Austria.  Although he was not at
home when we arrived, we were immediately shewn into the room of state,
where we reclined on soft divans, and were regaled with sherbet of all
colours, green, yellow, red, etc., and with coffee flavoured with roses,
which we did not like.  Hookahs (or tchibuks) were also handed
round.  At length the Consul’s wife appeared, a young and
beautiful lady of an imposing figure, dressed in the Oriental garb. 
She smoked her tchibuk with as much ease as the gentlemen.  Luckily
a brother of this lady who understood something of Italian was present,
and kindly acted as interpreter.  I have never found an Oriental
woman who knew any language but that of her own country.

After we had rested ourselves, we pursued our journey in a boat to
Acre.  On my road to Jerusalem I had only seen the outside of this
monument of the last war, now I could view its interior; but saw nothing
to repay me for my trouble.  Considering how ugly the Turkish towns
are even when they are in good preservation, it may easily be imagined
that the appearance of one of these cities is not improved when it is
full of shot-holes, and the streets and interiors of the houses are
choked up with rubbish.  The entrance to the convent lies through
the courtyard of the Turkish barracks, where there seemed to be a great
deal of bustle, and where we had an opportunity of noticing how wretchedly
clad, and still more miserably shod, the Turkish soldiers are. 
These blemishes are not so much observed when the men are seen singly
at their posts.

The convent here is very small, being in fact only a dwelling-house
to which a chapel is attached.  Two monks and a lay brother form
the whole household.

Scarcely had I established myself in my room, before a very polite
lady entered, who introduced herself to me as the wife of a surgeon
in the service of the pacha here.  She stated that her husband
was at present absent at Constantinople, and added that she was in the
habit of spending several hours in the convent every evening to do the
honours of the house!  This assertion struck me as so strange,
that I should certainly have remained dumb had not my visitor been a
very agreeable, polite French lady.  As it was, however, we chatted
away the evening pleasantly together, until the supper-bell summoned
us to the refectory.  All that I saw in this convent was in direct
contrast to the arrangement of the comfortable establishment of the
Carmelites.  The refectory here is astonishingly dirty; the whole
furniture consists of two dingy tables and some benches; the table-cloth,
plates, etc. wore the prevailing livery; and the fare was quite in keeping
with every thing else.  We supped at two tables; the gentlemen
and the reverend fathers sitting at one, while the French lady and myself
occupied the other.

June 19th.

As we were not to travel far to-day, we did not set out until ten
o’clock, when we started in company of several Franks who were
in the pacha’s service.  They led us into a park by the roadside
belonging to the mother of the Sultan.  Here the pacha usually
resides during the summer.  In half an hour’s time we reached
this park.  The garden is rather handsome, but does not display
many plants except lemon, orange, pomegranate, and cypress trees. 
The display of flowers was not very remarkable; for not only could we
discover no rare or foreign plants, but we also missed many flowers
which grow plentifully in our gardens at home.  A few kiosks are
here to be seen, but every thing seemed miserably out of repair.

The residence of the pacha, situated outside the gardens, has a more
inviting appearance.  We paid our respects to his highness, who
received us very graciously, and caused us to be regaled with the usual
beverages.  No sooner had the high ladies in the harem learnt that
a Frankish woman was in their territory, than they sent to invite me
to visit them.  I gladly accepted this invitation, the more so
as it offered an opportunity of gratifying my curiosity.  I was
conducted to another part of the house, where I stepped into a chamber
of middle size, the floor of which was covered with mats and carpets,
while on cushions ranged round the walls reclined beauties of various
complexions, who seemed to have been collected from every quarter of
the globe.  One of these women, who was rather elderly, appeared
to be the pacha’s chief wife, for all the rest pointed to her. 
The youngest lady seemed about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and
was the mother of a child eight months old, with which they were all
playing as with a doll; the poor little thing was handed about from
hand to hand.  These ladies were dressed exactly like the daughters
of the consul at Joppa, whose costume I have described.  I did
not see any signs of particular beauty, unless the stoutness of figure
so prevalent here is considered in that light.  I saw, however,
a woman with one eye, a defect frequently observed in the East. 
Female slaves were there of all shades of colour.  One wore a ring
through her nose, and another had tastefully painted her lips blue. 
Both mistresses and slaves had their eyebrows and eyelashes painted
black, and their nails and the palm of the hand stained a light-brown
with the juice of the henna.

The Oriental women are ignorant and inquisitive in the highest degree;
they can neither read nor write, and the knowledge of a foreign language
is quite out of the question.  It is very rarely that one of them
understands embroidering in gold.  Whenever I happened to be writing
in my journal, men, women, and children would gather round me, and gaze
upon me and my book with many signs and gestures expressive of astonishment.

The ladies of the harem seemed to look with contempt upon employment
and work of every kind; for neither here nor elsewhere did I see them
do any thing but sit cross-legged on carpets and cushions, drinking
coffee, smoking nargilé, and gossiping with one another. 
They pressed me to sit down on a cushion, and then immediately surrounded
me, endeavouring, by signs, to ask many questions.  First they
took my straw hat and put it upon their heads; then they felt the stuff
of my travelling robe; but they seemed most of all astonished at my
short hair, {165}
the sight of which seemed to impress these poor ignorant women with
the idea that nature had denied long hair to the Europeans.  They
asked me by signs how this came to pass, and every lady came up and
felt my hair.  They seemed also very much surprised that I was
so thin, and offered me their nargilé, besides sherbet and cakes. 
On the whole, our conversation was not very animated, for we had no
dragoman to act as interpreter, so that we were obliged to guess at
what was meant, and at length I sat silently among these Orientals,
and was heartily glad when, at the expiration of an hour, my friends
sent to fetch me away.  At a later period of my journey I frequently
visited harems, and sometimes considerable ones; but I found them all
alike.  The only difference lay in the fact that some harems contained
more beautiful women and slaves, and that in others the inmates were
more richly clad; but every where I found the same idle curiosity, ignorance,
and apathy.  Perhaps they may be more happy than European women;
I should suppose they were, to judge from their comfortable figures
and their contented features.  Corpulence is said frequently to
proceed from a good-natured and quiet disposition; and their features
are so entirely without any fixed character and expression, that I do
not think these women capable of deep passions or feeling either for
good or evil.  Exceptions are of course to be found even among
the Turkish women; I only report what I observed on the average.

This day we rode altogether for seven hours.  We passed a beautiful
orange-grove; for the greater part of the way our road led through deep
sand, close by the sea-shore; but once we had to pass a dreadfully dangerous
place called the “White Mount,” one extremity of which rises
out of the sea.  This once passed, we soon come upon the beautiful
far-stretching aqueduct which I noticed on my journey from Joppa to
Jerusalem.  It traverses a portion of this fruitful plain.

We could not enter the little town of Sur, the goal of this day’s
journey, as it was closed on account of the plague.  We therefore
passed by, and pitched our tents beside a village, in the neighbourhood
of which large and splendid cisterns of water, hewn in the rock, are
to be seen.  The superfluous water from these cisterns falls from
a height of twenty or thirty feet, and after turning a mill-wheel, flows
through the vale in the form of a brook.

CHAPTER XI.

River Mishmir—Saida—Arnauts—Desert-path—Residence
of Lady Hester Stanhope—Beyrout—The consul’s—Uncomfortable
quarters—Sickness—The Bazaar—Vexatious delays—Departure
from Beyrout—Beautiful views—Syrian costumes—Damascus—Aspect
of the city—House of the consul.

June 20th.

Shortly after five this morning we were in our saddles, and a few
hours afterwards arrived at the beautiful river Mishmir, which is as
broad as the Jordan, though it does not contain nearly so much water. 
Next to the Jordan, however, this river is the largest we find on our
journey, besides being a most agreeable object in a region so destitute
of streams.  Its water is pure as crystal.

In ten hours we reached the town, and at once repaired to the convent,
as not one of these cities contains an inn.  The little convent,
with its tiny church, is situate at the end of a large courtyard, which
is so thronged with horses and men, particularly with soldiers, that
we had great difficulty in forcing our way through.  When we had
at length cleared a passage for ourselves to the entrance, we were received
with the agreeable intelligence that there was no room for us. 
What was to be done?  We thought ourselves lucky in obtaining a
little room where we could pass the night in a house belonging to a
Greek family; beds were, however, out of the question; we had to lie
on the hard stones.  In the courtyard a kind of camp had been pitched,
in which twelve state-horses of the Emir {167}
of Lebanon (creatures of the true Arab breed) were bivouacking among
a quantity of Arnauts.

The Arnaut soldiers are universally feared, but more by friend than
foe.  They are very turbulent, and behave in an overbearing manner
towards the people.  The Count, my fellow-traveller, was even insulted
in the street, not by a peasant, but by one of these military fellows. 
These ill-disciplined troops are assembled every where, in order that
they may be ready to attack whenever a disturbance occurs between the
Druses and Maronites.  I consider, however, that the Arnauts are
much more to be feared than either the Druses or the Maronites, through
whose territories we afterwards journeyed without experiencing, in a
single instance, either insult or injury.  I hardly think we should
have escaped so well had we encountered a troop of these wild horsemen.

Among all the Turkish soldiers the Arnauts are the best dressed;
with their short and full white skirts of linen or lawn, and tight trousers
of white linen, a scarf round the middle, and a white or a red spencer,
they closely resemble the Albanians.

June 21st.

This was a most fatiguing day, although we did not ride for more
than ten hours; but this ten hours’ journey was performed without
even a quarter of an hour’s rest, though the thermometer stood
at 33° Reaumur.  Our path lay through a sandy desert, about
two miles in breadth, running parallel with the mountain-range from
Saida to Beyrout.  The monotony of the steppe is only broken at
intervals by heaps of sand.  The surface of the sand presents the
appearance of a series of waves; the particles of which it is composed
are very minute, and of a fine yellowish-brown colour.  A beautiful
fertile valley adjoins this desert, and stretches towards Mount Lebanon,
on whose brown rocky surface several villages can be descried.

This mountain-range has a most imposing appearance.  White rocks
and strata of white sand shine forth from its broad and generally barren
expanse like fields of snow.

The residence of the late Lady Hester Stanhope can be seen in the
distance on the declivity of the mountain.

During our long ride of ten hours we did not pass a single tank,
spring, or even pool, and all the river-beds on our way were completely
dried up by the heat.  Not a tree could we see that could shelter
us for a moment from the glaring heat of the sun.  It was a day
of torment for us and for our poor beasts.  Two of our brave horses
sank from exhaustion, and could go no farther, though relieved of their
burdens; we were obliged to leave the poor creatures to perish by the
wayside.

At three in the afternoon we at length arrived at Beyrout, after
having bravely encountered, during ten consecutive days, the toil and
hardship inseparable from a journey through Syria.

The distance from Jerusalem to Beyrout is about 200 miles, allowing
for the circuitous route by way of Tabarith, which travellers are not,
however, compelled to take.  From Jerusalem to Nazareth is 54 miles;
from Nazareth across Mount Tabor to Tabarith and back again 31 miles;
from Nazareth to Mount Carmel, Haifas, and Acre, 46 miles; and from
Acre to Beyrout 69 miles; making the total 200 miles.

Our poor horses suffered dreadfully during this journey; for they
were continually obliged either to climb over rocks, stones, and mountains,
or to wade through hot sand, in which they sank above the fetlocks at
every step.  It would have been a better plan had we only engaged
our horses from Jerusalem to Nazareth, where we could have procured
fresh ones to carry us on to Beyrout.  We had been told at Jerusalem
that it was sometimes impossible to obtain horses at Nazareth, and so
preferred engaging our beasts at once for the whole journey.  On
arriving at Nazareth we certainly discovered that we had been deceived,
for horses are always to be had there in plenty; but as the contract
was once made, we were obliged to abide by it.

During the ten days of our journey the temperature varied exceedingly. 
By day the heat fluctuated between 18° and 39° Reaumur; the
nights too were very changeable, being sometimes sultry, and sometimes
bitterly cold.

BEYROUT

lies in a sandy plain; but the mulberry-trees by which it is surrounded
impart to this city an air of picturesque beauty.  Still we wade
every where, in the streets, gardens, and alleys, through deep sand. 
Viewed from a distance, Beyrout has a striking effect, a circumstance
I had remarked on my first arrival there from Constantinople; but it
loses considerably on a nearer approach.  I did not enjoy walking
through the town and its environs; but it was a great pleasure to me
to sit on a high terrace in the evening, and look down upon the landscape. 
The dark-blue sky rose above the distant mountains, the fruitful valley,
and the glittering expanse of ocean.  The golden sun was still
illumining the peaks of the mountains with its farewell rays, until
at length it sunk from view, shrouding every thing in a soft twilight. 
Then I saw the innumerable stars shine forth, and the moon shed its
magic light over the nocturnal landscape; and that mind can scarcely
be called human which does not feel the stirring of better feelings
within it at such a spectacle.  Truly the temple of the Lord is
every where; and throughout all nature there is a mysterious something
that tells even the infidel of the omnipresence of the Great Spirit. 
How many beautiful evenings did I not enjoy at Beyrout! they were, in
fact, the only compensation for the grievous hardships I was obliged
to endure during my stay in this town.

In the inn I could again not find a single room, and was this time
much more at a loss to find a place of shelter than I had been before;
for our host’s wife had gone out of town with her children, and
had let her private house; so I sat, in the fullest sense of the word,
“in the street.”  A clergyman, whose acquaintance I
had made in Constantinople, and who happened just then to be at Beyrout,
took compassion upon me, and procured me a lodging in the house of a
worthy Arab family just outside the town.  Now I certainly had
a roof above my head, but I could not make myself understood; for not
a soul spoke Italian, and my whole knowledge of Arabic was comprised
in the four words: taib, moi, sut, mafish—beautiful, water,
milk, and nothing.

With so limited a stock of expressions at my command, I naturally
could not make much way, and the next day I was placed in a very disagreeable
dilemma.  I had hired a boy to show me the way to a church, and
explained to him by signs that he was to wait to conduct me home again. 
On emerging from the church I could see nothing of my guide.  After
waiting for some time in vain, I was at length compelled to try and
find my way alone.

The house in which I lived stood in a garden of mulberry-trees, but
all the houses in the neighbourhood were built in the same style, each
having a tower attached, in which there is a habitable room; all these
dwellings stand in gardens planted with mulberry-trees, some of them
not separated from each other at all, and the rest merely by little
sand-hills.  Flowers and vegetables are nowhere to be seen, nor
is the suburb divided into regular streets; so that I wandered in an
endless labyrinth of trees and houses.  I met none but Arabs, whose
language I did not understand, and who could, therefore, give me no
information.  So I rushed to and fro, until at length, after a
long and fatiguing pilgrimage, I was lucky enough to stumble on the
house I wanted.  Unwilling to expose myself to such a disagreeable
adventure a second time, I thought it would be preferable to dwell within
the town; and therefore hired the young guide before mentioned to conduct
me to the house of the Austrian Consul-General Herr von A.  Unfortunately
this gentleman was not visible to such an insignificant personage as
myself, and sent me word that I might come again in a few hours. 
This was a true “Job’s message” for me, as far as
consolation went.  The heat was most oppressive; I had now entered
the town for the second time, to be sent once more back to the glowing
sands, with permission to “come again in a few hours.” 
Had I not been uncommonly hardy, I should have succumbed.  But
luckily I knew a method to help myself.  I ordered my little guide
to lead me to the house in which the wife of Battista the innkeeper
had lived.

During my previous residence at Beyrout I had accidentally heard
that a French lady lodged in the same house, and occupied herself with
the education of the children.  I went to call on this French lady,
and was lucky enough to find her; so I had, at any rate, so far succeeded
that I had found a being with whom I could converse, and of whom I might
request advice and assistance.  My new acquaintance was an extremely
cordial maiden lady about forty years of age.  Her name was Pauline
Kandis.  My unfortunate position awakened her compassion so much,
that she placed her own room at my disposal for the time being. 
I certainly saw that my present quarters left much to be desired, for
my kind entertainer’s lodging consisted of a single room, divided
into two parts by several tall chests; the foremost division contained
a large table, at which four girls sat and stood at their lessons. 
The second division formed a kind of lumber-room, redolent of boxes,
baskets, and pots, and furnished with a board, laid on an old tub, to
answer the purposes of a table.  My condition was, however, so
forlorn, that I took joyful possession of the lumber-room assigned to
me.  I immediately departed with my boy-guide, and by noon I was
already installed, with bag and baggage, in the dwelling of my kind
hostess.  But there was no more walking for me that day. 
What with the journey and my morning’s peregrinations I was so
exhausted that I requested nothing but a resting-place, which I found
among the old chests and baskets on the floor.  I was right glad
to lie down, and court the rest that I needed so much.

At seven o’clock in the evening the school closed.  Miss
K. then took her leave, and I remained sole occupant of her two rooms,
which she only uses as school-rooms, for she sleeps at her brother’s
house.

My lodging at Miss K.’s was, however, the most uncomfortable
of any I had yet occupied during my entire journey.

From eight o’clock in the morning until seven at night four
or five girls, who did any thing rather than study, were continually
in the room.  The whole day long there was such a noise of shouting,
screaming, and jumping about, that I could not hear the sound of my
own voice.  Moreover, the higher regions of this hall of audience
contained eight pigeons’ nests; and the old birds, which were
so tame that they not only took the food from our plates, but stole
it out of our very mouths, fluttered continually about the room, so
that we were obliged to look very attentively at every chair on which
we intended to sit down.  On the floor a cock was continually fighting
with his three wives; and a motherly hen, with a brood of eleven hopeful
ducks, cackled merrily between.  I wonder that I did not contract
a squint, for I was obliged continually to look upwards and downwards
lest I should cause mischief, and lest mischief should befall me. 
During the night the heat and the stench were almost insupportable;
and immediately after midnight the cock always began to crow, as if
he earned his living by the noise he made.  I used to open the
window every night to make a passage of escape for the heat and the
foul air, while I lay down before the door, like Napoleon’s Mameluke,
to guard the treasures entrusted to my care.  But on the second
night two wandering cats had already discovered my whereabouts—without
the least compunction they stepped quietly over me into the chamber,
and began to raise a murderous chase.  I instantly jumped up and
drove away the robbers; and from that time forward I was obliged to
remain in the interior of my fortress, carefully to barricade all the
windows, and bear my torments with what fortitude I might.

Our diet was also of a very light description.  A sister-in-law
of the good Pauline was accustomed to send in our dinner, which consisted
one day of a thimbleful of saffron-coloured pilau, while the next would
perhaps bring half the shoulder of a small fish.  Had I boarded
with my hostess, I should have kept fast-day five days in the week,
and have had nothing to eat on the remaining two.  I therefore
at once left off dining with them, and used to cook a good German dish
for myself every day.  In the morning I asked for some milk, in
order to make my coffee after the German fashion.  Yet I think
that some of our adulterators of milk must have penetrated even to Syria,
for I found it as difficult to obtain pure goats’ milk here as
to get good milk from the cow in my own country.

My bedstead was formed out of an old chest, and my sole employment
and amusement was idling.  I had not a book to read, no table to
write on; and if I once really succeeded in getting something to read
or made an attempt at writing, the whole tribe of youngsters would come
clustering round, staring at my book or at my paper.  It would
certainly have been useless to complain, but yet I could not always
entirely conceal the annoyance I felt.

My friends must pardon me for describing my cares so minutely, but
I only do so to warn all those who would wish to undertake a journey
like mine, without being either very rich, very high-born, or very hardy,
that they had much better remain at home.

As I happened to be neither rich nor high-born, the Consul would
not receive me at all the first time I called upon him, although the
captain of a steamer had been admitted to an audience just before I
applied.  A few days afterwards I once more waited upon the Consul,
told him of my troubles, and stated plainly how thankful I should feel
if any one would assist me so far as to procure me a respectable lodging,
for which I would gladly pay, and where I could remain until an opportunity
offered to go to Alexandria; the worthy Consul was kind enough to reply
to my request with a shake of the head, and with the comforting admission
that “he was very sorry for me—it was really extremely unfortunate.” 
I think the good gentleman must have left all his feeling at home before
settling in Syria, otherwise he would never have dismissed me with a
few frivolous speeches, particularly as I assured him that I was perfectly
well provided with money, and would bear any expense, but added that
it was possible to be placed in positions where want of advice was more
keenly felt than want of means.  During the whole of my residence
at Beyrout, my countryman never troubled himself any more about me.

During my stay here I made an excursion to the grotto, said to be
the scene of St. George’s combat with the dragon; this grotto
is situate to the right of the road, near the quarantine-house. 
The ride thither offers many fine views, but the grotto itself is not
worth seeing.

Frequently in the evening I went to visit an Arab family, when I
would sit upon the top of the tower and enjoy the sight of the beautiful
sunset.

A very strong military force was posted at Beyrout, consisting entirely
of Arnauts.  They had pitched their tents outside the town, which
thus wore the appearance of a camp.  Many of these towns do not
contain barracks; and as the soldiers are not here quartered in private
houses, they are compelled to bivouack in the open field.

The bazaar is very large and straggling.  On one occasion I
had the misfortune to lose myself among its numerous lanes, from which
it took me some time to extricate myself; I had an opportunity of seeing
many of the articles of merchandise, and an immense number of shops,
but none which contained any thing very remarkable.  Once more
I found how prone people are to exaggerate.  I had been warned
to abstain from walking in the streets, and, above all, to avoid venturing
into the bazaar.  I neglected both pieces of advice, and walked
out once or twice every day during my stay, without once meeting with
an adventure of any kind.

I had already been at Beyrout ten long, long days, and still no opportunity
offered of getting to Alexandria.  But at the end of June the worthy
artist Sattler, whose acquaintance I had made at Constantinople, arrived
here.  He found me out, and proposed that I should travel to Damascus
with Count Berchtold, a French gentleman of the name of De Rousseau,
and himself, instead of wasting my time here.  This proposition
was a welcome one to me, for I ardently desired to be released from
my fowls’ nest.  My arrangements were soon completed, for
I took nothing with me except some linen and a mattress, which were
packed on my horse’s back.

JOURNEY FROM BEYROUT TO DAMASCUS, BALBECK, AND MOUNT LEBANON.July
1st.

At one o’clock in the afternoon we were all assembled before
the door of M. Battista’s inn, and an hour later we were in our
saddles hastening towards the town-gate.  At first we rode through
a deep sea of sand surrounding the town; but soon we reached the beautiful
valley which lies stretched at the foot of the Anti-Libanus, and afterwards
proceeded towards the range by pleasant paths, shaded by pine-woods
and mulberry-plantations.

But now the ascent of the magnificent Anti-Libanus became steeper
and more dangerous, as we advanced on rocky paths, often scarcely a
foot in breadth, and frequently crossed by fissures and brooklets. 
Some time elapsed before I could quite subdue my fear, and could deliver
myself wholly up to the delight of contemplating these grand scenes,
so completely new to us Europeans, leaving my horse, which planted its
feet firmly and without once stumbling among the blocks of stone lying
loosely on each other, to carry me as its instinct directed; for these
horses are exceedingly careful, being well used to these dangerous roads. 
We could not help laughing heartily at our French companion, who could
not screw up his courage sufficiently to remain on his horse at the
very dangerous points.  At first he always dismounted when we came
to such a spot; but at length he grew weary of eternally mounting and
dismounting, and conquered his fear, particularly when he observed that
we depended so entirely on the sagacity of our steeds, and gave ourselves
completely up to the contemplation of the mountains around us. 
It is impossible adequately to describe the incomparable forms of this
mountain-range.  The giant rocks, piled one above the other, glow
with the richest colours; lovely green valleys lie scattered between;
while numerous villages are seen, sometimes standing isolated on the
rocks, and at others peering forth from among the deep shade of the
olive and mulberry trees.

The sun sinking into the sea shot its last rays through the clear
pure air towards the highest peaks of the mighty rocks.  Every
thing united to form a picture which when once seen can never be forgotten.

The tints of the rocky masses are peculiarly remarkable; exhibiting
not only the primary colours, but many gradations, such as bluish-green,
violet, etc.  Many rocks were covered with a red coating resembling
cinnabar, in several places we found small veins of pure sulphur, and
each moment something new and wonderful met our gaze.  The five
hours which we occupied in riding from Beyrout to the village of Elhemsin
passed like five minutes.  The khan of Elhemsin was already occupied
by a caravan bringing wares and fruit from Damascus, so that we had
nothing for it but to raise our tent and encamp beneath it.

July 2d.

The rising sun found us prepared for departure, and soon we had reached
an acclivity from whence we enjoyed a magnificent view.  Before
us rose the lofty peaks of Lebanon and Anti-Libanus, partly covered
with snow; while behind us the mountains, rich in vineyards, olive-plantations,
and pine-woods, stretched downward to the sea-shore.  We had mounted
to such a height, that the clouds soaring above the sea and the town
of Beyrout lay far beneath us, shrouding the city from our gaze.

Vineyards are very common on these mountains.  The vines do
not, however, cling round trees for support, nor are they trained up
poles as in Austria; they grow almost wild, the stem shooting upwards
to a short distance from the ground, towards which the vine then bends. 
The wine made on these mountains is of excellent quality, rather sweet
in flavour, of a golden-yellow colour, and exceedingly fiery.

We still continued to climb, without experiencing much inconvenience
from the heat, up a fearful dizzy path, over rocks and stones, and past
frightful chasms.  Our leathern bottles were here useless to us,
for we had no lack of water; from every crevice in the rocks a clear
crystal flood gushed forth, in which the gorgeously-coloured masses
of stone were beautifully mirrored.

After a very fatiguing ride of five hours we at length reached the
ridge of the Anti-Libanus, where we found a khan, and allowed ourselves
an hour’s rest.  The view from this point is very splendid. 
The two loftiest mountain-ridges of Lebanon and Anti-Libanus enclose
between them a valley which may be about six miles long, and ten or
twelve broad.  Our way led across the mountain’s brow and
down into this picturesque valley, through which we journeyed for some
miles to the village of Maschdalanscher, in the neighbourhood of which
place we pitched our tents.

It is, of course, seldom that a European woman is seen in these regions,
and thus I seemed to be quite a spectacle to the inhabitants; at every
place where we halted many women and children would gather round me,
busily feeling my dress, putting on my straw hat, and looking at me
from all sides, while they endeavoured to converse with me by signs. 
If they happened to have any thing eatable at hand, such as cucumbers,
fruits, or articles of that description, they never failed to offer
them with the greatest good-nature, and seemed highly rejoiced when
I accepted some.  On the present evening several of these people
were assembled round me, and I had an opportunity of noticing the costume
of this mountain tribe.  Excepting the head-dress, it is the same
as that worn throughout all Palestine, and indeed in the whole of Syria;
the women have blue gowns, and the men, white blouses, wide trousers,
and a sash: sometimes the women wear spencers, and the more wealthy
among them even display caftans and turbans.  The head-dress of
the women is very original, but does not look remarkably becoming. 
They wear on their foreheads a tin horn more than a foot in length,
and over this a white handkerchief, fastened at the back and hanging
down in folds.  This rule, however, only applies to the wealthier
portion of the community, which is here limited enough.  The poorer
women wear a much smaller horn, over which they display an exceedingly
dingy handkerchief.  During working hours they ordinarily divest
themselves of these ornaments, as they would render it impossible to
carry loads on the head.  The rich inhabitants of the mountains,
both male and female, dress in the Oriental fashion; but the women still
retain the horn, which is then made of silver.

The village of Maschdalanscher is built of clay huts thatched with
straw.  I saw many goats and horned cattle, and a good store of
corn lay piled up before the doors.

We were assured that the roads through the mountains inhabited by
the Druses and Maronites were very unsafe, and we were strongly urged
to take an escort with us; but as we met caravans almost every hour,
we considered this an unnecessary precaution, and arrived safely without
adventure of any kind at Damascus.

July 3d.

This morning we rode at first over a very good road, till at length
we came upon a ravine, which seemed hardly to afford us room to pass. 
Closer and more closely yet did the rocky masses approach each other,
as we passed amongst the loose shingle over the dry bed of a river. 
Frequently the space hardly admitted of our stepping aside to allow
the caravans we met to pass us.  Sometimes we thought, after having
painfully laboured through a ravine of this kind, that we should emerge
into the open field; but each time it was only to enter a wilder and
more desert pass.  So we proceeded for some hours, till the rocky
masses changed to heaps of sand, and every trace of vegetation disappeared. 
At length we had climbed the last hill, and Damascus, “the vaunted
city of the East,” lay before us.

It is certainly a striking sight when, escaping from the inhospitable
domains of the mountain and the sandhill, we see stretched at our feet
a great and luxuriant valley, forming in the freshness of its vegetation
a singular contrast to the desert region around.  In this valley,
amid gardens and trees innumerable, extends the town, with its pretty
mosques and slender lofty minarets; but I was far from finding the scene
so charming that I could have exclaimed with other travellers, “This
is the most beauteous spot on earth!”

The plain in which Damascus lies runs on at the foot of the Anti-Libanus
as far as the mountain of Scheik, and is shut in on three sides by sandhills
of an incomparably dreary appearance.  On the fourth side the plain
loses itself in the sandy desert.  This valley is exceedingly well
watered by springs descending from all the mountains, which we could
not, however, see on our approach; but no river exists here.  The
water rushes forth but to disappear beneath the sand, and displays its
richness only in the town and its immediate neighbourhood.

From the hill whence we had obtained the first view of Damascus,
we have still a good two miles to ride before we reach the plantations. 
These are large gardens of mish-mish, walnut, pomegranate, orange, and
lemon trees, fenced in with clay walls, traversed by long broad streets,
and watered by bubbling brooks.  For a long time we journeyed on
in the shade of these fruitful woods, till at length we entered the
town through a large gate.  Our enthusiastic conceptions of this
renowned city were more and more toned down as we continued to advance.

The houses in Damascus are almost all built of clay and earth, and
many ugly wooden gables and heavy window-frames give a disagreeable
ponderous air to the whole.  Damascus is divided into several parts
by gates, which are closed soon after sunset.  We passed through
a number of these gates, and also through the greater portion of the
bazaar, on our road to the Franciscan convent.

We had this day accomplished a journey of more than twenty-four miles,
in a temperature of 35° to 36° Reaum., and had suffered much
from the scorching wind, which came laden with particles of dust. 
Our faces were so browned, that we might easily have been taken for
descendants of the Bedouins.  This was the only day that I felt
my eyes affected by the glare.

Although we were much fatigued on arriving at the convent, the first
thing we did, after cleansing ourselves from dust and washing our burning
eyes, was to hasten to the French and English consuls, so eager were
we to see the interior of some of these clay huts.

A low door brought us into a passage leading to a large yard. 
We could have fancied ourselves transported by magic to the scene of
one of the fantastic “Arabian Nights,” for all the glory
of the East seemed spread before our delighted gaze.  In the midst
of the courtyard, which was paved with large stones, a large reservoir,
with a sparkling fountain, spread a delightful coolness around. 
Orange and lemon trees dipped their golden fruit into the crystal flood;
while at the sides flower-beds, filled with fragrant roses, balsams,
oleanders, etc., extended to the stairs leading to the reception-room. 
Every thing seemed to have been done that could contribute to ornament
this large and lofty apartment, which opened into the courtyard. 
Swelling divans, covered with the richest stuffs, lined the walls, which,
tastefully ornamented with mirrors and painted and sculptured arabesques,
and further decked with mosaic and gilding, displayed a magnificence
of which I could not have formed a conception.  In the foreground
of this fairy apartment a jet of water shot upwards from a marble basin. 
The floor was also of marble, forming beautiful pictures in the most
varied colours; and over the whole scene was spread that charm so peculiar
to the Orientals, a charm combining the tasteful with the rich and gorgeous. 
The apartment in which the women dwell, and where they receive their
more confidential visitors, are similar to the one I have just described,
except that they are smaller, less richly furnished, and completely
open in front.  The remaining apartments also look into the courtyard;
they are simply, but comfortably and prettily arranged.

All the houses of the Orientals are similar to this one, except that
the apartments of the women open into another courtyard than those of
the men.

After examining and admiring every thing to our heart’s content,
we returned to our hospitable convent.  This evening the clerical
gentlemen entertained us.  A tolerably nice meal, with wine and
good bread, restored our exhausted energies to a certain extent.

At Beyrout we were quite alarmed at the warnings we received concerning
the numbers of certain creeping things we should find here in the bedsteads. 
I therefore betook myself to bed with many qualms and misgivings; but
I slept undisturbed, both on this night and on the following one.

CHAPTER XII.

The bazaar at Damascus—The khan—Grotto of St. Paul—Fanaticism
of the inhabitants—Departure from Damascus—The desert—Military
escort—Heliopolis or Balbeck—Stupendous ruins—Continuation
of our voyage through the desert—The plague—The Lebanon
range—Cedar-trees—Druses and Maronites—Importunate
beggars—Thievish propensities of the Arabs.

July 4th.

Damascus is one of the most ancient cities of the East, but yet we
see no ruins; a proof that no grand buildings ever existed here, and
that therefore the houses, as they became old and useless, were replaced
by new ones.

To-day we visited the seat of all the riches—the great bazaar. 
It is mostly covered in, but only with beams and straw mats.  On
both sides are rows of wooden booths, containing all kinds of articles,
but a great preponderance of eatables, which are sold at an extraordinarily
cheap rate.  We found the “mish-mish” particularly
good.

As in Constantinople, the rarest and most costly of the wares are
not exposed for sale, but must be sought for in closed store-houses. 
The booths look like inferior hucksters’ shops, and each merchant
is seen sitting in the midst of his goods.  We passed hastily through
the bazaar, in order soon to reach the great mosque, situate in the
midst of it.  As we were forbidden, however, not only to enter
the mosque, but even the courtyard, we were obliged to content ourselves
with wondering at the immense portals, and stealing furtive glances
at the interior of the open space beyond.  This mosque was originally
a Christian church; and a legend tells that St. George was decapitated
here.

The khan, also situate in the midst of the bazaar, is peculiarly
fine, and is said to be the best in all the East.  The high and
boldly-arched portal is covered with marble, and enriched with beautiful
sculptures.  The interior forms a vast rotunda, surrounded by galleries,
divided from each other, and furnished with writing-tables for the use
of the merchants.  Below in the hall the bales and chests are piled
up, and at the side are apartments for travelling dealers.  The
greater portion of the floor and the walls is covered with marble.

Altogether, marble seems to be much sought after at Damascus. 
Every thing that passes for beautiful or valuable is either entirely
composed of this stone, or at least is inlaid with it.  Thus a
pretty fountain in a little square near the bazaar is of marble; and
a coffee-house opposite the fountain, the largest and most frequented
of any in Damascus, is ornamented with a few small marble pillars. 
But all these buildings, not even excepting the great bathing-house,
would be far less praised and looked at if they stood in a better neighbourhood. 
As the case is, however, they shine forth nobly from among the clay
houses of Damascus.

In the afternoon we visited the Grotto of St. Paul, lying immediately
outside the town.  On the ramparts we were shewn the place where
the apostle is said to have leaped from the wall on horseback, reaching
the ground in safety, and taking refuge from his enemies in the neighbouring
grotto, which is said to have closed behind him by miracle, and not
to have opened again until his persecutors had ceased their pursuit. 
At present, nothing is to be seen of this grotto excepting a small stone
archway, like that of a bridge.  Tombs of modern date, consisting
of vaults covered with large blocks of stone, are very numerous near
this grotto.

We paid several more visits, and every where found great pomp of
inner arrangement and decoration, varying of course in different houses. 
We were always served with coffee, sherbet, and argilé; and in
the houses of the Turks a dreary conversation was carried on through
the medium of an interpreter.

Walks and places of amusement there are none.  The number of
Franks resident here is too small to call for a place of general recreation,
and the Turk never feels a want of this kind.  The most he does
is to saunter slowly from the bath to the coffee-house, and there to
kill his time with the help of a pipe and a cup of coffee, staring vacantly
on the ground before him.  Although the coffee-houses are more
frequented than any other buildings in the East, they are often miserable
sheds, being all small, and generally built only of wood.

The inhabitants of Damascus wear the usual Oriental garb, but as
a rule I thought them better dressed than in any Eastern town. 
Some of the women are veiled, but others go abroad with their faces
uncovered.  I saw here some very attractive countenances; and an
unusual number of lovely children’s heads looked at me from all
sides with an inquisitive smile.

In reference to religious matters, these people seem very fanatical;
they particularly dislike strangers.  For instance, the painter
S. wished to make sketches of the khan, the fountain, and a few other
interesting objects or views.  For this purpose he sat down before
the great coffee-house to begin with the fountain; but scarcely had
he opened his portfolio before a crowd of curious idlers had gathered
around him, who, as soon as they saw his intention, began to annoy him
in every possible way.  They pushed the children who stood near
against him, so that he received a shock every moment, and was hindered
in his drawing.  As he continued to work in spite of their rudeness,
several Turks came and stood directly before the painter, to prevent
him from seeing the fountain.  On his still continuing to persevere,
they began to spit upon him.  It was now high time to be gone,
and so Mr. S. hastily gathered his materials together and turned to
depart.  Then the rage of the rabble broke noisily forth. 
They followed the artist yelling and screaming, and a few even threw
stones at him.  Luckily he succeeded in reaching our convent unharmed.

Mr. S. had been allowed to draw without opposition at Constantinople,
Brussa, Ephesus, and several other cities of the East, but here he was
obliged to flee.  Such is the disposition of these people, whom
many describe as being so friendly.

The following morning at sunrise Mr. S. betook himself to the terrace
of the convent, to make a sketch of the town.  Here too he was
discovered, but luckily not until he had been at work some hours, and
had almost completed his task; so that as soon as the first stone came
flying towards him, he was able quietly to evacuate the field.

July 5th.

In Damascus we met Count Zichy, who had arrived there with his servants
a few days before ourselves, and intended continuing his journey to
Balbeck to-day.

Count Zichy’s original intention had been to make an excursion
from this place to the celebrated town of Palmyra, an undertaking which
would have occupied ten days.  He therefore applied to the pacha
for a sufficient escort for his excursion.  This request was, however,
refused; the pacha observing, that he had ceased for some time to allow
travellers to undertake this dangerous journey, as until now all strangers
had been plundered by the wandering Arabs, and in some instances men
had even been murdered.  The pacha added, that it was not in his
power to furnish so large an escort as would be required to render this
journey safe, by enabling the travellers to resist all aggressions. 
After receiving this answer, Count Zichy communicated with some Bedouin
chiefs, who could not guarantee a safe journey, but nevertheless required
6000 piastres for accompanying him.  Thus it became necessary to
give up the idea altogether, and to proceed instead to Balbeck and to
the heights of Lebanon.

At the hour of noon we rode out of the gate of Damascus in company
with Count Zichy.  The thermometer stood at 40° Reaumur. 
Our procession presented quite a splendid appearance; for the pacha
had sent a guard of honour to escort the Count to Balbeck, to testify
his respect for a relation of Prince M—.

At first our way led through a portion of the bazaar; afterwards
we reached a large and splendid street which traverses the entire city,
and is said to be more than four miles in length.  It is so broad,
that three carriages can pass each other with ease, without annoyance
to the pedestrians.  It is a pity that this street, which is probably
the finest in the whole kingdom, should be so little used, for carriages
are not seen here any more than in the remaining portion of Syria.

Scarcely have we quitted this road, before we are riding through
gardens and meadows, among which the country-houses of the citizens
lie scattered here and there.  On this side of the city springs
also gush forth and water the fresh groves and the grassy sward. 
A stone bridge, of very simple construction, led us across the largest
stream in the neighbourhood, the Barada, which is, however, neither
so broad nor so full of water as the Jordan.

But soon we had left these smiling scenes behind us, and were wending
our way towards the lonely desert.  We passed several sepulchres,
a number of which lie scattered over the sandy hills and plains round
us.  On the summit of one of these hills a little monument was
pointed out to us, with the assertion that it was the grave of Abraham. 
We now rode for hours over flats, hills, and ridges of sand and loose
stones; and this day’s journey was as fatiguing as that of our
arrival at Damascus.  From twelve o’clock at noon until about
five in the evening we continued our journey through this wilderness,
suffering lamentably from the heat.  But now the wilderness was
passed; and suddenly a picture so lovely and grand unfolded itself before
our gaze, that we could have fancied ourselves transported to the romantic
vales of Switzerland.  A valley enriched with every charm of nature,
and shut in by gigantic rocks of marvellous and fantastic forms, opened
at our feet.  A mountain torrent gushed from rock to rock, foaming
and chafing among mighty blocks of stone, which, hurled from above,
had here found their resting-place.  A natural rocky bridge led
across the roaring flood.  Many a friendly hut, the inhabitants
of which looked forth with stealthy curiosity upon the strange visitors,
lay half hidden between the lofty walls.  And so our way continued;
valley lay bordered on valley, and the little river which ran bubbling
by the roadside led us past gardens and villages, through a region of
surpassing loveliness, to the great village of Zabdeni, where we at
length halted, after an uninterrupted ride of ten hours and a half.

The escort which accompanied us consisted of twelve men, with a superior
and a petty officer.  These troopers looked very picturesque when,
as we travelled along the level road, they went through some small manœuvres
for our amusement, rushing along on their swift steeds and attacking
each other, one party flying across the plain, and the other pursuing
them as victors.

The character of these children of nature is, on the whole, a very
amiable one.  They behaved towards us in an exceedingly friendly
and courteous manner, bringing us fruit and water whenever they could
procure them, leading us carefully by the safest roads, and shewing
us as much attention as any European could have done.  But their
idea of mine and thine does not always appear to be very
clearly defined.  Once, for instance, we passed through fields
in which grew a plant resembling our pea, on a reduced scale. 
Each plant contained several pods, and each pod two peas.  Our
escort picked a large quantity, ate the fruit with an appearance of
great relish, and very politely gave us a share of their prize. 
I found these peas less tender and eatable than those of my own country,
and returned them to the soldier who had offered them to me, observing
at the same time that I would rather have had mish-mish.  On hearing
this he immediately galloped off, and shortly afterwards returned with
a whole cargo of mish-mish and little apples, which had probably been
borrowed for an indefinite period from one of the neighbouring gardens. 
I mention these little circumstances, as they appeared to me to be characteristic. 
On the one hand, Mr. S. had been threatened with the fate of St. Stephen
for wishing to make a few sketches; and yet, on the other, these people
were so kind and so ready to oblige.

This region produces abundance of fruit, and is particularly rich
in mish-mish, or apricots.  The finest of these are dried; while
those which are over-ripe, or half decayed, are boiled to a pulp in
large pots, and afterwards spread to dry on long smooth boards, in the
form of cakes, about half an inch in thickness.  These cakes, which
look like coarse brown leather, are afterwards folded up, and form,
together with the dried mish-mish, a staple article of commerce, which
is exported far and wide.  In Constantinople, and even in Servia,
I saw cakes of this description which came from these parts.

The Turks are particularly fond of taking this dried pulp with them
on their journeys.  They cut it into little pieces, which they
afterwards leave for several hours in a cup of water to dissolve; it
then forms a really aromatic and refreshing drink, which they partake
of with bread.

From Damascus to Balbeck is a ride of eighteen hours.  Count
Zichy wished to be in Balbeck by the next day at noon; we therefore
had but a short night’s rest.

The night was so mild and beautiful, that we did not want the tents
at all, but lay down on the bank of a streamlet, beneath the shade of
a large tree.  For a long time sleep refused to visit us, for our
encampment was opposite to a coffee-house, where a great hubbub was
kept up until a very late hour.  Small caravans were continually
arriving or departing, and so there was no chance of rest.  At
length we dropped quietly asleep from very weariness, to be awakened
a few hours afterwards to start once more on our arduous journey.

July 6th.

We rode without halting for eight hours, sometimes through pleasant
valleys, at others over barren unvarying regions, upon and between the
heights of the Anti-Libanus.  At the hour of noon we reached the
last hill, and

HELIOPOLIS OR BALBECK,

the “city of the sun,” lay stretched before us.

We entered a valley shut in by the highest snow-covered peaks of
Lebanon and Anti-Libanus, more than six miles in breadth and fourteen
or sixteen miles long, belonging to Cælosyria.  Many travellers
praise this vale as one of the most beautiful in all Syria.

It certainly deserves the title of the ‘most remarkable’
valley, for excepting at Thebes and Palmyra we may search in vain for
the grand antique ruins which are here met with; the title of the ‘most
beautiful’ does not, according to my idea, appertain to it. 
The mountains around are desert and bare.  The immeasurable plain
is sparingly cultivated, and still more thinly peopled.  With the
exception of the town of Balbeck, which has arisen from the ruins of
the ancient city, not a village nor a hut is to be seen.  The corn,
which still partly covered the fields, looked stunted and poor; the
beds of the streams were dry, and the grass was burnt up.  The
majestic ruins, which become visible directly the brow of the last hill
is gained, atone in a measure for these drawbacks; but we were not satisfied,
for we had expected to see much more than met our gaze.

We wended our way along stony paths, past several quarries, towards
the ruins.  On reaching these quarries we dismounted, to obtain
a closer view of them.  In the right hand one lies a colossal block
of stone, cut and shaped on all sides; it is sixty feet in length, eighteen
in breadth, and thirteen in diameter.  This giant block was probably
intended to form part of the Cyclops wall surrounding the Temple of
the Sun, for we afterwards noticed several stones of equal length and
breadth among the ruins.  Another to the left side of the road
was remarkable for several grottoes and fragments of rock picturesquely
grouped.

We had sent our horses on to the convent, and now hastened towards
the ruined temples.  At the foot of a little acclivity a wall rose
lofty and majestic; it was constructed of colossal blocks of rock, which
seemed to rest firmly upon each other by their own weight, without requiring
the aid of mortar.  Three of these stones were exactly the size
of one we had seen in the quarry.  Many appeared to be sixty feet
in length, and broad and thick in proportion.  This is the Cyclops
wall surrounding the hill on which the temples stand.  A difficult
path, over piled-up fragments of marble and pieces of rock and rubbish,
serves as a natural rampart against the intrusion of camels and horses;
and this circumstance alone has prevented these sanctuaries of the heathen
deities from being converted into dirty stables.

When we had once passed this obstruction, delight and wonder arrested
our footsteps.  For some moments our glances wandered irresolutely
from point to point; we could fix our attention on nothing, so great
was the number of beauties surrounding us: splendid architecture—arches
rising boldly into the air, supported on lofty pillars—every thing
wore an air so severely classic, and yet all was gorgeously elegant,
and at the same time perfectly tasteful.

At first we reviewed every thing in a very hasty manner, for our
impulse hurried us along, and we wished to take in every thing at one
glance.  Afterwards we began a new and a more deliberate survey.

As we enter a large open courtyard, our eye is caught by numerous
pieces of marble and fragments of columns, some of the latter resting
on tastefully sculptured plinths.  Almost every thing here is prostrate,
covered with rubbish and broken fragments, but yet all looks grand and
majestic in its ruin.  We next enter a second and a larger courtyard,
above two hundred paces in length and about a hundred in breadth. 
Round the walls are niches cut in marble, and ornamented with the prettiest
arabesques.  These niches were probably occupied in former times
by statues of the numerous heathen gods.  Behind these are little
cells, the dwellings of the priests; and in the foreground rise six
Corinthian pillars, the only trace left of the great Temple of the Sun. 
These six pillars, which have hitherto bid defiance to time, devastation,
and earthquakes, are supposed to be the loftiest and most magnificent
in the world.  Nearly seventy feet in height, each pillar a rocky
colossus, resting on a basement twenty-seven feet high, covered with
excellent workmanship, a masterpiece of ancient architecture, they tower
above the Cyclops wall, and look far away into the distance—giant
monuments of the hoary past.

How vast thus temple must originally have been is shewn by the remaining
pedestals, from which the pillars have fallen, and lay strewed around
in weather-stained fragments.  I counted twenty such pedestals
along the length of the temple, and ten across its breadth.

The lesser temple, separated from the greater merely by a wall, lies
deeper and more sheltered from the wind and weather; consequently it
is in better preservation.  A covered hall, resting on pillars
fifty feet in height, leads round this temple.  Statues of gods
and heroes, beautifully sculptured in marble, and surrounded by arabesques,
deck the lofty arches of this corridor.  The pillars consist of
three pieces fastened together with such amazing strength, that when
the last earthquake threw down a column it did not break, but fell with
its top buried in the earth, where it is seen leaning its majestic height
against a hill.

From this hall we pass through a splendid portal into the interior
of the little sanctuary.  An eagle with outspread wings overshadows
the upper part of the gate, which is thirty feet in height by twenty
in breadth.  The two sides are enriched with small figures prettily
executed, in a tastefully-carved border of flowers, fruit, ears of corn,
and arabesques.  This portal is in very good preservation, excepting
that the keystone has slipped from its place, and hangs threateningly
over the entrance, to the terror of all who pass beneath.  But
we entered and afterwards returned unhurt, and many will yet pass unharmed
like ourselves beneath the loose stone.  We shall have returned
to dust, while the pendent mass will still see generation after generation
roll on.

This lesser temple would not look small by any means, were it not
for its colossal neighbour.  On one side nine, and on the other
six pillars are still erect, besides several pedestals from which the
pillars have fallen.  Walls, niches, every thing around us, in
fact, is of marble, enriched with sculptured work of every kind. 
The sanctuary of the Sun is separated from the nave of the temple by
a row of pillars, most of them prostrate.

To judge from what remains of both these temples, they must originally
have been decorated with profuse splendour.  The costliest statues
and bas-reliefs, sculptured in a stone resembling marble, once filled
the niches and halls, and the remains of tasteful ornaments and arabesques
bear witness to the luxury which once existed here.  The only fault
seems to have been a redundancy of decoration.

A subterranean vaulted passage, two hundred and fifty paces in length
and thirty in breadth, traverses this temple.  In the midst of
this walk a colossal head is hewn out of the rocky ceiling representing
probably some hero of antiquity.  This place is now converted into
a stable for horses and camels!

The little brook Litany winds round the foot of the hill on which
these ruins stand.

We had been cautioned at Damascus to abstain from wandering alone
among these temples; but our interest in all we saw was so great that
we forgot the warning and our fears, and hastened to and fro without
the least protection.  We spent several hours here, exploring every
corner, and meeting no one but a few curious inhabitants, who wished
to see the newly-arrived Franks.  Herr S. even wandered through
the ruins at night quite alone, without meeting with an adventure of
any kind.

I am almost inclined to think that travellers sometimes detail attacks
by robbers, and dangers which they have not experienced, in order to
render their narrative more interesting.  My journey was a very
long one through very dangerous regions; on some occasions I travelled
alone with only one Arab servant, and yet nothing serious ever happened
to me.

Heliopolis is in such a ruined state, that no estimate can be formed
of the pristine size and splendour of this celebrated town.  Excepting
the two temples of the Sun, and a very small building in their vicinity,
built in a circular form and richly covered with sculpture and arabesques,
and a few broken pillars, not a trace of the ancient city remains.

The present town of Balbeck is partly built on the site occupied
by its predecessor; it lies to the right of the temples, and consists
of a heap of small wretched-looking houses and huts.  The largest
buildings in the place are the convent and the barracks; the latter
of these presents an exceedingly ridiculous appearance; fragments of
ancient pillars, statues, friezes, etc. having been collected from all
sides, and put together to form a modern building according to Turkish
notions of taste.

We were received into the convent, but could command no further accommodation
than an empty room and a few straw mats.  Our attendant brought
us pilau, the every-day dish of the East; but to-day he surprised us
with a boiled fowl, buried beneath a heap of the Turkish fare. 
Count Zichy added a few bottles of excellent wine from Lebanon to the
feast; and so we sat down to dinner without tables or chairs, as merry
as mortals need desire to be.

Here, as in most other Eastern towns, I had only to step out on the
terrace-roof of the house to cause a crowd of old and young to collect,
eager to see a Frankish woman in the costume of her country.  Whoever
wishes to create a sensation, without possessing either genius or talent,
has only to betake himself, without loss of time, to the East, and he
will have his ambition gratified to the fullest extent.  But whoever
has as great an objection to being stared at as I have, will easily
understand that I reckoned this among the greatest inconveniences of
my journey.

July 7th.

At five o’clock in the morning we again mounted our horses,
and rode for three hours through an immense plain, where nothing was
to be seen but scattered columns, towards the foremost promontories
of the Lebanon range.  The road towards the heights was sufficiently
good and easy; we were little disturbed by the heat, and brooks caused
by the thawing of snow-fields afforded us most grateful refreshment. 
In the middle of the day we took an hour’s nap under the shady
trees beside a gushing stream; then we proceeded to climb the heights. 
As we journeyed onwards the trees became fewer and farther between,
until at length no soil was left in which they could grow.

The way was so confined by chasms and abysses on the one side, and
walls of rock on the other, that there was scarcely room for a horse
to pass.  Suddenly a loud voice before us cried, “Halt!” 
Startled by the sound, we looked up to find that the call came from
a soldier, who was escorting a woman afflicted with the plague from
a village where she had been the first victim of the terrible disease
to another where it was raging fearfully.  It was impossible to
turn aside; so the soldier had no resource but to drag the sick person
some paces up the steep rocky wall, and then we had to pass close by
her.  The soldier called out to us to cover our mouths and noses. 
He himself had anointed the lower part of his face with tar, as a preventive
against contagion.

This was the first plague-stricken person I had seen; and as we were
compelled to pass close by her, I had an opportunity of observing the
unfortunate creature closely.  She was bound on an ass, appeared
resigned to her fate, and turned her sunken eyes upon us with an aspect
of indifference.  I could see no trace of the terrible disease,
except a yellow appearance of the face.  The soldier who accompanied
her seemed as cool and indifferent as though he were walking beside
a person in perfect health.

As the plague prevailed to a considerable extent throughout the valleys
of the Lebanon, we were frequently obliged to go some distance out of
our way to avoid the villages afflicted with the scourge; we usually
encamped for the night in the open fields, far from any habitation.

On the whole long distance from Balbeck to the cedars of Lebanon
we found not a human habitation, excepting a little shepherd’s
hut near the mountains.  Not more than a mile and a half from the
heights we came upon small fields of snow.  Several of our attendants
dismounted and began a snow-balling match,—a wintry scene which
reminded me of my fatherland.  Although we were travelling on snow,
the temperature was so mild that not one of our party put on a cloak. 
We could not imagine how it was possible for snow to exist in such a
high temperature.  The thermometer stood at 9° Reaumur.

A fatiguing and dangerous ride of five hours at length brought us
from the foot to the highest point of Mount Lebanon.  Here, for
the first time, we can see the magnitude and the peculiar construction
of the range.

Steep walls of rock, with isolated villages scattered here and there
like beehives, and built on natural rocky terraces, rise on all sides;
deep valleys lie between, contrasting beautifully in their verdant freshness
with the bare rocky barriers.  Farther on lie stretched elevated
plateaux, with cows and goats feeding at intervals; and in the remote
distance glitters a mighty stripe of bluish-green, encircling the landscape
like a broad girdle—this is the Mediterranean.  On the flat
extended coast several places can be distinguished, among which the
most remarkable is Tripoli.  On the right the “Grove of Cedars”
lay at our feet.

For a long time we stood on this spot, and turned and turned again,
for fear of losing any part of this gigantic panorama.  On one
side the mountain-range, with its valleys, rocks, and gorges; on the
other the immense plain of Cælosyria, on the verge of which the
ruins of the Sun-temple were visible, glittering in the noontide rays. 
Then we climbed downwards and upwards, then downwards once more, through
ravines and over rocks, along a frightful path, to a little grove of
the far-famed cedars of Lebanon.  In this direction the peculiar
pointed formation which constitutes the principal charm of these mountains
once more predominates.

The celebrated Grove of Cedars is distant about two miles and a half
from the summit of Lebanon; it consists of between five and six hundred
trees: about twenty of these are very aged, and five peculiarly large
and fine specimens are said to have existed in the days of Solomon. 
One tree is more than twenty-five feet in circumference; at about five
feet from the ground it divides into four portions, and forms as many
good-sized trunks.

For more than an hour we rested beneath these ancient monuments of
the vegetable world.  The setting sun warned us to depart speedily;
for our destination for the night was above three miles away, and it
was not prudent to travel on these fearful paths in the darkness.

Our party here separated.  Count Zichy proceeded with his attendants
to Huma, while the rest of us bent our course towards Tripoli. 
After a hearty leave-taking, one company turned to the right and the
other to the left.

We had hardly held on our way for half an hour, before one of the
loveliest valleys I have ever beheld opened at our feet; immense and
lofty walls of rock, of the most varied and fantastic shapes, surrounded
this fairy vale on all sides: in the foreground rose a gigantic table-rock,
on which was built a beautiful village, with a church smiling in the
midst.  Suddenly the sound of chimes was borne upwards towards
us on the still clear air; they were the first I had heard in Syria. 
I cannot describe the feeling of delicious emotion this familiar sound
caused in me.  The Turkish government every where prohibits the
ringing of bells; but here on the mountains, among the free Maronites,
every thing is free.  The sound of church-bells is a simple earnest
music for Christian ears, too intimately associated with the usages
of our religion to be heard with indifference.  Here, so far from
my native country, they appeared like links in the mysterious chain
which binds the Christians of all countries in one unity.  I felt,
as it were, nearer to my hearth and to my dear ones, who were, perhaps,
at the same moment listening to similar sounds, and thinking of the
distant wanderer.

The road leading into this valley was fearfully steep.  We were
obliged to make a considerable détour round the lovely
village of Bscharai; for the plague was raging there, which made it
forbidden ground for us.  Some distance beyond the village we pitched
our camp beside a small stream.  This night we suffered much from
cold and damp.

The inhabitants of Bscharai paid us a visit for the purpose of demanding
backsheesh.  We had considerable difficulty in getting rid of them,
and were obliged almost to beat them off with sticks to escape from
their contagious touch.

The practice of begging is universal in the East.  So soon as
an inhabitant comes in sight, he is sure to be holding out his hand. 
In those parts where poverty is every where apparent, we cannot wonder
at this importunity; but we are justly surprised when we find it in
these fruitful valleys, which offer every thing that man can require;
where the inhabitants are well clothed, and where their stone dwellings
look cheerful and commodious; where corn, the grape-vine, the fig and
mulberry tree, and even the valuable potato-plant, which cannot flourish
throughout the greater part of Syria on account of the heat and the
stony soil, are found in abundance.  Every spot of earth is carefully
cultivated and turned to the best account, so that I could have fancied
myself among the industrious German peasantry; and yet these free people
beg and steal quite as much as the Bedouins and Arabs.  We were
obliged to keep a sharp watch on every thing.  My riding-whip was
stolen almost before my very eyes, and one of the gentlemen had his
pocket picked of his handkerchief.

Our march to-day had been very fatiguing; we had ridden for eleven
hours, and the greater part of the road had been very bad.  The
night brought us but little relaxation, for our cloaks did not sufficiently
protect us from the cold.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Lebanon—Druses and Maronites—Illness of Herr Sattler—Djebel
or Byblus—Rocky passes—Dog’s-river—Return to
Beyrout—Sickness—Departure for Alexandria—Roguery
of the captain—Disagreeables on board—Limasol—Alarm
of pirates—Cowardice of the crew—Arrival at Alexandria.

July 8th.

To-day we quitted our cold hard couch at six o’clock in the
morning, and travelled agreeably for two hours through this romantic
valley, which appeared almost at every step in a new aspect of increased
beauty.  Above the village a foaming stream bursts from the mighty
rocks in a beautiful waterfall, irrigates the valley, and then vanishes
imperceptibly among the windings of the ravine.  Brooks similar
to this one, but smaller, leapt from the mountains round about. 
On the rocky peaks we seem to behold ruined castles and towers, but
discover with astonishment, as we approach nearer, that what we supposed
to be ruins are delusive pictures, formed by the wonderful masses of
rock, grouped one above the other in the most fantastic forms. 
In the depths on the one side, grottoes upon grottoes are seen, some
with their entrances half concealed, others with gigantic portals, above
which the wild rocks tower high; on the other a rich soil is spread
in the form of terraces on the rocky cliffs, forming a lovely picture
of refreshing vegetation.  Had I been a painter, it would have
been difficult to tear me away from the contemplation of these regions.

Below the greater waterfall a narrow stone bridge, without balustrades
or railing, leads across a deep ravine, through which the stream rushes
foaming, to the opposite shore.  After having once crossed, we
enter upon a more inhabited tract of country, and travel on between
rows of houses and gardens.  But many of the houses stood empty,
the inhabitants having fled into the fields, and there erected huts
of branches of trees, to escape the plague.  The Maronites, the
real inhabitants of these mountains, are strong people, gifted with
a determined will; they cannot be easily brought under a foreign yoke,
but are ready to defend their liberty to the death among the natural
strongholds of their rocky passes.  Their religion resembles that
of the Christians, and their priests are permitted to marry.  The
women do not wear veils, but I saw few such handsome countenances among
them as I have frequently observed in the Tyrol.

On the first mountain-range of Lebanon, in the direction of Cælosyria,
many Druses are found, besides a few tribes of “Mutualis.” 
The former incline to the Christian faith, while the latter are generally
termed “calf-worshippers.”  They practise their religion
so secretly, that nothing certain is known concerning it; the general
supposition is, however, that they worship their deity under the form
of a calf.

Our way led onwards, for about six miles from Bscharai, through the
beautiful valleys of the Lebanon.  Then the smiling nature changed,
and we were again wandering through sterile regions.  The heat,
too, became very oppressive; but every thing would have been borne cheerfully
had there not been an invalid among us.

Herr Sattler had felt rather unwell on the previous day; to-day he
grew so much worse that he could not keep his seat in his saddle, and
fell to the ground half insensible.  Luckily we found a cistern
not far off, and near it some trees, beneath which we made a bed of
cloaks for our sick friend.  A little water mixed with a few drops
of strong vinegar restored him to consciousness.  After the lapse
of an hour, the patient was indeed able to resume his journey; but lassitude,
headache, and feverish shiverings still remained, and we had a ride
of many hours before us ere we could reach our resting-place for the
night.  From every hill we climbed the ocean could be seen at so
short a distance that we thought an hour’s journeying must bring
us there.  But each time another mountain thrust itself between,
which it was necessary to climb.  So it went on for many hours,
till at length we reached a small valley with a lofty isolated mass
of rock in the midst, crowned by a ruined castle.  The approach
to this stronghold was by a flight of stairs cut in the rock. 
From this point our journey lay at least over a better road, between
meadows and fruit-trees, to the little town which we reached at night-fall. 
We had a long and weary search before we could obtain for our sick comrade
even a room, destitute of every appearance of comfort.  Poor Herr
Sattler, more dead than alive, was compelled, after a ride of thirteen
hours, to take up his lodging on the hard ground.  The room was
perfectly bare, the windows were broken, and the door would not lock. 
We were fain to search for a few boards, with which we closed up the
windows, that the sick man might at least be sheltered from the current
of air.

I then prepared him a dish of rice with vinegar; this was the only
refreshment we were able to procure.

The rest of us lay down in the yard; but the anxiety we felt concerning
our sick friend prevented us from sleeping much.  He exhibited
every symptom of the plague; in this short time his countenance was
quite changed; violent headache and exhaustion prevented him from moving,
and the burning heat added the pangs of thirst to his other ills. 
As we had been travelling for the last day and a half through regions
where the pestilence prevailed, it appeared but too probable that Herr
Sattler had been attacked by it.  Luckily the patient himself had
not any idea of the kind, and we took especial care that he should not
read our anxiety in our countenances.

July 9th.

Heaven be praised, Herr Sattler was better to-day, though too weak
to continue his journey.  As we had thus some time on our hands,
the French gentleman and I resolved to embark in a boat to witness the
operation of fishing for sponges, by which a number of the poorer inhabitants
of the Syrian coast gain their livelihood.

A fisherman rowed us about half a mile out to sea, till he came to
a place where he hoped to find something.  Here he immersed a plummet
in the sea to sound its depth, and on finding that some thing was to
be gained here, he dived downwards armed with a knife to cut the sponge
he expected to find from the rocks; and after remaining below the surface
for two or three minutes, reappeared with his booty, When first loosened
from the rocks, these sponges are usually full of shells and small stones,
which give them a very strong and disagreeable smell.  They require
to be thoroughly cleansed from dirt and well washed with sea-water before
being put into fresh.

After our little water-party, we sallied forth to see the town, which
is very prettily situated among plantations of mulberry-trees in the
vicinity of the sea-coast.  The women here are not only unveiled,
but frequently wear their necks bare; we saw some of them working in
their gardens and washing linen; they were half undressed.  We
visited the bazaar, intending to purchase a few eggs and cucumbers for
our dinner, and some oranges for our convalescent friend.  But
we could not obtain any; and moderate as our wishes were, it was out
of our power to gratify them.

By the afternoon Herr Sattler had so far regained his strength, that
he could venture to undertake a short journey of ten miles to the little
town of Djäebbehl.  This stage was the less difficult for
our worthy invalid from the fact that the road lay pleasantly across
a fruitful plain skirting the sea, while a cool sea-breeze took away
the oppressiveness of the heat.  The majestic Lebanon bounded the
distant view on the left, and several convents on the foremost chain
of mountains looked down upon the broad vale.

We seemed to have but just mounted our horses when we already descried
the castle of the town to which we were bound rising above its walls,
and soon after halted at a large khan in its immediate neighbourhood. 
There were large rooms here in plenty, but all were empty, and the unglazed
windows could not even be closed by shutters.

Houses of entertainment of this description barely shield the traveller
from the weather.  We took possession of a large entrance-hall
for our night’s quarters, and made ourselves as comfortable as
we could.

Count Berchtold and I walked into the town of Djäebbehl (Byblus). 
This place is, as I have already mentioned, surrounded by a wall; it
contains also a small bazaar, where we did not find much to buy. 
The majority of dwellings are built in gardens of mulberry-trees. 
The castle lies rather high, and is still in the condition to which
it was reduced after the siege by the English in 1840; the side fronting
the ocean has sustained most damage.  This castle is now uninhabited,
but some of the lower rooms are converted into stables.  Not far
off we found some fragments of ancient pillars; an amphitheatre is said
to have once stood here.

July 10th.

To-day Herr Sattler had quite recovered his health, so that we could
again commence our journey, according to custom, early in the morning. 
Our road lay continually by the sea-shore.  The views were always
picturesque and beautiful, as on the way from Batrun to Djäebbehl;
but to-day we had the additional luxury of frequently coming upon brooks
which flowed from the neighbouring Lebanon, and of passing springs bursting
forth near the seashore; one indeed so close to the sea, that the waves
continually dashed over it.

After riding forward for four hours, we reached the so-called “Dog’s-river,”
the greatest and deepest on the whole journey.  This stream also
has its origin in the heights of the Lebanon, and after a short course
falls into the neighbouring sea.

At the entrance of the valley where the Dog’s-river flowed
lay a simple khan.  Here we made halt to rest for an hour.

Generally we got nothing to eat during the day, as we seldom or never
passed a village; even when we came upon a house, there was rarely any
thing to be had but coffee: we were therefore the more astonished to
find here fresh figs, cucumbers, butter-milk, and wine,—things
which in Syria make a feast for the gods.  We revelled in this
unwonted profusion, and afterwards rode into the valley, which smiled
upon us in verdant luxuriance.

This vale cannot be more than five or six hundred feet in breadth. 
On either side high walls rise towering up; and on the left we see the
ruins of an aqueduct quite overgrown with ivy.  This aqueduct is
seven or eight hundred paces in length, and extends as far as the spot
where the Dog’s-river rushes over rocks and stones, forming not
a lofty, but yet a fine waterfall.  Just below this fall a bridge
of Roman architecture, supported boldly on rocky buttresses, unites
the two shores.  The road to this bridge is by a broad flight of
stone stairs, upon which our good Syrian horses carried us in perfect
safety both upwards and downwards; it was a fearful, dizzy road. 
The river derives its name from a stone lying near it, which is said
to resemble a dog in form.  Stones and pieces of rock, against
which the stream rushed foaming, we saw in plenty, but none in which
we could discover any resemblance to a dog.  Perhaps the contour
has been destroyed by the action of wind and weather.

Scarcely had we crossed this dangerous bridge when the road wound
sharply round a rock in the small but blooming valley, and we journeyed
towards the heights up almost perpendicular rocks, and past abysses
that overhung the sea.

The rocky mountain we were now climbing juts far out into the sea,
and forms a pass towards the territory of Beyrout which a handful of
men might easily hold against an army.  Such a pass may that of
Thermopylæ have been; and had these mountaineers but a Leonidas,
they would certainly not be far behind the ancient Spartans.

A Latin inscription on a massive stone slab, and higher up four niches,
two of which contain statues, while the others display similar inscriptions,
seemed to indicate that the Romans had already known and appreciated
the importance of this pass.  Unfortunately both statues and writing
were so much injured by the all-destroying hand of time, that only a
man learned in these matters could have deciphered their meaning. 
In our party there was no one equal to such a task.

We rode on for another half-hour, after which the path led downwards
into the territory of Beyrout; and we rode quietly and comfortably by
the sea-side towards this city.  Mulberry trees and vineyards bloomed
around us, country-houses and villages lay half hidden between, and
convents crowned the lower peaks of the Lebanon, which on this side
displays only naked rocks, the majority of a bluish-grey colour.

At a little distance from Beyrout we came upon a second giant bridge,
similar to that over the Dog’s-river.  Broad staircases,
on which four or five horsemen could conveniently ride abreast, led
upwards and downwards.  The steps are so steep, and lie so far
apart, that it seems almost incredible that the poor horses should be
able to ascend and descend upon them.  We looked down from a dizzy
height, not upon a river, but upon a dry river-bed.

At five o’clock in the evening we arrived safely at Beyrout;
and thus ended our excursion to the “lovely and incomparable city
of the East,” to the world-renowned ruin, and to the venerable
Grove of Cedars.  Our tour had occupied ten days; the distance
was about 180 miles; namely, from Beyrout to Damascus about 60, from
Damascus to Balbeck 40, and from Balbeck across the Lebanon to Beyrout
about 80 miles.

Of four-footed beasts, amphibious creatures, birds, or insects, we
had seen nothing.  Count Berchtold caught a chameleon, which unfortunately
effected its escape from its prison a few days afterwards.  At
night we frequently heard the howling of jackals, but never experienced
any annoyance from them.  We had not to complain of the attacks
of insects; but suffered much from the dreadful heat, besides being
frequently obliged to endure hunger and thirst: the thermometer one
day rose to 40°.

In Beyrout I once more put up at the house of the kind French lady. 
The first piece of news I heard was that I had arrived twenty-four hours
too late, and had thus missed the English packet-boat; this was a most
annoying circumstance, for the boat in question only starts for Alexandria
once a month (on the 8th or 9th), and at other times it is a great chance
if an opportunity of journeying thither can be found.  On the very
next day I hastened to the Austrian consulate, and begged the Vice-consul,
Herr C., to let me know when a ship was about to start for Egypt, and
also to engage a place for me.  I was told that a Greek vessel
would start for that country in two or three days; but these two or
three days grew into nineteen.

Never shall I forget what I had to endure in Beyrout.  When
I could no longer bear the state of things at night in the Noah’s
ark of my good Pauline, I used to creep through the window on to a terrace,
and sleep there; but was obliged each time to retire to my room before
daybreak lest I should be discovered.  It is said that misfortunes
seldom happen singly, and my case was not an exception to the rule. 
One night I must have caught cold; for in the morning when I hastened
back to my prison, and lay down on the bed to recover from the effects
of my stone couch, I experienced such an acute pain in my back and hips
that I was unable to rise.  It happened to be a Sunday morning,
a day on which my kind Pauline did not come to the house, as there was
no school to keep; and so I lay for twenty-four hours in the greatest
pain, without help, unable even to obtain a drop of water.  I was
totally unable to drag myself to the door, or to the place where the
water-jug stood.  The next day, I am thankful to say, I felt somewhat
better; my Pauline also came, and prepared me some mutton-broth. 
By the fourth day I was once more up, and had almost recovered from
the attack.

JOURNEY FROM BEYROUT TO CAIRO AND ALEXANDRIA.

It was not until the 28th of July that a Greek brig set sail for
Alexandria.  At ten o’clock in the evening I betook myself
on board, and the next morning at two we weighed anchor.  Never
have I bid adieu to any place with so much joy as I felt on leaving
the town of Beyrout; my only regret was the parting from my kind Pauline. 
I had met many good people during my journey, but she was certainly
one of the best.

Unhappily, my cruel fate was not yet weary of pursuing me; and in
my experience I fully realised the old proverb of, “out of the
frying-pan into the fire.”  On this vessel, and during the
time we had to keep quarantine in Alexandria, I was almost worse off
than during my stay in Beyrout.  It is necessary, in dealing with
the captain of a vessel of this description, to have a written contract
for every thing—stating, for instance, where he is to land, how
long he may stay at each place, etc.  I mentioned this fact at
the consulate, and begged the gentlemen to do what was necessary; but
they assured me the captain was known to be a man of honour, and that
the precaution I wished to take would be quite superfluous.  Upon
this assumption, I placed myself fearlessly in the hands of the man;
but scarcely had we lost sight of land, when he frankly declared that
there were not sufficient provisions and water on board to allow of
our proceeding to Alexandria, but that he must make for the harbour
of Limasol in Cyprus.  I was exceedingly angry at this barefaced
fraud, and at the loss of time it would occasion me, and offered all
the opposition I could.  But nothing would avail me; I had no written
contract, and the rest of the company offered no active resistance—so
to Cyprus we went.

A voyage in an ordinary sailing-vessel, which is not a packet-boat,
is as wearisome a thing as can be well conceived.  The lower portion
of the ship is generally so crammed with merchandise, that the deck
alone remains for the passengers.  This was the case on the present
occasion.  I was obliged to remain continually on deck: during
the daytime, when I had only my umbrella to shield me from the piercing
rays of the sun; at night, when the dews fell so heavily, that after
an hour my cloak would be quite wet through, in cold and in stormy weather. 
They did not even spread a piece of sailcloth by way of awning. 
This state of things continued for ten days and eleven nights, during
which time I had not even an opportunity to change my clothes. 
This was a double hardship; for if there is a place above all others
where cleanliness becomes imperative to comfort, it is certainly on
board a Greek ship, the generality of which are exceedingly dirty and
disgusting.  The company I found did not make amends for the accommodation. 
The only Europeans on board were two young men, who had received some
unimportant situation in a quarantine office from the Turkish government. 
The behaviour of both was conceited, stupid, and withal terribly vulgar. 
Then there were four students from Alexandria, who boarded at Beyrout,
and were going home to spend the vacation—good-natured but much-neglected
lads of fourteen or fifteen years, who seemed particularly partial to
the society of the sailors, and were always talking, playing, or quarrelling
with them.  The remainder of the company consisted of a rich Arab
family, with several male and female negro slaves, and a few very poor
people.  And in such society I was to pass a weary time. 
Many will say that this was a good opportunity for obtaining an insight
into the customs and behaviour of these people; but I would gladly have
declined the opportunity, for it requires an almost angelic patience
to bear such a complication of evils with equanimity.  Among the
Arabs and the lower class of Greeks, moreover, every thing possessed
by one member of the community is looked upon as public property. 
A knife, a pair of scissors, a drinking-glass, or any other small article,
is taken from its owner without permission, and is given back after
use without being cleaned.  On the mat, the carpet, or the mattress,
which you have brought on board as bedding, a negro and his master will
lie down; and wherever a vacant space is left, some one is sure to stand
or lie down.  Take what precautions you may, it is impossible to
avoid having your person and garments infested by certain very disgusting
parasitical creatures.  One day I cleaned my teeth with a toothbrush;
one of the Greek sailors, noticing what I was about, came towards me,
and when I laid the brush down for an instant, took it up.  I thought
he only wished to examine it; but no, he did exactly as I had done,
and after cleaning his teeth returned me my brush, expressing himself
entirely satisfied with it.

The diet on board a vessel of this kind is also exceedingly bad. 
For dinner we have pilau, stale cheese, and onions; in the evening,
we get anchovies, olives, stale cheese again, and ship-biscuit instead
of bread.  These appetising dishes are placed in a tray on the
ground, round which the captains (of whom there are frequently two or
three), the mate, and those passengers who have not come furnished with
provisions of their own, take their places.  I did not take part
in these entertainments; for I had brought a few live fowls, besides
some rice, butter, dried bread, and coffee, and prepared my own meals. 
The voyage in one of these agreeable ships is certainly not very dear,
if we do not take the discomforts and privations into account; but these
I can really not estimate at too high a price.  For the voyage
to Alexandria (a distance of 2000 sea-miles) I paid sixty piastres;
the provisions I took with me cost thirty more; and thus the entire
journey came only to ninety piastres.

In general the wind was very unfavourable, so that we frequently
cruised about for whole nights, and awoke in the morning to find ourselves
in almost the same position we had occupied the previous evening.

This is one of the most disagreeable impressions, and one which can
scarcely be described, to be continually driving and driving without
approaching the conclusion of your journey.  To my shame I must
confess that I sometimes shed tears of regret and annoyance.  My
fellow-passengers could not at all understand why I was so impatient;
for, with their constitutional indolence, they were quite indifferent
as to whether they spent their time for a week or a fortnight longer
in smoking, sleeping, and idling on board or on shore—whether
they were carried to Cyprus or Alexandria.  It was not until the
fourth day that we landed at

LIMASOL.

This place contains pretty houses, some of which are even provided
with slated roofs, and resemble European habitations.  Here, for
the first time since my departure from Constantinople, I saw a vehicle;
it was not, however, a coach, but simply a wooden two-wheeled cart,
and is used to transport stones, earth, and merchandise.  The region
around Limasol is barren in the extreme, almost like that of Larnaca,
except that the mountains are here much nearer.

We stayed in this port the whole of the day; and now I learnt for
the first time that the captain had not put in here so much on account
of scarcity of provisions, as because he wanted to take in wine and
endeavour to take in passengers.  Of the latter, however, none
presented themselves.  The wine is very cheap; I bought a bottle
containing about three pints for a piastre.  As soon as we were
again at sea, our worthy captain gave out that he wished to call at
Damietta.  My patience was at length exhausted.  I called
him a cheat, and insisted that he should bend his course to no other
port than to Alexandria, otherwise I should have him brought before
a judge if it cost me a hundred piastres.  This remonstrance produced
so much effect upon the captain, that he promised me not to cast anchor
any where else; and, marvellous to relate, he kept his word.

One other circumstance occurred during this journey which is interesting
as furnishing a sample of the heroism of the modern Greeks.

On the 5th of August, about noon, our sailors discovered a two-masted
ship in the distance, which altered her course immediately on perceiving
our vessel, and came sailing towards us.  It was at once concluded
by all that this ship must be a pirate, else why did she alter her course
and give chase to us?  The circumstance was indeed singular; yet
these maritime heroes ought to have been used to all kinds of adventures,
and not at once to have feared the worst, particularly as, so far as
I am aware, the pirate’s trade is very nearly broken up, and attempts
of this kind are unprecedented—at least in these regions.

A painter like Hogarth should have been on board our ship, to mark
the expression of fear and cowardice depicted on the several countenances. 
It was wonderful to behold how the poor captains ran from one end of
the ship to the other, and huddled us travellers together into a heap,
recommending us to sit still and keep silence; how they then hurried
away and ran to and fro, making signs and gestures, while the pale sailors
tumbled after them with scared faces, wringing their hands.  Any
one who had not witnessed the scene would think this description exaggerated. 
What would the Grecian heroes of antiquity say if they could throw a
glance upon their gallant descendants!  Instead of arming themselves
and making preparations, the men ran about in the greatest confusion. 
We were in this enviable state when the dreaded pirate came within gunshot;
and the reason of her approach turned out to be that her compass was
broken.  The whole scene at once changed, as though a beneficent
fairy had waved her wand.  The captains instantly recovered their
dignity, the sailors embraced and jumped about like children, and we
poor travellers were released from durance and permitted to take part
in the friendly interview between the two heroic crews.

The captain who had spoken us asked our gallant leader in what latitude
we were, and hearing that we were sailing to Alexandria, requested that
a lantern should be hung at the mainmast-head, at which he might look
as at a guiding-star.

With the exception of Cyprus, we had seen no land during all our
weary journey.  We could only judge when we arrived in the neighbourhood
of Damietta by the altered colour of the sea; as far as the eye could
reach, the beautiful dark-blue wave had turned to the colour of the
yellow Nile.  From these tokens I could judge of the magnitude
and volume of that river, which at this season of the year increases
greatly, and had already been rising for two months.

August 7th.

At eight o’clock in the morning we safely reached the quay
of Alexandria.

CHAPTER XIV.

Alexandria—Keeping quarantine—Want of arrangement
in the quarantine house—Bad water—Fumigating of the rooms—Release—Aspect
of the city—Departure by boat for Atfé—Mehemet Ali—Arrival
at Atfé—Excellence of the Nile water—Good-nature
of the Arab women—The Delta of the Nile—The Libyan desert—The
pyramids—Arrival at Cairo.

At first we could only perceive the tops of masts, behind which low
objects seemed to be hiding as they rose from the sea.  In a little
time a whole forest of masts appeared, while the objects before mentioned
took the shape of houses peering forth amongst them.  At length
the land itself could be distinguished from the surrounding ocean, and
we discerned hills, shrubberies, and gardens in the vicinity of the
town, the appearance of which is not calculated to delight the traveller,
for a large desert region of sand girdles both city and gardens, giving
an air of dreariness to the whole scene.

We cast anchor between the lighthouse and the new hospital. 
No friendly boat was permitted to approach and carry us to the wished-for
shore; we came from the land of the plague to enter another region afflicted
with the same scourge, and yet we were compelled to keep quarantine,
for the Egyptians asserted that the Syrian plague was more malignant
than the variety of the disease raging among them.  Thus a compulsory
quarantine is always enforced in these regions, a circumstance alike
prejudicial to visitors, commerce, and shipping.

We waited with fear and trembling to hear how long a period of banishment
in the hospital should be awarded us.  At length came a little
skiff, bringing two guardians (servants of the hospital), and with them
the news that we must remain in the hospital ten days from the period
of our entrance, but that we could not disembark to-day, as it was Sunday. 
Excepting at the arrival of the English packet-boats, the officials
have no time to examine vessels on Sundays or holidays,—a truly
Egyptian arrangement.  Why could not an officer be appointed for
these days to take care of the poor travellers?  Why should fifty
persons suffer for the convenience of one, and be deprived of their
liberty for an extra day?  We came from Beyrout furnished with
a Teshkeret (certificate of health) by the government, besides the voucher
of our personal appearance, and yet we were condemned to a lengthened
imprisonment.  But Mehemet Ali is far more mighty and despotic
in Egypt than the Sultan in Constantinople; he commands, and what can
we do but obey, and submit to his superior power?

From the deck of our ship I obtained a view of the city and the desert
region around.  The town seems tolerably spacious, and is built
quite in European style.

Of the Turkish town, which lies in the background, we can distinguish
nothing; the proper harbour, situate at the opposite side of the city,
is also invisible, and its situation can only be discerned from the
forest of masts that towers upwards.  The eye is principally caught
by two high sand-hills, on one of which stands Fort Napoleon, while
the other is only surmounted by several cannon; the foreground is occupied
by rocky ridges of moderate elevation, flanked on one side by the lighthouse,
and on the other by the new quarantine buildings.  The old quarantine-house
lies opposite to the new one.  In several places we notice little
plantations of date-palms, which make a very agreeable impression on
the European, as their appearance is quite new to him.

August 8th.

At seven o’clock this morning we disembarked, and were delivered
with bag and baggage at the quarantine-house.  I now trod a new
quarter of the globe, Africa.  When I sit calmly down to think
of the past, I frequently wonder how it was that my courage and perseverance
never once left me while I followed out my project step by step. 
This only serves to convince me that, if the resolution be firm, things
can be achieved which would appear almost impossible.

I had expected to find neither comfort nor pleasure in the quarantine-house,
and unfortunately I had judged but too well.  The courtyard into
which we were shewn was closely locked, and furnished on all sides with
wooden bars; the rooms displayed only four bare walls, with windows
guarded in the same manner.  It is customary to quarter several
persons in the same room, and then each pays a share of the expense. 
I requested a separate apartment, which one can also have, but of course
at a higher charge.  Such a thing as a chair, a table, or a piece
of furniture, was quite out of the question; whoever wishes to enjoy
such a luxury must apply by letter to an innkeeper of the town, who
lends any thing of the kind, but at an enormously high rate.  Diet
must be obtained in the same way.  In the quarantine establishment
there is no host, every thing must be procured from without.  An
innkeeper generally demands between thirty and forty piastres per diem
for dinner and supper.  This I considered a little too exorbitant,
and therefore ordered a few articles of food through one of the keepers. 
He promised to provide every thing punctually; but I fear he cannot
have understood me, for I waited in vain, and during the whole of the
first day had nothing to eat.  On the second day my appetite was
quite ravenous, and I did not know what to do.  I betook myself
to the room of the Arab family who had come in the same ship with me,
and were therefore also in quarantine; I asked for a piece of bread,
for which I offered to pay but the kind woman not only gave me bread,
but pressed upon me a share of all the provisions she was preparing
for her family, and would not be prevailed upon to accept any remuneration;
on the contrary, she explained to me by signs that I was to come to
her whenever I wanted any thing.

It was not until the evening of the second day that, perceiving it
was hopeless to expect any thing from my stupid messenger, I applied
to the chief superintendent of the hospital, who came every evening
at sunset to examine us and to lock us in our rooms.  I ordered
my provisions of him, and from this time forward always received them
in proper time.

The keepers were all Arabs, and not one of them could understand
or speak any language but their own; this is also a truly Egyptian arrangement. 
I think that in an establishment of this kind, where travellers from
all parts of the world are assembled, it would at least be advisable
to have a person who understands Italian, even if he cannot speak it. 
An individual of this kind could easily be obtained; for Italian, as
I afterwards found, is such a well-known language throughout the East,
but particularly at Alexandria and Cairo, that many people are to be
met with, even among the lowest classes, who understand and can speak
it.

The supply of water is also very badly managed.  Every morning,
immediately after sunrise, a few skins of water are brought for the
purpose of cleaning the cooking utensils; at nine o’clock in the
morning and five in the afternoon a few camels come laden with skins
of fresh water, which are emptied into two stone tanks in the courtyard. 
Then all fill their cooking and drinking vessels, but in such an untidy
way that I felt not the slightest inclination to drink.  One man
was ladling out the water with a dirty pot, while another dabbled in
the tank with his filthy hands; and some even put their dirty feet on
the run and washed them, so that some of the water ran back into the
tank.  This receptacle is moreover never cleaned, so that dirt
accumulates upon dirt, and the only way to obtain clear water is by
filtering it.

On the second day of my residence here I was exceedingly surprised
to observe that the courtyard, the staircases, the rooms, etc. were
being cleaned and swept with particular care.  The mystery was
soon solved; the commissioner appeared with a great stick, and paused
at the threshold of the door to see that the linen, clothes, etc. were
hung up to air, the books opened, and the letters or papers suspended
by strings.  No idea can be formed of the stupid nervous fear of
this commissioner.  For instance, on passing through the first
room on his way to my apartment, he saw the stalk of a bunch of grapes
lying on the ground.  With fearful haste he thrust this trifling
object aside with his stick, for fear his foot should strike against
it in passing; and as he went he continually held his stick in rest,
to keep us plague-struck people at a respectful distance.

On the seventh day of our incarceration we were all sent to our rooms
at nine o’clock in the morning.  Doors and windows were then
locked, and great chafing-dishes were brought, and a dreadful odour
of brimstone, herbs, burnt feathers, and other ingredients filled the
air.  After we had been compelled to endure this stifling atmosphere
for four or five minutes, the windows and doors were once more opened. 
A person of a consumptive habit could scarcely have survived this inhuman
ordeal.

On the ninth day the men were drawn up in a row, to undergo an examination
by the doctor.  The old gentleman entered the room, with a spy-glass
in one hand and a stick in the other, to review the troop.  Every
man had to strike himself a blow on the chest and another in the side;
if he could do this without feeling pain, it was considered a sign of
health, because the plague-spots appear first on these parts of the
body.  On the same day, the women were led into a large room, where
a great female dragoon was waiting for us to put us through a similar
ceremony.  Neither men nor women are, however, required to undress.

A few hours later we were summoned to the iron grating which separated
us from the disinfected people.  On the farther side were seated
several officers, to whom we paid the fee for our rooms and the keepers—the
charge was very trifling.  My room, with attendance, only cost
me three piastres per diem.  But how gladly would every traveller
pay a higher price if he could only have a table and a few chairs in
his apartment, and an attendant who understood what was said to him!

So far as cleanliness is concerned, there is nothing to complain
of; the rooms, the staircases and the courtyard were kept very neatly,
and the latter was even profusely watered twice a day.  We were
not at all annoyed by insects, and we were but little incommoded by
the heat.  In the sun the temperature never exceeded 33°; and
in the shade the greatest heat was 22° Reaumur.

August 17th.

At seven o’clock this morning our cage was at length opened. 
Now all the world rushed in; friends and relations of the voyagers,
ambassadors from innkeepers, porters, and donkey-drivers, all were merry
and joyous, for every one found a friend or an acquaintance, and I only
stood friendless and alone, for nobody hastened towards me or took an
interest in me; but the envoys of the innkeepers, the porters, and donkey-drivers,
cruel generation that they were, quarrelled and hustled each other for
the possession of the solitary one.

I collected my baggage, mounted a donkey, and rode to “Colombier,”
one of the best inns in Alexandria.  Swerving a little from the
direct road, I passed “Cleopatra’s Needles,” two obelisks
of granite, one of which is still erect, while the other lies prostrate
in the sand at a short distance.  We rode through a miserable poverty-stricken
village; the huts were built of stones, but were so small and low that
we can hardly understand how a man can stand upright in them. 
The doors were so low that we had to stoop considerably in entering. 
I could not discover any signs of windows.  And this wretched village
lay within the bounds of the city, and even within the walls, which
inclose such an immense space, that they not only comprise Alexandria
itself, but several small villages, besides numerous country-houses
and a few shrubberies and cemeteries.

In this village I saw many women with yellowish-brown countenances. 
They looked wretched and dirty, and were all clothed in long blue garments,
sitting before their doors at work, or nursing children.  These
women were employed in basket-making and in picking corn.  I did
not notice any men; they were probably employed in the fields.

I now rode forward across the sandy plain on which the whole of Alexandria
is built, and suddenly, without having passed through any street, found
myself in the great square.

I can scarcely describe the astonishment I felt at the scene before
me.  Every where I saw large beautiful houses, with lofty gates,
regular windows, and balconies, like European dwellings; equipages,
as graceful and beautiful as any that can be found in the great cities
of Europe, rolled to and fro amid a busy crowd of men of various nations. 
Franks, in the costume of their country, were distinguished among the
turbans and fez-caps of the Orientals; and tall women, in their blue
gowns, wandered amidst the half-naked forms of the Arabs and Bedouins. 
Here a negro was running with argilé behind his master, who trotted
along on his noble horse; there Frankish or Egyptian ladies were to
be seen mounted on asses.  Coming from the dreary monotony of the
quarantine-house, this sight made a peculiar impression upon me.

Scarcely had I arrived at the hotel before I hastened to the Austrian
consulate, where Herr von L., the government councillor, received me
very kindly.  I begged this gentleman to let me know what would
be the first opportunity for me to continue my journey to Cairo; I did
not wish to take passage on board an English steamboat, as the charge
on this vessel for the short distance of about 400 sea miles is five
pounds.  The councillor was polite enough to procure me a berth
on board an Arabian barque, which was to start from Atfé the
same evening.

I also learnt at the consulate, that Herr Sattler, the painter, had
arrived by the packet-boat a few days previously, and was now at the
old quarantine-house.  I rode out in company with a gentleman to
visit him, and was glad to find him looking very well.  He was
just returning from his journey to Palestine.

I found the arrangements in the old quarantine-building rather more
comfortable than those in the new; the establishment is moreover nearer
the town, so that it is easier to obtain the necessaries of life. 
On my return, my companion was so kind as to conduct me through the
greater portion of the Turkish town, which appeared to be better built
and more neatly kept than any city of the Turks I had yet seen. 
The bazaar is not handsome; it consists of wooden booths, displaying
only the most ordinary articles of merchandise.

On the same day that I quitted the quarantine-house, I rode in the
evening to the Nile Canal, which is twenty-four feet broad and about
twenty-six miles long.  A number of vessels lay there, on one of
which a place had been taken for me (the smaller division of the cabin)
as far as Atfé, for the sum of fifteen piastres.  I at once
took possession of my berth, made my arrangements for the night and
for the following day, and waited hour after hour till we should depart. 
Late in the night I was at length told that we could not set out to-night
at all.  To pack up my things again, and to set off to walk to
the inn, a distance of two miles, and to return next morning, would
have been a rather laborious proceeding; I therefore resolved to remain
on board, and sat down among the Arabs and Bedouins to eat my frugal
supper, which consisted of cold provisions.

Next day I was told every half-hour that we should depart immediately,
and each time I was again disappointed.

Herr von L. had wished to supply me with wine and provisions for
the passage; but as I had calculated upon being in Atfé to-day
at noon, I had declined his offer with many thanks.  But now I
had no provisions; I could not venture into the town on account of the
distance, and found it quite impossible to make the sailors understand
that they were to bring me some bread and baked fish from the neighbouring
bazaar.  At length hunger compelled me to venture out alone: I
pushed through the crowd, who looked at me curiously, but suffered me
to pass unmolested, and bought some provisions.

In Alexandria I procured beef and beef-soup, for the first time since
my departure from Smyrna.  In Alexandria and throughout the whole
of Egypt the white bread is very delicious.

At four in the afternoon we at length set sail.  The time had
passed rapidly enough with me, for there was a great deal of bustle
around this canal.  Barques came and departed, took in or discharged
cargo; long processions of camels moved to and fro with their drivers
to fetch and carry goods; the soldiers passed by, to the sound of military
music, to exercise in the neighbouring square; there was continually
something new to see, so that when four o’clock arrived, I could
not imagine what had become of the time.

With the exception of the crew, I was the only person on board. 
These vessels are long and narrow, and are fitted up with a cabin and
an awning.  The cabin is divided into two little rooms; the first
and larger of these contains two little windows on each side. 
The second and smaller one is often only six feet long by five broad. 
The space under the awning is appropriated to the poorer class of passengers
and to the servants.  It is necessary to take on board, besides
provisions, a little stove, wood for fuel, kitchen-utensils and articles
of this kind, a supply of water.  The water of the Nile is, indeed,
very good and thoroughly tasteless, so that it is universally drunk
in Alexandria, Cairo, and elsewhere; but it is very turbid and of a
yellowish colour, so that it must be filtered to render it clear and
pure.  Thus it happens that even on the river we are obliged to
take water with us.

Handsome country-houses with gardens skirt the sides of the canal;
the finest of these belongs to a pacha, the son-in-law of Mehemet Ali. 
As we passed this palace I saw the Egyptian Napoleon for the first time;
he is a very little old man, with a long snow-white beard; his eyes
and his gestures are very animated.  Several Europeans stood around
him, and a number of servants, some of them clothed in Greek, others
in Turkish costume.  In the avenue his carriage was waiting, a
splendid double-seated vehicle, with four beautiful horses, harnessed
in the English style.  The Franks are favourably disposed towards
this despot, whose subjects cherish a very opposite feeling.  His
government is very lenient to Christians, while the Mussulmen are obliged
to bend their necks beneath a yoke of iron slavery.

This view of villas and gardens only lasts for two hours at the most. 
Afterwards we continue our journey to Atfé through a very uniform
and unsatisfactory region of sandy hills and plains.  On the right
we pass the Mariotic Sea; and on both sides lie villages of a very wretched
appearance.

August 19th.

At eleven in the forenoon we reached Atfé, and had therefore
travelled about 180 sea-miles in sixteen hours.  Atfé is
a very small town, or rather a mere heap of stones.

The landing-places were always the scenes of my chief troubles. 
It was seldom that I could find a Frank, and was generally obliged to
address several of the bystanders before I succeeded in finding one
who could speak Italian and give me the information I required. 
I requested to be taken at once to the Austrian consulate, where this
difficulty was usually removed.  This was also the case here. 
The consul immediately sent to inquire how I could best get to Cairo,
and offered me a room in his house in the mean time.  A ship was
soon found, for Atfé is a harbour of some importance.  The
canal joins the Nile at this place; and as larger vessels are used on
the stream itself, all goods are transhipped here, so that barques are
continually starting for Alexandria and Cairo.  In a few hours
I was obliged to re-embark, and had only time to provide myself with
provisions and a supply of water, and to partake of a sumptuous dinner
at the consul’s, whose hospitality was doubly grateful to me as
I had fasted the previous day.  The chief compartment of the cabin
had been engaged for me, at an expense of 100 piastres.  On embarking,
however, I found that this place had been so filled with goods, that
hardly a vacant space remained for the poor occupant.  I at once
hastened back to the consulate and complained of the captain, whereupon
the consul sent for that worthy and desired him to clear my cabin, and
to refrain from annoying me during the voyage, if he wished to be paid
on our arrival at Cairo.  This command was strictly obeyed, and
until we reached our destination I was left in undisturbed possession
of my berth.  At two in the afternoon I once more set sail alone
in the company of Arabs and Bedouins.

I would counsel any one who can only make this journey to Cairo once
in his lifetime to do it at the end of August or the beginning of September. 
A more lovely picture, and one more peculiar in its character, can scarcely
be imagined.  In many places the plain is covered as far as the
eye can trace by the Nile-sea (it can scarcely be called river in its
immense expanse), and every where little islands are seen rising from
the waters, covered with villages surrounded by date-palms, and other
trees, while in the background the high-masted boats, with their pyramidal
sails, are gliding to and fro.  Numbers of sheep, goats, and poultry
cover the hills, and near the shore the heads of the dark-grey buffaloes,
which are here found in large herds, peer forth from the water. 
These creatures are fond of immersing their bodies in the cool flood,
where they stand gazing at the passing ships.  Here and there little
plantations of twenty to thirty trees are seen, which appear, as the
ground is completely overflowed, to be growing out of the Nile. 
The water here is much more muddy and of a darker colour than in the
canal between Atfé and Alexandria.  The sailors pour this
water into great iron vessels, and leave it to settle and become clearer;
this is, however, of little use, for it remains almost as muddy as the
river.  Notwithstanding this circumstance, however, this Nile-water
is not at all prejudicial to health; on the contrary, the inhabitants
of the valley assert that they possess the best and wholesomest water
in the world.  The Franks are accustomed, as I have already stated,
to take filtered water with them.  When the supply becomes exhausted,
they have only to put a few kernels of apricots or almonds chopped small
into a vessel of Nile-water to render it tolerably clear within the
space of five or six hours.  I learnt this art from an Arab woman
during my voyage on the Nile.

The population of the region around the Nile must be very considerable,
for the villages almost adjoin each other.  The ground consists
every where of sand, and only becomes fruitful through the mud which
the Nile leaves behind after its inundation.  Thus the luxuriant
vegetation here only commences after the waters of the Nile have retired.

The villages cannot be called handsome, as the houses are mostly
built of earth and clay, or of bricks made of the Nile mud.  Man,
the “crown of creation,” does not appear to advantage here;
the poverty, the want of cleanliness, and rude savage state of the people,
cannot be witnessed without a feeling of painful emotion.

The dress of the women consists of the usual long blue garment, and
the men wear nothing but a shirt reaching to the knee.  Some of
the women veil their faces, but others do not.

I was astonished at the difference between the fine strongly-built
men and the ugly disgusting women and neglected children.  In general
the latter present a most lamentable appearance, with faces covered
with scabs and sores, on which a quantity of flies are continually settling. 
Frequently also they have inflamed eyes.  In spite of the oppressive
heat, I remained nearly the whole day seated on the roof of my cabin,
enjoying the landscape, and gazing at the moving panorama to my heart’s
content.

The company on board could be called good or bad; bad, because there
was not a soul present to whom I could impart my feelings and sentiments
on the marvels of nature around me; good, because all, but particularly
the Arab women who occupied the little cabin in the forepart of the
vessel, were very good-natured and attentive to me.

They wished me to accept a share of every thing they possessed, and
gave me a portion of each of their dishes, which generally consisted
either of pilau, beans, or cucumbers, and which I did not find palatable;
when they drank coffee in the morning, the first cup was always handed
to me.  In return I gave them some of my provisions, all of which
they liked, excepting the coffee, which had milk in it.  When we
landed at a village, the inhabitants would inquire by signs if I wished
for any thing.  I wanted some milk, eggs, and bread, but did not
know how to ask for them in Arabic.  I therefore had recourse to
drawing; for instance, I made a portrait of a cow, gave an Arab woman
a bottle and some money, and made signs to her to milk her cow and to
fill my bottle.  In the same way I drew a hen, and some eggs beside
her; pointed to the hen with a shake of my head, and then to the eggs
with a nod, counting on the woman’s fingers how many she was to
bring me.  In this way I could always manage to get on, by limiting
my wants to such objects as I could represent by drawings.

When they brought me the milk, and I explained to the Arab woman
by signs that, after she had finished cooking, I wished to have the
use of the fire to prepare my milk and eggs, she immediately took off
her pot from the fire and compelled me, in spite of all remonstrances,
to cook my dinner first.  If I walked forward towards the prow
to obtain a better view of the landscape, the best place was immediately
vacated on my behalf; and, in short, they all behaved in such a courteous
and obliging way, that these uncultivated people might have put to shame
many a civilised European.  They certainly, however, requested
a few favours of me, which, I am ashamed to say, it cost me a great
effort to grant.  For instance, the oldest among them begged permission
to sleep in my apartment, as they only possessed a small cabin, while
I had the larger one all to myself.  Then they performed their
devotions, even to the preliminary washing of face and feet, in my cabin:
this I permitted, as I was more on deck than below.  At first these
women called me Mary, imagining, probably, that every Christian lady
must bear the name of the Virgin.  I told them my baptismal name,
which they accurately remembered; they told me theirs in return, which
I very soon forgot.  I mention this trifling circumstance, because
I afterwards was frequently surprised at the retentive memory of these
people during my journey through the desert towards the Red Sea.

August 21st.

Although I felt solitary among all the voyagers on the barque, these
two days passed swiftly and agreeably away.  The flatter the land
grew, the broader did the lordly river become.  The villages increased
in size; and the huts, mostly resembling a sugar-loaf, with a number
of doves roosting on its apex, wore an appearance of greater comfort. 
Mosques and large country-houses presently appeared; and, in short,
the nearer we approached towards Cairo, the more distinct became these
indications of affluence.  The sand-hills appeared less frequently,
though on the route between Atfé and Cairo I still saw five or
six large barren places which had quite the look of deserts.  Once
the wind blew directly towards us from one of these burning wastes with
such an oppressive influence, that I could easily imagine how dreadful
the hot winds (chamsir) must be, and I no longer wondered at the continual
instances of blindness among the poor inhabitants of these regions. 
The heat is unendurable, and the fine dust and heated particles of sand
which are carried into the air by these winds cannot fail to cause inflammation
of the eyes.

Little towers of masonry, on the tops of which telegraphs have been
fixed, are seen at intervals along the road between Alexandria and Cairo.

Our vessel was unfortunate enough to strike several times on sand-banks,
besides getting entangled among the shallows—a circumstance of
frequent occurrence during the time that the Nile is rising.  On
these occasions I could not sufficiently admire the strength, agility,
and hard-working perseverance of our sailors, who were obliged to jump
overboard and push off the ship with poles, and afterwards were repeatedly
compelled to drag it for half an hour together through shallow places. 
These people are also very expert at climbing.  They could ascend
without ratlines to the very tops of the slanting masts, and
take in or unloose the sails.  I could not repress a shudder on
seeing these poor creatures hanging betwixt earth and heaven, so far
above me that they appeared like dwarfs.  They work with one hand,
while they cling to the mast with the other.  I do not think that
a better, or a more active, agile, and temperate race of sailors exists
than these.  Their fare consists of bread or ship-biscuit in the
morning, with sometimes a raw cucumber, a piece of cheese, or a handful
of dates in addition.  For dinner they have the same diet, and
for supper they have a dish of warm beans, or a kind of broth or pilau. 
Roast mutton is a rare delicacy with them, and their drink is nothing
but the Nile water.

During the period of the inundation, the river is twice as full of
vessels as at other times.  When the river is swollen, the only
method of communication is by boats.

On the last day of this expedition a most beauteous spectacle awaited
me—the Delta!  Here the mighty Nile, which irrigates the
whole country with the hundreds of canals cut from its banks through
every region, divides itself into two principal branches, one of which
falls into the sea at Rosetta, and the other at Damietta.  If the
separate aims of the river could be compared to seas, how much more
does its united vastness merit the appellation!

When I was thus carried away by the beauty and grandeur of nature,
when I thus saw myself placed in the midst of new and interesting scenes,
it would appear to me incredible how people can exist, possessing in
abundance the gifts of riches, health, and leisure time, and yet without
a taste for travelling.  The petty comforts of life and enjoyments
of luxury are indeed worth more in the eyes of some than the opportunity
of contemplating the exalted beauties of nature or the monuments of
history, and of gaining information concerning the manners and customs
of foreign nations.  Although I was at times very badly situated,
and had to encounter more hardships and disagreeables than fall to the
lot of many a man, I would be thankful that I had had resolution given
me to continue my wanderings whenever one of these grand spectacles
opened itself before me.  What, indeed, are the entertainments
of a large town compared to the Delta of the Nile, and many similar
scenes?  The pure and perfect enjoyment afforded by the contemplation
of the beauty of nature is not for a moment to be found in the ball-room
or the theatre; and all the ease and luxury in the world should not
buy from me my recollections of this journey.

Not far from the Delta we can behold the Libyan Desert, of which
we afterwards never entirely lose sight, though we sometimes approach
and sometimes recede from it.  I became conscious of certain dark
objects in the far distance; they developed themselves more and more,
and at length I recognised in them the wonder-buildings of ancient times,
the Pyramids; far behind them rises the chain of mountains, or rather
hills, of Mokattam.

Evening was closing in when we at length arrived at Bulak, the harbour
of Cairo.  If we could have landed at once, I might, perhaps, have
reached the town itself this evening; as the harbour is, however, always
over-crowded with vessels, the captain is often compelled to wait for
an hour before he can find a place to moor his craft.  By the time
I could disembark it had already grown quite dark, and the town-gates
were shut.  I was thus obliged to pass the night on board.

The journey from Atfé to Cairo had occupied two days and a
half.  This passage had been one of the most interesting, although
the heat became more and more oppressive, and the burning winds of the
desert were sometimes wafted over to us.  The highest temperature
at midday was 36°, and in the shade from 24° to 25° Reaumur. 
The sky was far less beautiful and clear than in Syria; it was here
frequently overcast with white clouds.

CHAPTER XV.

Cairo—Quarrel with the captain—Rapacity of the beggars—The
custom-house—The consulate—Aspect of Cairo—Narrow
and crowded streets—Costumes—The mad-house—Disgusting
exhibition—Joseph’s well—Palace of Mehemet Ali—Dates—Mosques
at Cairo—Excursion to the pyramids of Gizeh—Gizeh—Eggs
hatched by artificial heat—Ascent of the pyramids—The sphynx—Return
to Cairo.

August 22d.

The aspect of this great Egyptian metropolis is not nearly so imposing
as I had fancied it to be; its situation is too flat, and from on board
we can only discern scattered portions of its extended area.  The
gardens skirting the shore are luxuriant and lovely.

At my debarcation, and on the road to the consulate, I met with several
adventures, which I relate circumstantially, trifling as they may appear,
in order to give a hint as to the best method of dealing with the people
here.

At the very commencement I became involved in a dispute with the
captain of the vessel.  I had still to pay him three dollars and
a half, and gave him four dollars, in the expectation that he would
return me my change.  This, however, he refused to do, and persisted
in keeping the half-dollar.  He said it should be divided as backsheesh
among the crew; but I am sure they would have seen nothing of it. 
Luckily, however, he was stupid enough not to put the money in his pocket,
but kept it open in his hand.  I quickly snatched a coin from him,
and put it into my pocket, explaining to him at the same time that he
should not have it back until he had given me my change, adding that
I would give the men a gratuity myself.  He shouted and stormed,
and kept on asking for the money.  I took no heed of him, but continued
quietly packing up my things.  Seeing, at length, that nothing
was to be done with me, he gave me back my half-dollar; whereupon we
parted good friends.  This affair concluded, I had to look about
for a couple of asses; one for myself, and another for my luggage. 
If I had stepped ashore I should have been almost torn in pieces by
contending donkey-drivers, each of whom would have lugged me in a different
direction.  I therefore remained quietly for a time in my cabin,
until the drivers ceased to suspect that any one was there.  In
the meantime I had been looking upon the shore from the cabin-window,
and speculating upon which animal I should take; then I quickly rushed
out, and before the proprietors of the long-eared steeds were aware
of my intention, I had seized one by the bridle and pointed to another. 
This concluded the matter at once; for the proprietors of the chosen
animals defended me from the rest, and returned with me to the boat
to carry my baggage.

A fellow came up and arranged my little trunk on the back of the
ass.  For this trifling service I gave him a piastre; but observing
that I was alone, he probably thought he could soon intimidate me into
giving whatever he demanded.  So he returned me my piastre, and
demanded four.  I took the money, and told him (for fortunately
he understood a little Italian) that if he felt dissatisfied with this
reward he might accompany me to the consulate, where his four piastres
would be paid so soon as it appeared that he had earned them. 
He shouted and blustered, just as the captain had done; but I remained
deaf, and rode forward towards the custom-house.  Then he came
down to three piastres, then to two, and finally said he would be content
with one, which I threw to him.  When I reached the custom-house,
hands were stretched out towards me from all sides; I gave something
to the chief person, and let the remaining ones clamour on.  When,
after experiencing these various annoyances, I rode on towards the town,
a new obstacle arose.  My Arab guide inquired whither he should
conduct me.  I endeavoured in vain to explain to him where I wanted
to go; he could not be made to understand me.  Nothing now remained
for me but to accost every well-dressed Oriental whom I met, until I
should find one who could understand either French or Italian. 
The third person I addressed fortunately knew something of the latter
language, and I begged him to tell my guide to take me to the Austrian
consulate.  This was done, and my troubles concluded.

A ride of three quarters of an hour in a very broad handsome street,
planted with a double row of a kind of acacia altogether strange to
me, among a crowd of men, camels, asses, etc., brought me to the town,
the streets of which are in general narrow.  There is so much noise
and crowding every where, that one would suppose a tumult had broken
out.  But as I approached, the immense mass always opened as if
by magic, and I pursued my way without hindrance to the consulate, which
lies hidden in a little narrow blind alley.

I went immediately to the office, and presented myself to the consul,
with the request that he would recommend me a respectable inn of the
second class.  Herr Chamgion, the consul, interested himself for
me with heartfelt kindness; he immediately despatched a kavasse to an
innkeeper whom he knew, paid my guide, and recommended the host strongly
to take good care of me; in short, he behaved towards me with true Christian
kindliness.  His house was ever open to me, and I could go to him
with any petition I wished to make.  It is a real pleasure to me
to be able publicly once more to thank this worthy man.

I had been furnished with a letter of recommendation to a certain
Herr Palm.  The consul kindly sent at once for this gentleman,
who soon appeared, and accompanied me to the inn.

I requested Herr P. to recommend me a servant who could either speak
Italian or French, and afterwards to tell me the best method to set
about seeing the lions of the town.  Herr P. very willingly undertook
to do so; and after the lapse of an hour, the dragoman had already been
found, and two asses stood before the door to carry me and my servant
through the whole town.

The animated bustle and hum of business in the streets of Cairo is
very great.  I can even say that in the most populous cities of
Italy I never saw any thing I could compare to it; and certainly this
is a bold assertion.

Many of the streets are so narrow, that when loaded camels meet,
one party must always be led into a by-street until the other has passed. 
In these narrow lanes I continually encountered crowds of passengers,
so that I really felt quite anxious, and wondered how I should find
my way through.  People mounted on horses and donkeys tower above
the moving mass; but the asses themselves appear like pigmies beside
the high, lofty-looking camels, which do not lose their proud demeanour
even under their heavy burdens.  Men often slip by under the heads
of the camels.  The riders keep as close as possible to the houses,
and the mass of pedestrians winds dexterously between.  There are
water-carriers, vendors of goods, numerous blind men groping their way
with sticks, and bearing baskets with fruit, bread, and other provisions
for sale; numerous children, some of them running about the streets,
and others playing before the house-doors; and lastly, the Egyptian
ladies, who ride on asses to pay their visits, and come in long processions
with their children and negro servants.  Let the reader further
imagine the cries of the vendors, the shouting of the drivers and passengers,
the terrified screams of flying women and children, the quarrels which
frequently arise, and the peculiar noisiness and talkativeness of these
people, and he can fancy what an effect this must have on the nerves
of a stranger.  I was in mortal fear at every step, and on reaching
home in the evening felt quite unwell; but as I never once saw an accident
occur, I at length accustomed myself to the hubbub, and could follow
my guide where the crowd was thickest without feeling uneasy.

The streets, or, as they may be more properly called, the lanes of
Cairo, are sprinkled with water several times in the day; fountains
and large vessels of water are also placed every where for the convenience
of the passers-by.  In the broad streets straw-mats are hung up
to keep off the sun’s rays.

The richer class of people wear the Oriental garb, with the exception
that the women merely have their heads and faces wrapped in a light
muslin veil; they wear also a kind of mantilla of black silk, which
gives them a peculiar appearance.  When they came riding along,
and the wind caught this garment and spread it out, they looked exactly
like bats with outstretched wings.

Many of the Franks also dress in the Oriental style; the Fellahs
go almost naked, and their women only wear a single blue garment.

Here, as throughout all the East, the rich people are always seen
on horseback.  I was not so much pleased with the Egyptian as with
the Syrian horses, for the former appeared to me less slim and gracefully
built.

The population of Cairo is estimated at 200,000, and is a mixed one,
consisting of Arabs, Mamelukes, Turks, Berbers, Negroes, Bedouins, Christians,
Greeks, Jews, etc.  Thanks to the powerful arm of Mehemet Ali,
they all live peacefully together.

Cairo contains 25,000 houses, which are as unsightly and irregular
as the streets.  They are built of clay, unburnt bricks, and stones,
and have little narrow entrances; the unsymmetrical windows are furnished
with wooden shutters impenetrable to the eye.  The interiors are
decorated like the houses in Damascus, but in a less costly style; neither
is there such an abundance of fresh water at Cairo.

The Jews’ quarter is the most hideous of all; the houses are
dirty, and the streets so narrow that two persons can only just push
by each other.  The entire town is surrounded by walls and towers,
guarded by a castle, and divided into several quarters, separated from
each other by gates, which are closed after sunset.  On the heights
around Cairo are to be seen some castles from the time of the Saracens.

As I rode to and fro in the town, my guide suddenly stopped, bought
a quantity of bread, and motioned me to follow him.  I thought
he was going to take me to a menagerie, and that this bread was intended
for the wild animals.  We entered a courtyard with windows all
round reaching to the ground, and strengthened with iron bars. 
Stopping before the first window, my servant threw in a piece of bread;
what was my horror when I saw, instead of a lion or tiger, a naked emaciated
old man rush forth, seize the bread, and devour it ravenously. 
I was in the mad-house.  In the midst of each dark and filthy dungeon
is fixed a stone, with two iron chains, to which one or two of these
wretched creatures are attached by an iron ring fastened round the neck. 
There they sit staring with fearfully distorted faces, their hair and
beard unkempt, their bodies emaciated, and the marrow of life drying
up within them.  In these foul and loathsome dens they must pine
until the Almighty in his mercy loosens the chains which bind them to
their miserable existence by a welcome death.  There is not one
instance of a cure, and truly the treatment to which they are subjected
is calculated to drive a half-witted person quite mad.  And yet
the Europeans can praise Mehemet Ali!  Ye wretched madmen, ye poor
fellahs, are ye too ready to join in this praise?

Quitting this abode of misery, my dragoman led me to “Joseph’s
well,” which is deeply hewn out of the rock.  I descended
more than two hundred and seventy steps, and had got half-way to the
bottom of the gigantic structure.  On looking downward into its
depths a feeling of giddiness came over me.

The new palace of Mehemet Ali is rather a handsome building, arranged
chiefly in the European style.  The rooms, or rather the halls,
are very lofty, and are either tastefully painted or hung with silk,
tapestry, etc.  Large pier-glasses multiply the objects around,
rich divans are attached to the walls, and costly tables, some of marble,
others of inlaid work, enriched with beautiful paintings, stand in the
rooms, in one of which I even noticed a billiard-table.  The dining-hall
is quite European in its character.  In the centre stands a large
table; two sideboards are placed against one side of the wall, and handsome
chairs stand opposite.  In one of the rooms hangs an oil-painting
representing Ibrahim Pasha, {236}
Mehemet Ali’s son.

This palace stands in the midst of a little garden, neither remarkable
for the rarity of the plants it contains, nor for the beauty of their
arrangement.  The views from some of the apartments, as well as
that from the garden, are very lovely.

Opposite the palace a great mosque is being built as a mausoleum
for Mehemet Ali.  The despot probably reckons on having some years
yet to live, for much remains to be done before the beautiful structure
is completed.  The pillars and the walls of the mosque are covered
with the most splendid marble, of a yellowish-white colour.

The before-mentioned buildings, namely, Joseph’s well, the
palace and gardens, and the mosque, are all situate on a high rock,
to which a single broad road leads from Cairo.  Here we behold
a threefold sea, namely, of houses, of the Nile, and a sea of sand,
on which the lofty Pyramids rise in the distance like isolated rocks. 
The mountains of Mokattam close the background, and a number of lovely
gardens and plantations of date-palms surround the town.  With
one glance we can behold the most striking contrasts.  A wreath
of the most luxurious vegetation runs round the town, and beyond lies
the dreary monotony of the desert.  The colour of the Nile is so
exactly similar to that of the sand forming its shores, that at a distance
the line of demarcation cannot be traced.

On my way homewards I met several fellahs carrying large baskets
full of dates, and stopped one of them, in order to purchase some of
this celebrated fruit.  Unfortunately for me, the dates were still
unripe, hard, of a brick-red colour, and so unpalatable that I could
not eat one of them.  A week or ten days afterwards I was able
to procure some ripe ones; they were of a brown colour like the dried
fruit, the tender skin could easily be peeled off, and I liked them
better than dried dates, because they were more pulpy and not so sweet. 
A much more precious fruit, the finest production of Egypt and Syria,
almost superior to the pine-apple in taste, is the banana, which is
so delicate that it almost melts in the mouth.  This fruit cannot
be dried, and is therefore never exported.  Sugar melons and peaches
are to be had in abundance, but their flavour is not very good. 
I also preferred the Alexandrian grape to that of Cairo.

The bazaars, through which we rode in all directions, displayed nothing
very remarkable in manufactures or in productions of nature and art.

From first to last I spent a week at Cairo, and occupied the whole
of my time from morning till night in viewing the curiosities of the
town.

I only saw two mosques, that of Sultan Hassan and of Sultan Amru. 
Before I was permitted to enter the first of these edifices, they compelled
me to take off my shoes, and walk in my stockings over a courtyard paved
with great stones.  The stones had become so heated by the solar
rays, that I was obliged to run fast, to avoid scorching the soles of
my feet.  I cannot give an opinion touching the architectural beauty
of this building, which is built in such a simple style that none but
a connoisseur would discover its merits.  I was better pleased
with the mosque of Sultan Amru, which contains several halls, and is
supported on numerous columns.  The mosques in Cairo struck me
as having a more ancient and venerable appearance than those of Constantinople,
while the latter, on the other hand, were larger and more elegant.

I also visited the island of Rodda, which is worthy the name of a
beautiful garden.  It lies opposite to old Cairo, on the Nile,
and is said to be a favourite walk of the townspeople, though I was
there twice without meeting any one.  The garden is spacious, and
contains all kinds of tropical productions: here I saw the sugar-cane,
which greatly resembles the stem of the Indian maize; the cotton-tree,
growing to a height of five or six feet; the banana-tree, the short-stemmed
date-palm, the coffee-tree, and many others.  Flowers were also
there in quantities which must be cultivated with great care in the
hot-houses of my native country.  The whole of this collection
of plants is very tastefully arranged, and shines forth in the height
of luxuriant beauty.  It is customary to lay the entire island
under water every evening by means of artificial canals.  This
system is universally carried out throughout the Egyptian plantations,
and is, in fact, the only method by which vegetation can be preserved
in its freshest green in spite of the burning heat.  The care of
this fairy grove is entrusted to a German ornamental gardener; unfortunately
I was informed of this fact too late, otherwise I should have visited
my countryman and requested an explanation of many things which appeared
strange to me.

In the midst of the garden is a beautiful grotto, ornamented within
and without by a great variety of shells from the Red Sea, which give
it a most striking appearance.  At this spot, towards which many
paths lead, all strewed with minute shells instead of gravel, Moses
is said to have been found in his cradle of bulrushes(?).  Immediately
adjoining the garden we find a summer residence belonging to Mehemet
Ali.

The well shewn as that into which Joseph was thrust by his brethren
lies about two miles distant from the town, in a village on the road
to Suez.  Half a mile off a very large and venerable sycamore-tree
was pointed out to me as the one in the shade of which the holy family
rested on their way to Egypt; and a walk of another quarter of a mile
brings us to the garden of Boghos Bey, in the midst of which stands
one of the finest and largest obelisks of Upper Egypt: it is still in
good condition, and completely covered with hieroglyphics.  The
garden, however, offers nothing remarkable.  The ancient city of
Heliopolis is said to have been built not far off; but at the present
day not a vestige of it remains.

The road to this garden already lies partly in the desert. 
At first the way winds through avenues of trees and past gardens; but
soon the vast desert extends to the right, while beautiful orange and
citron groves still skirt the left side of the path.  Here we continually
meet herds of camels, but a dromedary is a rare sight.

EXCURSION TO THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZEH.August 25th, 1842.

At four in the afternoon I quitted Cairo, crossed two arms of the
Nile, and a couple of hours afterwards arrived safely at Gizeh. 
As the Nile had overflowed several parts of the country, we were compelled
frequently to turn out of our way, and sometimes to cross canals and
ride through water; now and then, where it was too deep for our asses,
we were obliged to be carried across.  As there is no inn at Gizeh
I betook myself to Herr Klinger, to whom I brought a letter of recommendation
from Cairo.  Herr K. is a Bohemian by birth, and stands in the
service of the viceroy of Egypt, as musical instructor to the young
military band.  I was made very welcome here, and Herr Klinger
seemed quite rejoiced at seeing a visitor with whom he could talk in
German.  Our conversation was of Beethoven and Mozart, of Strauss
and Lanne.  The fame of the bravura composers of the present day,
Liszt and Thalberg, had not yet penetrated to these regions.  I
requested my kind host to shew me the establishment for hatching eggs
that exists at Gizeh.  He immediately sent for the superintendent,
who happened however to be absent, and to have locked up the keys. 
In this place about 8000 eggs are hatched by artificial warmth during
the months of March and April.  The eggs are laid on large flat
plates, which are continually kept at an equal temperature by heat applied
below the surface: they are turned several times during the day. 
As the thousands of little chickens burst their shells, they are sold,
not by number or weight, but by the measure.  This egg-hatching
house has the effect of rendering poultry plentiful and cheap.

After chatting away the evening very pleasantly I sought my couch,
tired with my ride and with the heat, and rejoicing at the sight of
the soft divan, which seemed to smile upon me, and promise rest and
strength for the following day.  But as I was about to take possession
of my couch, I noticed on the wall a great number of black spots. 
I took the candle to examine what it could be, and nearly dropped the
light with horror on discovering that the wall was covered with bugs. 
I had never seen such a disgusting sight.  All hopes of rest on
the divan were now effectually put to flight.  I sat down on a
chair, and waited until every thing was perfectly still; then I slipped
into the entrance-hall, and lay down on the stones, wrapped in my cloak.

Though I had escaped from one description of vermin, I became a prey
to innumerable gnats.  I had passed many uncomfortable nights during
my journey, but this was worse than any thing I had yet endured.

However, this was only an additional inducement for rising early,
and long before sunrise I was ready to continue my journey.  Before
daybreak I took leave of my kind host, and rode with my servant towards
the gigantic structures.  To-day we were again obliged frequently
to go out of our route on account of the rising of the Nile; owing to
this delay, two hours elapsed before we reached the broad arm of the
Nile, dividing us from the Libyan desert, on which the Pyramids stand,
and over which two Arabs carried me.  This was one of the most
disagreeable things that can be imagined.  Two large powerful men
stood side by side; I mounted on their shoulders, and held fast by their
heads, while they supported my feet in a horizontal position above the
waters, which at some places reached almost to their armpits, so that
I feared every moment that I should sit in the water.  Besides
this, my supporters continually swayed to and fro, because they could
only withstand the force of the current by a great exertion of strength,
and I was apprehensive of falling off.  This disagreeable passage
lasted above a quarter of an hour.  After wading for another fifteen
minutes through deep sand, we arrived at the goal of our little journey.

The two colossal pyramids are of course visible directly we quit
the town, and we keep them almost continually in sight.  But here
the expectations I had cherished were again disappointed, for the aspect
of these giant structures did not astonish me greatly.  Their height
appears less remarkable than it otherwise would, from the circumstance
that their base is buried in sand, and thus hidden from view. 
There is also neither a tree nor a hut, nor any other object which could
serve to display their huge proportions by the force of contrast.

As it was still early in the day and not very hot, I preferred ascending
the pyramid before venturing into its interior.  My servant took
off my rings and concealed them carefully, telling me that this was
a very necessary precaution, as the fellows who take the travellers
by the hands to assist them in mounting the pyramids have such a dexterous
knack of drawing the rings from their fingers, that they seldom perceive
their loss until too late.

I took two Arabs with me, who gave me their hands, and pulled me
up the very large stones.  Any one who is at all subject to dizziness
would do very wrong in attempting this feat, for he might be lost without
remedy.  Let the reader picture to himself a height of 500 feet,
without a railing or a regular staircase by which to make the ascent. 
At one angle only the immense blocks of stone have been hewn in such
a manner that they form a flight of steps, but a very inconvenient one,
as many of these stone blocks are above four feet in height, and offer
no projection on which you can place your foot in mounting.  The
two Arabs ascended first, and then stretched out their hands to pull
me from one block to another.  I preferred climbing over the smaller
blocks without assistance.  In three quarters of an hour’s
time I had gained the summit of the pyramid.

For a long time I stood lost in thought, and could hardly realise
the fact that I was really one of the favoured few who are happy enough
to be able to contemplate the most stupendous and imperishable monument
ever erected by human hands.  At the first moment I was scarcely
able to gaze down from the dizzy height into the deep distance; I could
only examine the pyramid itself, and seek to familiarise myself with
the idea that I was not dreaming.  Gradually, however, I came to
myself, and contemplated the landscape which lay extended beneath me. 
From my elevated position I could form a better estimate of the gigantic
structure, for here the fact that the base was buried in sand did not
prejudice the general effect.  I saw the Nile flowing far beneath
me, and a few Bedouins, whom curiosity had attracted to the spot, looked
like very pigmies.  In ascending I had seen the immense blocks
of stone singly, and ceased to marvel that these monuments are reckoned
among the seven wonders of the world.

On the castle the view had been fine, but here, where the prospect
was bounded only by the horizon and by the Mokattam mountains, it is
grander by far.  I could follow the windings of the river, with
its innumerable arms and canals, until it melted into the far horizon,
which closed the picture on this side.  Many blooming gardens,
and the large extensive town with its environs; the immense desert,
with its plains and hills of sand, and the lengthened mountain-range
of Mokattam,—all lay spread before me; and for a long time I sat
gazing around me, and wishing that the dear ones at home had been with
me, to share in my wonder and delight.

But now the time came not only to look down, but to descend. 
Most people find this even more difficult than the ascent; but with
me the contrary was the case.  I never grow giddy, and so I advanced
in the following manner, without the aid of the Arabs.  On the
smaller blocks I sprang from one to the other; when a stone of three
or four feet in height was to be encountered, I let myself glide gently
down; and I accomplished my descent with so much grace and agility,
that I reached the base of the pyramid long before my servant. 
Even the Arabs expressed their pleasure at my fearlessness on this dangerous
passage.

After eating my breakfast and resting for a short time, I proceeded
to explore the interior.  At first I was obliged to cross a heap
of sand and rubbish; for we have to go downwards towards the entrance,
which is so low and narrow that we cannot always stand upright. 
I could not have passed along the passage leading into the interior
if the Arabs had not helped me, for it is so steep and so smoothly paved
that, in spite of my conductor’s assistance, I slid rather than
walked.  The apartment of the king is more spacious, and resembles
a small hall.  On one side stands a little empty sarcophagus without
a lid.  The walls of the chambers and of the passages are covered
with large and beautifully polished slabs of granite and marble. 
The remaining passages, or rather dens, which are shown here, I did
not see.  It may be very interesting for learned men and antiquarians
thus to search every corner; but for a woman like myself, brought hither
only by an insatiable desire to travel, and capable of judging of the
beauties of nature and art only by her own simple feelings, it was enough
to have ascended the pyramid of Cheops, and to have seen something of
its interior.  This pyramid is said to be the loftiest of all. 
It stands on a rock 150 feet in height, which is invisible, being altogether
buried in sand.  The height of the vast structure is above 500
feet.  It was erected by Cheops more than 3000 years ago, and 100,000
men are said to have been employed in its construction for twenty-six
years.  It is a most interesting structure, built of immense masses
of rock, fixed together with a great deal of art, and seemingly calculated
to last an eternity.  They look so strong and so well preserved,
that many travellers will no doubt repair hither in coming generations,
and continue the researches commenced long ago.

The Sphynx, a statue of most colossal dimensions, situate at no great
distance from the great pyramid, is so covered with sand that only the
head and a small portion of the bust remain visible.  The head
alone is twenty-two feet in height.

After walking about and inspecting every thing, I commenced my journey
back.  On the way I once more visited Herr Klinger, strengthened
myself with a hearty meal, and arrived safely at Cairo late in the evening. 
Here I wished to take my little purse out of my pocket, and found that
it was gone.  Luckily I had only taken one collonato (Spanish dollar)
with me.  No one can imagine what dexterity the Bedouins and Arabs
possess in the art of stealing.  I always kept a sharp eye upon
my effects, and notwithstanding my vigilance several articles were pilfered
from me, and my purse must also have been stolen during this excursion. 
The loss was very disagreeable to me because it involved that of my
box-key.  I was, however, fortunate in finding an expert Arabian
locksmith, who opened my chest and made me a new key, on which occasion
I had another opportunity of seeing how careful it is necessary to be
in all our dealings with these people to avoid being cheated. 
The key locked and unlocked my box well, and I paid for it; but immediately
afterwards observed that it was very slightly joined in the middle,
and would presently break.  The Arab’s tools still lay on
the ground; I immediately seized one of them, and told the man I would
not give it up until he had made me a new key.  It was in vain
that he assured me he could not work without his tools; he would not
give my money back, and I kept the implement: by this means I obtained
from him a new and a good key.

CHAPTER XVI.

Christian churches at Cairo—The Esbekie-square—Theatre—Howling
dervishes—Mashdalansher, the birthday of Mahomet—Procession
and religious ceremony—Shubra—Excursion through the desert
to Suez—Hardships of the journey—Scenes in the desert—The
camel—Caravans—Mirage—The Red Sea—Suez—Bedouin
camp—Quarrel with the camel-driver—Departure for Alexandria.

I visited many Christian churches, the finest among which was the
Greek one.  On my way thither I saw many streets where there can
hardly have been room for a horseman to pass.  The road to the
Armenian church leads through such narrow lanes and gates, that we were
compelled to leave our asses behind; there was hardly room for two people
to pass each other.

On the other hand, I had nowhere seen a more spacious square than
the Esbekie-place in Cairo.  The square in Padua is perhaps the
only one that can compare with it in point of size; but this place looks
like a complete chaos.  Miserable houses and ruined huts surround
it; and here and there we sometimes come upon a part of an alley or
an unfinished canal.  The centre is very uneven, and is filled
with building materials, such as stones, wood, bricks, and beams. 
The largest and handsomest house in this square is remarkable as having
been inhabited by Napoleon during his residence at Cairo: it is now
converted into a splendid hotel.

Herr Chamgion, the consul, was kind enough to send me a card of invitation
for the theatre.  The building looks like a private house, and
contains a gallery capable of accommodating three or four hundred people;
this gallery is devoted to the use of the ladies.  The performers
were all amateurs; they acted an Italian comedy in a very creditable
manner.  The orchestra comprised only four musicians.  At
the conclusion of the second act the consul’s son, a boy of twelve
years, played some variations on the violin very prettily.

The women, all natives of the Levant, were very elegantly dressed;
they wore the European garb, white muslin dresses with their hair beautifully
braided and ornamented with flowers.  Nearly all the women and
girls were handsome, with complexions of a dazzling whiteness, which
we rarely see equalled in Europe.  The reason of this is, perhaps,
that they always stay in their houses, and avoid exposing themselves
to the sun and wind.

The following day I visited the abode of the howling dervishes, in
whom I took a lively interest since I had seen their brethren at Constantinople. 
The hall, or rather the mosque, in which they perform their devotions
is very splendid.  I was not allowed here to stand among the men
as I had done at Constantinople, but was conducted to a raised gallery,
from which I could look down through a grated window.

The style of devotion and excitement of these dervishes is like that
I had witnessed at Constantinople, without being quite so wild in its
character.  Not one of them sank exhausted, and the screeching
and howling were not so loud.  Towards the end of their performance
many of the dervishes seized a small tambourine, on which they beat
and produced a most diabolical music.

In the slave-market there was but a meagre selection; all the wares
had been bought, and a new cargo of these unfortunates was daily expected. 
I pretended that I wished to purchase a boy and a girl, in order to
gain admittance into the private department.  Here I saw a couple
of negro girls of most uncommon beauty.  I had not deemed it possible
to find any thing so perfect.  Their skin was of a velvety black,
and shone with a peculiar lustre.  Their teeth were beautifully
formed and of dazzling whiteness, their eyes large and lustrous, and
their lips thinner than we usually find them among these people. 
They wore their hair neatly parted, and arranged in pretty curls round
the head.  Poor creatures, who knows into what hands they might
fall!  They bowed their heads in anguish, without uttering a syllable. 
The sight of the slave-market here inspired me with a feeling of deep
melancholy.  The poor creatures did not seem so careless and merry
as those whom I had seen on the market-place at Constantinople. 
In Cairo the slaves seemed badly kept; they lay in little tents, and
were driven out, when a purchaser appeared, very much in the manner
of cattle.  They were only partially clothed in some old rags,
and looked exhausted and unhappy.

During my short stay at Cairo one of the chief feasts of the Mahommedans—namely,
the Mashdalansher, or birthday of the Prophet—occurred. 
This feast is celebrated on a great open space outside the town. 
A number of large tents are erected; they are open in front, and beneath
their shelter all kinds of things are carried on.  In one tent,
Mahommedans are praying; in another, a party of dervishes throw themselves
with their faces to the ground and call upon Allah; while in a third,
a juggler or storyteller may be driving his trade.  In the midst
of all stood a large tent, the entrance to which was concealed by curtains. 
Here the “bayaderes” were dancing; any one can obtain admission
by paying a trifling sum.  Of course I went in to see these celebrated
dancers.  There were, however, only two pairs; two boys were elegantly
clothed in a female garb, richly decorated with gold coins.  They
looked very pretty and delicate, so that I really thought they were
girls.  The dance itself is very monotonous, slow, and wearisome;
it consists only of some steps to and fro, accompanied by some rather
indecorous movements of the upper part of the body.  These gestures
are said to be very difficult, as the dancer must stand perfectly still,
and only move the upper part of his person.  The music consisted
of a tambourine, a flageolet, and a bagpipe.  Much has been written
concerning the indecency of these dances; but I am of opinion that many
of our ballets afford much greater cause of complaint.  It may,
however, be that other dances are performed of which the general public
are not allowed to be spectators; but I only speak of what is done openly. 
I would also by far prefer a popular festival in the East to a fair
in our highly-civilised states.  The Oriental feasts were to me
a source of much enjoyment, for the people always behaved most decorously. 
They certainly shouted, and pushed, and elbowed each other like an European
mob; but no drunken men were to be seen, and it was very seldom that
a serious quarrel occurred.  The commonest man, too, would never
think of offering an insult to one of the opposite sex.  I should
feel no compunction in sending a young girl to this festival, though
I should never think of letting her go to the fair held at Vienna on
St. Bridget’s day.

The people were assembled in vast numbers, and the crowd was very
great, yet we could pass every where on our donkeys.

At about three o’clock my servant sought out an elevated place
for me, for the great spectacle was soon to come, and the crushing and
bustle had already reached their highest pitch.  At length a portly
priest could be descried riding along on a splendid horse; before him
marched eight or ten dervishes with flags flying, and behind him a number
of men, among whom were also many dervishes.  In the midst of the
square the procession halted; a few soldiers pushed their way among
the people, whom they forced to stand back and leave a road.  Whenever
the spectators did not obey quickly, a stick was brought into action,
which soon established order in a most satisfactory manner.

The procession now moved on once more, the standard-bearers and dervishes
making all kinds of frantic gestures, as though they had just escaped
from a madhouse.  On reaching the place where the spectators formed
a lane, the dervishes and several other men threw themselves down with
their faces to the ground in a long row, with their heads side by side. 
And then—oh horror!—the priest rode over the backs of these
miserable men as upon a bridge.  Then they all sprang up again
as though nothing had happened, and rejoined the advancing train with
their former antics and grimaces.  One man stayed behind, writhing
to and fro as if his back had been broken, but in a few moments’
time he went away as unconcernedly as his comrades.  Each of the
actors in this scene considers himself extremely fortunate in having
attained to such a distinction, and this feeling even extends to his
relations and friends.

SHUBRA.

One afternoon I paid a visit to the beautiful garden and country-house
of the Viceroy of Egypt.  A broad handsome street leads between
alleys of sycamores, and the journey occupies about an hour and a half. 
Immediately upon my arrival I was conducted to an out-building, in the
yard belonging to which a fine large elephant was to be shewn. 
I had already seen several of these creatures, but never such a fine
specimen as this.  Its bulk was truly marvellous; its body clean
and smooth, and of a dark-brown colour.

The park is most lovely; and the rarest plants are here seen flourishing
in the open air, in the fulness of bloom and beauty, beside those we
are accustomed to see every day.  On the whole, however, I was
better pleased with the garden at Rodda.  The palace, too, is very
fine.  The ceilings of the rooms are lofty, and richly ornamented
with gilding, paintings, and marble.  The rooms appropriated to
the viceroy’s consort are no less magnificent; the ascent to them
is by a broad staircase on each side.  On the ground-floor is situate
the favourite apartment of the autocrat of Cairo, furnished in the style
of the reception-halls at Damascus.  A fountain of excellent water
diffuses a delicious coolness around.  In the palace itself we
find several large cages for parrots and other beautiful birds. 
What pleased me most of all was, however, the incomparable kiosk, lying
in the garden at some distance from the palace.  It is 130 paces
long and 100 broad, surrounded by arcades of glorious pillars. 
This kiosk contains in its interior a large and beautiful fountain;
and at the four corners of the building are terraces, from which the
water falls in the form of little cataracts, afterwards uniting with
the fountain, and shooting upwards in the shape of a mighty pillar. 
All things around us, the pavilion and the pillars, the walls and the
fountain, are alike covered with beautiful marble of a white or light-brown
colour; the pavilion is even arranged so that it can be lighted with
gas.

From this paradise of the living I rode to the abode of the dead,
the celebrated “world of graves,” which is to be seen in
the desert.  Here are to be found a number of ancient sepulchres,
but most of them resemble ruins, and to find out their boasted beauty
is a thing left to the imagination of every traveller.  I only
admired the sepulchre of Mehemet Ali’s two sons, in which the
bones of his wife also rest: this is a beautiful building of stone;
five cupolas rise above the magnificent chambers where the sarcophagi
are deposited.

The petrified date-wood lies about eight miles distant from Cairo;
I rode out there, but did not find much to see, excepting here and there
some fragments of stems and a few petrifactions lying about.  It
is said that the finest part of this “petrified wood” begins
some miles away; but I did not penetrate so far.

During my residence in Cairo the heat once reached 36° Reaumur,
and yet I found it much more endurable than I had expected.  I
was not annoyed at all by insects or vermin; but I was obliged to be
careful not to leave any provisions in my room throughout the night. 
An immense swarm of minute ants would seize upon every kind of eatable,
particularly bread.  One evening I left a roll upon the table,
and the next morning found it half eaten away, and covered with ants
within and without.  It is here an universal custom to place the
feet of the tables in little dishes filled with water, to keep off these
insects.

EXCURSION TO SUEZ.

It had originally been my intention to stay at Cairo a week at the
furthest, and afterwards to return to Alexandria.  But the more
I saw, the more my curiosity became excited, and I felt irresistibly
impelled to proceed.  I had now travelled in almost every way,
but I had not yet tried an excursion on a camel.  I therefore made
inquiry as to the distance, danger, and expense of a journey to Suez
on the Red Sea.  The distance was a thirty-six hours’ journey,
the danger was said to be nil, and the expense they estimated
at about 250 piastres.

I therefore hired two strong camels, one for me, the other for my
servant and the camel-driver, and took nothing with me in the way of
provisions but bread, dates, a piece of roast meat, and hardboiled eggs. 
Skins of water were hung at each side of the camels, for we had to take
a supply which would last us the journey and during our return.

If we ride every day for twelve hours, this journey occupies six
days, there and back.  But as I was unable to depart until the
afternoon of the 26th, and was obliged to be in Alexandria at latest
by the 30th, in order not to miss the steamer, I had only four days
and a half to accomplish it in.  Thus this excursion was the most
fatiguing I had ever undertaken.

At four in the afternoon I rode through the town-gate, where the
camels were waiting for us; we mounted them and commenced our journey.

The desert begins at the town-gates, but for the first few miles
we have a sight of some very fruitful country on the left, until at
length we leave town and trees behind us, and with them all the verdure,
and find ourselves surrounded on all sides by a sea of sand.

For the first four or five hours I was not ill-pleased with this
mode of travelling.  I had plenty of room on my camel, and could
sit farther back or forward as I chose, and had provisions and a bottle
of water at my side.  Besides this, the heat was not oppressive;
I felt very comfortable, and could look down from my high throne almost
with a feeling of pride upon the passing caravans.  Even the swaying
motion of the camel, which causes in some travellers a feeling of sickness
and nausea like that produced by a sea-voyage, did not affect me. 
But after a few hours I began to feel the fatigues and discomforts of
a journey of this kind.  The swinging motion pained and fatigued
me, as I had no support against which I could lean.  The desire
to sleep also arose within me, and it can be imagined how uncomfortable
I felt.  But I was resolved to go to Suez; and if all my hardships
had been far worse, I would not have turned back.  I summoned all
my fortitude, and rode without halting for fifteen hours, from four
in the afternoon until seven the next morning.

During the night we passed several trains of camels, some in motion,
some at rest, often consisting of more than a hundred.  We were
not exposed to the least annoyance, although we had attached ourselves
to no caravan, but were pursuing our way alone.

From Cairo to Suez posts are established at every five or six hours’
journey, and at each of these posts there stands a little house of two
rooms for the convenience of travellers.  These huts were built
by an English innkeeper established at Cairo; but they can only be used
by very rich people, as the prices charged are most exorbitant. 
Thus, for instance, a bed for one night costs a hundred piastres, a
little chicken twenty, and a bottle of water two piastres.  The
generality of travellers encamp before the house, and I followed the
same plan, lying down for an hour in the sand while the camels ate their
scanty meal.  My health and bodily strength are, I am happy to
say, so excellent, that I am ready after a very short rest to encounter
new fatigues.  After this hour of repose I once more mounted my
camel to continue my journey.

August 27th.

It may easily be imagined that the whole scene by which we are here
surrounded has over it an air of profound and deathlike stillness. 
The sea, where we behold nothing but water around us, presents more
of life to divert the mind.  The very rushing and splash of the
wheels, the bounding waves, the bustle of bending or reefing sails,
and the crowding of people on the steamer, brings varied pictures to
temper the monotony around.  Even the ride through the stony deserts
which I had traversed in Syria has not so much sameness, for there we
at least hear the tramp of the horse and the sound of many a rolling
stone; the traveller’s attention is, besides, kept continually
on the stretch in guiding each step that his horse takes, to avoid the
risk of a fall.  But all this is wanting in a journey through a
sandy desert.  No bird hovers in the air, not a butterfly is here
to gladden the eye, not even an insect or a worm crawls on the ground;
not a living creature is, in fact, to be seen, but the little vultures
preying on the carcasses of fallen camels.  Even the tread of the
heavy-footed camel is muffled by the deep sand, and nothing is ever
heard but the moaning of these poor animals when their driver forces
them to lie down to take off their burden; most probably the exertion
of stooping hurts them.  The driver beats the camel on the knee
with a stick, and pulls its head towards him by a rope fastened to it
like a halter.  During this operation the rider must hold very
fast in order not to fall off, for suddenly the creature drops on its
fore-knees, then on its hind legs, and at length sits completely down
on the ground.  When you mount the animal again, it becomes necessary
to keep a vigilant eye upon him, for as soon as he feels your foot on
his neck he wishes to rise.

As I have already said, we see nothing on this journey but many and
large companies of camels, which march one behind the other, while their
drivers shorten the way with dreary inharmonious songs.  Half-devoured
carcasses of these “ships of the desert” lie every where,
with jackals and vultures gnawing at them.  Even living camels
are sometimes seen staggering about, which have been left to starve
by their masters as unfit for further service.  I shall never forget
the piteous look of one of these poor creatures which I saw dragging
itself to and fro in the desert, anxiously seeking for food and drink. 
What a cruel being is man!  Why could he not put an end to the
poor camel’s pain by a blow with a knife?  One would imagine
that the air in the vicinity of these fallen animals was poisoned; but
here this is less the case than it would be in more temperate regions,
for the pure air and the great heat of the desert rather dry up than
decompose corpses.

From the same cause our piece of roast beef was still good on the
fifth day.  The hard-boiled eggs, which my servant packed so clumsily
that they got smashed in the very first hour, did not become foul. 
Both meat and eggs were shrunk and dried up.  On the third day
the white bread had become as hard as ship-biscuit, so that we had to
break it up and soak it in water.  Our drinking water became worse
day by day, and smelt abominably of the leathern receptacles in which
we were compelled to keep it.  Until we reached Suez our poor camels
got not a drop to drink, and their food consisted of a scanty meal of
bad provender once a day.

At eight in the morning we set off once more, and rode until about
five in the afternoon.  At about four I suddenly descried the Red
Sea and its shores.  This circumstance delighted me, for I felt
assured that we should reach the coast in the course of another hour,
and then our laborious journey to Suez would be accomplished. 
I called to my servant, pointed out the sea to him, and expressed my
surprise that we had sighted it so soon.  He maintained, however,
that what I beheld was not the sea, but a fata morgana.  At first
I refused to believe him, because the thing seemed so real.  But
after an hour had elapsed we were as far from the sea as ever, and at
length the mirage vanished; and I did not behold the real sea until
six o’clock on the following morning, when it appeared in exactly
the same way as the phantom of the previous evening.

At five in the afternoon we at length halted.  I lay down on
the earth completely exhausted, and enjoyed a refreshing sleep for more
than three hours, when I was awakened by my servant, who informed me
that a caravan was just before us, which we should do well to join,
as the remainder of our road was far less safe than the portion we had
already traversed.  I was at once ready to mount my camel, and
at eight o’clock we were again in motion.

In a short time we had overtaken the caravan, and our camels were
placed in the procession, each beast being tethered to the preceding
one by a rope.  It was already quite dark, and I could barely distinguish
that the people sitting on the camels before me were an Arab family. 
They travelled in boxes resembling hen-coops, about a foot and a half
in height, four feet in length, and as many broad.  In a box of
this kind two or three men sat cross-legged; many had even spread a
light tent over their heads.  Suddenly I heard my name called by
a female voice.  I started, and thought I must be mistaken, for
whom in the world could I meet here who knew my Christian name? 
But once more a voice cried very distinctly, “Ida! Ida!”
and a servant came up, and told me that some Arab women, who had made
the voyage from Atfé to Cairo in company with me, were seated
on the first camel.  They sent to tell me that they were on their
way to Mecca, and rejoiced to meet me once more.  I was indeed
surprised that I should have made such an impression on these good people
that they had not forgotten my name.

To-night I saw a glorious natural phenomenon, which so surprised
me that I could not refrain from uttering a slight scream.  It
may have been about eleven o’clock, when suddenly the sky on my
left was lighted up, as though every thing were in flames; a great fiery
ball shot through the air with lightning speed, and disappeared on the
horizon, while at the same moment the gleam in the atmosphere vanished,
and darkness descended once more on all around.  We travelled on
throughout the whole of this night.

August 28th.

At six o’clock this morning we came in sight of the Red Sea. 
The mountain-chain of Mokattam can be discerned some time previously. 
Some way from Suez we came upon a well of bad, brackish water. 
Notwithstanding all drawbacks, the supply was eagerly hailed. 
Our people shouted, scolded, and pushed each other to get the best places;
camels, horses, asses, and men rushed pell-mell towards the well, and
happy was he who could seize upon a little water.  There are barracks
near this well, and soldiers are posted here to promote peace—by
means of the stick.

The little town of Suez lies spread out on the sea-shore, and can
be very distinctly seen from here.  The unhappy inhabitants are
compelled to draw their supplies either from this well, or from one
on the sea-coast four miles below Suez.  In the first case the
water is brought on camels, horses, or asses; in the second it is transported
by sea in boats or small ships.

The Red Sea is here rather narrow, and surrounded by sand of a yellowish-brown
hue; immediately beyond the isthmus is the continuation of the great
Libyan Desert.  The mountain-range of Mokattam skirts the plain
on the right, from Cairo to the Red Sea.  We quite lose sight of
this range until within the last ten or twelve hours before reaching
Suez.  The mountains are of moderate elevation and perfectly bare;
but still the eye rests with pleasure on the varied forms of the rocks.

After an hour’s rest beside the well, we were still unable
to procure water for our poor beasts, and hastened, therefore, to reach
the town.  At nine in the morning we were already within its walls. 
Of the town and its environs I can say nothing, excepting that they
both present a very melancholy appearance, as there is nowhere a garden
or a cluster of trees to be seen.

I paid my respects to the consul, and introduced myself to him as
an Austrian subject.  He was kind enough to assign me a room in
his own house, and would on no account permit me to take up my quarters
in an inn.  It was a pity that I could only converse with this
gentleman by means of a dragoman; he was a Greek by birth, and only
knew the Arabic language and his own.  He is the richest merchant
in Suez (his wealth is estimated at 150,000 collonati), and only discharges
the functions of French and Austrian consul as an honorary duty.

In the little town itself there is nothing remarkable to be seen. 
On the sea-coast they shewed me the place where Moses led the children
of Israel through the Red Sea.  The sinking of the tide at its
ebb is here so remarkable that whole islands are left bare, and large
caravans are able to march through the sea, as the water only reaches
to the girths of the camels, and the Arabs and Bedouins even walk through. 
As it happened to be ebb-tide when I arrived, I rode through also, for
the glory of the thing.  On these shores I found several pretty
shells; but the real treasures of this kind are fished out of the deep
at Ton, a few days’ journey higher up.  I saw whole cargoes
of mother-of-pearl shells carried away.

I remained at Suez until four in the afternoon, and recruited my
energies perfectly with an excellent dinner, at which tolerably good
water was not wanting.  The consul kindly gave me a bottle, as
provision for my journey.  He has it fetched from a distance of
twelve miles, as all the water that can be procured in the neighbourhood
tastes brackish and salt.  In the inn a bottle of water costs two
piastres.

The first night of my homeward journey was passed partly in a Bedouin
encampment and partly on the road, in the company of different caravans. 
I found the Bedouins to be very good, obliging people, among whom I
might wander as I pleased, without being exposed to injury.  On
the contrary, while I was in their encampment they brought me a straw-mat
and a chest, in order that I might have a comfortable seat.

The homeward journey was just as monotonous and wearisome as that
to Suez, with the additional fact that I had a quarrel with my people
the day before its termination.  Feeling exceedingly fatigued by
a lengthened ride, I ordered my servant to stop the camels, as I wished
to sleep for a few hours.  The rascals refused to obey, alleging
that the road was not safe, and that we should endeavour to overtake
a caravan.  This was, however, nothing but an excuse to get home
as quickly as possible.  But I was not to be frightened, and insisted
that my desire should be complied with, telling them moreover that I
had inquired of the consul at Suez concerning the safety of the roads,
and had once more heard that there was nothing to fear.  Notwithstanding
all this they would not obey, but continued to advance.  I now
became angry, and desired the servant once more to stop my camel, as
I was fully determined not to proceed another step.

I told him I had hired both camels and men, and had therefore a right
to be mistress; if he did not choose to obey me, he might go his way
with the camel-driver, and I would join the first caravan I met, and
bring him to justice, let it cost me what it would.  The fellow
now stopped my camel, and went away with the other and the camel-driver. 
He probably expected to frighten me by this demonstration, and to compel
me to follow; but he was vastly mistaken.  I remained standing
where I was, and as often as he turned to look at me, made signs that
he might go his way, but that I should stay.  When he saw how fearless
and determined I was, he turned back, came to me, made my camel kneel
down, and after helping me to alight, prepared me a resting-place on
a heap of sand, where I slept delightfully for five hours; then I ordered
my things to be packed up, mounted my camel, and continued my journey.

My conduct astonished my followers to such a degree, that they afterwards
asked me every few hours if I wished to rest.  On our arrival at
Cairo the camel-driver had not even the heart to make the customary
demand for backsheesh, and my servant begged pardon for his conduct,
and hoped that I would not mention the difference we had had to the
consul.

The maximum temperature during this journey was 43° Reaumur,
and when it was perfectly calm I really felt as if I should be stifled.

This journey from Cairo to Suez can, however, be accomplished in
a carriage in the space of twenty hours.  The English innkeeper
established at Cairo has had a very light carriage, with seats for four,
built expressly for this purpose; but a place in this vehicle costs
five pounds for the journey there, and the same sum for the return.

On the following day I once more embarked on board an Arabian vessel
for Alexandria.  Before my departure I had a terrible quarrel with
the donkey-driver whom I usually employed.  These men, as in fact
all fellahs, are accustomed to cheat strangers in every possible way,
but particularly with coins.  They usually carry bad money about
with them, which they can substitute for the good at the moment when
they are paid, with the dexterity of jugglers.  My donkey-driver
endeavoured to play me this trick when I rode to the ship; he saw that
I should not require his services any more, and therefore wished to
cheat me as a parting mark of attention.  This attempt disgusted
me so much that I could not refrain from brandishing my whip at him
in a very threatening manner, although I was alone among a number of
his class.  My gesture had the desired effect; the driver instantly
retreated, and I remained victor.

My reader would do me a great wrong by the supposition that I mention
these circumstances to make a vaunt of my courage; I am sure that the
fact of my having undertaken this journey alone will be sufficient to
clear me from the imputation of cowardice.  I wish merely to give
future travellers a hint as to the best method of dealing with these
people.  Their respect can only be secured by the display of a
firm will; and I am sure that in my case they were the more intimidated
as they had never expected to find so much determination in a woman.

CHAPTER XVII.

Return to Alexandria—Egyptian burials—Catacombs of
Alexandria—Viceroy’s palace—Departure from Alexandria—The
steamer Eurotas—Candia—Syra—Paros and Antiparos—The
Morea—Fire on board—Malta—Quarantine—St. Augustine’s
church—Clergymen—Beggars—Costumes—Soldiers—Civita
Vecchia.

September 5th.

At five o’clock in the evening of the 2d of September I commenced
my journey back to Alexandria.  During the fortnight I remained
at Cairo the Nile had continued to rise considerably, and the interest
of the region had increased in proportion.  In three days’
time I arrived safely at Alexandria, and again put up at Colombier’s. 
Two days had still to elapse before the departure of the French steam-vessel,
and I made use of this time to take a closer survey of the town and
its environs.

On my arrival at Alexandria I met two Egyptian funerals.  The
first was that of a poor man, and not a soul followed the coffin. 
The corpse lay in a wooden box without a lid, a coarse blanket had been
spread over it, and four men carried the coffin.  The second funeral
had a more respectable air.  The coffin, indeed, was not less rude,
but the dead man was covered with a handsome shawl, and four “mourning
women” followed the body, raising a most dolorous howl from time
to time.  A motley crowd of people closed the procession. 
The corpse was laid in the grave without the coffin.

The catacombs of Alexandria are very extensive, and well worth a
visit.  A couple of miles from them we see the celebrated plain
on which the army of Julius Cæsar was once posted.  The cistern
and bath of Cleopatra were both under water.  I could, therefore,
only see the place where they stood.

The viceroy’s palace, a spacious building inclining to the
European style, has a pleasing effect.  Its interior arrangement
is also almost wholly European.

The bazaar contains nothing worthy of remark.  The arsenal looks
very magnificent when viewed from without.  It is difficult to
obtain admission into this building, and you run the risk of being insulted
by the workmen.  The hospital has the appearance of a private house.

I was astonished at the high commission which is here demanded on
changing small sums of money.  In changing a collonato, a coin
very much used in this country, and worth about two guilders, the applicant
must lose from half a piastre to two piastres, according to the description
of coin he requires.  If beshliks {261}
are taken, the commission charged is half a piastre; but if piastres
are wanted, two must be paid.  The government value of a collonato
is twenty piastres; in general exchange it is reckoned at twenty-two,
and at the consulate’s at twenty-one piastres.

DEPARTURE FROM ALEXANDRIA.

September 7th.

At eight o’clock in the morning I betook myself on board the
French steam-packet Eurotas, a beautiful large vessel of 160-horse
power.  At nine o’clock we weighed anchor.

The weather was very unfavourable.  Though it did not rain,
we continually had contrary winds, and the sea generally ran high. 
In consequence we did not sight the island of Candia until the evening
of the third day, four-and-twenty hours later than we should have done
under ordinary circumstances.

Two women, who came on board as passengers to Syra, were so violently
attacked by sea-sickness, that they left the deck a few hours after
we got under way, and did not reappear until they landed at Syra. 
A very useful arrangement on board the French vessel is the engagement
of a female attendant, whose assistance sometimes becomes very necessary. 
Heaven be praised, I had not much to fear from the attacks of sea-sickness. 
The weather must be very bad—as, for instance, during our passage
through the Black Sea—before my health is affected, and even then
I recover rapidly.  During our whole voyage, even when the weather
was wretched, I remained continually on deck, so that during the day-time
I could not miss seeing even the smallest islet.  On

September 10th,

late in the evening, we discovered the island of Candia or Crete,
and the next morning we were pretty close to it.  We could, however,
distinguish nothing but bare unfruitful mountains, the tallest among
which, my namesake Mount Ida, does not look more fertile than the rest. 
On the right loomed the island of Scarpanto.  We soon left it in
our wake, and also passed the Brothers’ Islands, and many others,
some of them small and uninhabited, besides separate colossal rocks,
towering majestically into the sea.  Soon afterwards we passed
the islands Santorin and Anaph.

The latter of these islands is peculiarly beautiful.  In the
foreground a village lies at the foot of a high mountain, with its peak
surmounted by a little church.  On the side towards the sea this
rock shoots downwards so perpendicularly, that we might fancy it had
been cut off with a saw.

Since we had come in sight of Candia, we had not been sailing on
the high seas.  Scarcely did one island vanish from our view, before
it was replaced by another.  On

September 11th,

between three and four in the morning, we reached Syra.  The
terrible contrary winds with which we had been obliged to contend during
almost the whole of our passage had caused us to arrive a day behind
our time, to make up for which delay we only stayed half a day here,
instead of a day and a half.  This was a matter of indifference
to those of us who were travelling further, for as we came from Egypt,
we should not have been allowed in any case to disembark.  Those
who landed here proceeded at once to the quarantine-house.

Syra possesses a fine harbour.  From our vessel we had a view
over the whole town and its environs.  An isolated mountain, crowned
by a convent and church, the seat of the bishop, rises boldly from the
very verge of the shore.  The town winds round this mountain in
the form of several wreaths, until it almost reaches the episcopal buildings. 
The background closes with the melancholy picture of a barren mountain-chain. 
A lighthouse stands on a little neighbouring island.  The quarantine
establishment looks cheerful enough, and is situate at a little distance
from the town on the sea-shore.

It was Sunday when we arrived here; and as Syra belongs to Greece,
I here heard the sound of bells like those of Mount Lebanon, and once
more their strain filled me with deep and indescribable emotion. 
Never do we think so warmly of our home as when we are solitary and
alone among strange people in a far-distant land!

I would gladly have turned aside from my route to visit Athens, which
I might have reached in a few hours; but then I should once more have
been compelled to keep quarantine, and perhaps on leaving Greece the
infliction would have to be borne a third time, a risk which I did not
wish to run.  I therefore preferred keeping quarantine at Malta,
and having done with it at once.

On the same day at two o’clock we once more set sail. 
This day and the following I remained on deck as much as possible, bidding
defiance to wind and rain, and gazing at the islands as we glided past
one after another.  As one island disappeared, another rose in
its place.  Groups of isolated rocks also rose at intervals, like
giants from the main, to form a feature in the changing panorama.

On the right, in the far distance, we could distinguish Paros and
Antiparos, on the left the larger Chermian Isles; and at length we passed
close to Cervo (Stag’s Island), which is particularly distinguished
by the beauty of its mountain-range.  Here, as at Syra, we find
an isolated mountain, round which a town winds almost to its summit.

September 12th.

As I came on deck to-day with the sun, the mainland of the Morea
was in sight on our right,—a great plain, with many villages scattered
over its surface, and a background of bare hills.  After losing
sight of the Morea we sailed once more on the high seas.

This day might have had a tragical termination for us.  I was
sitting as usual on deck, when I noticed an unusual stir among the sailors
and officers, and even the commander ran hastily towards me.  Nevertheless
I did not dare to ask what had happened; for in proportion as the French
are generally polite, they are proud and overbearing on board their
steamers.  I therefore remained quietly seated, and contented myself
with watching every movement of the officers and men.  Several
descended to the coal-magazine, returning heated, blackened by the coals,
and dripping with water.  At length a cabin-boy came hurrying by
me; and upon my asking him what was the matter, he replied in a whisper,
that fire had broken out in the coal-room.  Now I knew the whole
extent of our danger, and yet could do nothing but keep my seat, and
await whatever fate should bring us.  It was most fortunate for
us that the fire occurred during the daytime, and had been immediately
discovered by the engine-man.  Double chain-pumps were rigged,
and the whole magazine was laid under water,—a proceeding which
had the effect of extinguishing the flames.  The other passengers
knew nothing of our danger; they were all asleep or sitting quietly
in the cabins; the sailors were forbidden to tell them what had happened,
and even my informant the cabin-boy begged me not to betray him. 
We had three hundredweight of gunpowder on board.

September 14th.

We did not come in sight of land until this evening, when the goal
of our journey appeared.

MALTA.

We cast anchor in the harbour of Lavalette at seven o’clock.

During the whole of our journey from Alexandria the wind had been
very unfavourable; the sea was frequently so agitated, that we could
not walk across the deck without the assistance of a sailor.

The distance from Alexandria via Syra to Malta is 950 sea-miles. 
We took eight days to accomplish this distance, landing only at Syra. 
The heat was moderate enough, seldom reaching 28° or 29° Reaumur.

The appearance of Malta is picturesque; it contains no mountains,
and consists entirely of hills and rocks.

The town of Lavalette is surrounded by three lines of fortifications,
winding like steps up the hill on which the town lies; the latter contains
large fine houses, all built of stone.

September 15th.

This morning at eight o’clock we disembarked, and were marched
off to keep quarantine in the magnificent castle of the Knights of St.
John.

This building stands on a hill, affording a view over the whole island
in the direction of Civita Vecchia.  We found here a number of
clean rooms, and were immediately supplied with furniture, bedding,
etc. by the establishment at a very reasonable charge.  Our host
at once despatched to every guest a bill of fare for breakfast and dinner,
so that each one can choose what he wishes, without being cheated as
to the prices.  The keepers here are very obliging and attentive;
they almost all know something of Italian, and execute any commission
with which they are entrusted punctually and well.  The building
for the incarcerated ones is situate on an elevated plateau.  It
has two large wings, one on each side, one story high, containing apartments
each with a separate entrance.  Adjoining the courtyard is the
inn, and not far from it the church; neither, however, may be visited
by the new-comers.  The requisite provisions are procured for them
by a keeper, who takes them to the purchasers.  The church is always
kept locked.  A broad handsome terrace, with a prospect over the
sea, the town of Lavalette, and the whole island, forms the foreground
of the picture.  This terrace and the ramparts behind the houses
form very agreeable walks.  The courtyard of our prison is very
spacious, and we are allowed to walk about in it as far as a statue
which stands in the middle.  Until ten o’clock at night we
enjoy our liberty; but when this hour arrives, we are sent to our respective
rooms and locked up.  The apartments of the keepers are quite separate
from ours.