peaceful in the rosy sunshine: green islands dip here and there in
its waters: purple mountains swell circling round it; and towards
them, rising from the bay, stretches a rich green plain, fruitful
with herbs and various foliage, in the midst of which the white
houses twinkle. I can see a little minaret, and some spreading
palm-trees; but, beyond these, the description would answer as well
for Bantry Bay as for Makri. You could write so far, nay, much
more particularly and grandly, without seeing the place at all, and
after reading Beaufort's "Caramania," which gives you not the least
notion of it.
Suppose the great Hydrographer of the Admiralty himself can't
describe it, who surveyed the place; suppose Mr. Fellowes, who
discovered it afterwards--suppose, I say, Sir John Fellowes, Knt.,
can't do it (and I defy any man of imagination to got an impression
of Telmessus from his book)--can you, vain man, hope to try? The
effect of the artist, as I take it, ought to be, to produce upon
his hearer's mind, by his art, an effect something similar to that
produced on his own by the sight of the natural object. Only
music, or the best poetry, can do this. Keats's "Ode to the
Grecian Urn" is the best description I know of that sweet old
silent ruin of Telmessus. After you have once seen it, the
remembrance remains with you, like a tune from Mozart, which he
seems to have caught out of heaven, and which rings sweet harmony
in your ears for ever after! It's a benefit for all after life!
You have but to shut your eyes, and think, and recall it, and the
delightful vision comes smiling back, to your order!--the divine
air--the delicious little pageant, which nature set before you on
this lucky day.
Here is the entry made in the note-book on the eventful day:- "In
the morning steamed into the bay of Glaucus--landed at Makri--
cheerful old desolate village--theatre by the beautiful sea-shore--
great fertility, oleanders--a palm-tree in the midst of the
village, spreading out like a Sultan's aigrette--sculptured
caverns, or tombs, up the mountain--camels over the bridge."
Perhaps it is best for a man of fancy to make his own landscape out
of these materials: to group the couched camels under the plane-
trees; the little crowd of wandering ragged heathens come down to
the calm water, to behold the nearing steamer; to fancy a mountain,
in the sides of which some scores of tombs are rudely carved;
pillars and porticos, and Doric entablatures. But it is of the
little theatre that he must make the most beautiful picture--a
charming little place of festival, lying out on the shore, and
looking over the sweet bay and the swelling purple islands. No
theatre-goer ever looked out on a fairer scene. It encourages
poetry, idleness, delicious sensual reverie. O Jones! friend of my
heart! would you not like to be a white-robed Greek, lolling
languidly, on the cool benches here, and pouring compliments (in
the Ionic dialect) into the rosy ears of Neaera? Instead of Jones,
your name should be Ionides; instead of a silk hat, you should wear
a chaplet of roses in your hair: you would not listen to the
choruses they were singing on the stage, for the voice of the fair
one would be whispering a rendezvous for the mesonuktiais horais,
and my Ionides would have no ear for aught beside. Yonder, in the
mountain, they would carve a Doric cave temple, to receive your urn
when all was done; and you would be accompanied thither by a dirge
of the surviving Ionidae. The caves of the dead are empty now,
however, and their place knows them not any more among the festal
haunts of the living. But, by way of supplying the choric melodies
sung here in old time, one of our companions mounted on the scene
and spouted,
"My name is Norval."
On the same day we lay to for a while at another ruined theatre,
that of Antiphilos. The Oxford men, fresh with recollections of
the little-go, bounded away up the hill on which it lies to the
ruin, measured the steps of the theatre, and calculated the width
of the scene; while others, less active, watched them with
telescopes from the ship's sides, as they plunged in and out of the
stones and hollows.
Two days after the scene was quite changed. We were out of sight
of the classical country, and lay in St. George's Bay, behind a
huge mountain, upon which St. George fought the dragon, and rescued
the lovely Lady Sabra, the King of Babylon's daughter. The Turkish
fleet was lying about us, commanded by that Halil Pasha whose two
children the two last Sultans murdered. The crimson flag, with the
star and crescent, floated at the stern of his ship. Our
diplomatist put on his uniform and cordons, and paid his Excellency
a visit. He spoke in rapture, when he returned, of the beauty and
order of the ship, and the urbanity of the infidel Admiral. He
sent us bottles of ancient Cyprus wine to drink: and the captain
of Her Majesty's ship "Trump," alongside which we were lying,
confirmed that good opinion of the Capitan Pasha which the
reception of the above present led us to entertain, by relating
many instances of his friendliness and hospitalities. Captain G-
said the Turkish ships were as well manned, as well kept, and as
well manoeuvred, as any vessels in any service; and intimated a
desire to command a Turkish seventy-four, and a perfect willingness
to fight her against a French ship of the same size. But I
heartily trust he will neither embrace the Mahometan opinions, nor
be called upon to engage any seventy-four whatever. If he do, let
us hope he will have his own men to fight with. If the crew of the
"Trump" were all like the crew of the captain's boat, they need
fear no two hundred and fifty men out of any country, with any
Joinville at their head. We were carried on shore by this boat.
For two years, during which the "Trump" had been lying off Beyrout,
none of the men but these eight had ever set foot on shore.
Mustn't it be a happy life? We were landed at the busy quay of
Beyrout, flanked by the castle that the fighting old commodore half
battered down.
Along the Beyrout quays civilisation flourishes under the flags of
the consuls, which are streaming out over the yellow buildings in
the clear air. Hither she brings from England her produce of
marine-stores and woollens, her crockeries, her portable soups, and
her bitter ale. Hither she has brought politeness, and the last
modes from Paris. They were exhibited in the person of a pretty
lady, superintending the great French store, and who, seeing a
stranger sketching on the quay, sent forward a man with a chair to
accommodate that artist, and greeted him with a bow and a smile,
such as only can be found in France. Then she fell to talking with
a young French officer with a beard, who was greatly smitten with
her. They were making love just as they do on the Boulevard. An
Arab porter left his bales, and the camel h
e was unloading, to come
and look at the sketch. Two stumpy flat-faced Turkish soldiers, in
red caps and white undresses, peered over the paper. A noble
little Lebanonian girl, with a deep yellow face, and curly dun-
coloured hair, and a blue tattooed chin, and for all clothing a
little ragged shift of blue cloth, stood by like a little statue,
holding her urn, and stared with wondering brown eyes. How
magnificently blue the water was!--how bright the flags and
buildings as they shone above it, and the lines of the rigging
tossing in the bay! The white crests of the blue waves jumped and
sparkled like quicksilver; the shadows were as broad and cool as
the lights were brilliant and rosy; the battered old towers of the
commodore looked quite cheerful in the delicious atmosphere; and
the mountains beyond were of an amethyst colour. The French
officer and the lady went on chattering quite happily about love,
the last new bonnet, or the battle of Isly, or the "Juif Errant."
How neatly her gown and sleeves fitted her pretty little person!
We had not seen a woman for a month, except honest Mrs. Flanigan,
the stewardess, and the ladies of our party, and the tips of the
noses of the Constantinople beauties as they passed by leering from
their yakmacs, waddling and plapping in their odious yellow
papooshes.
And this day is to be marked with a second white stone, for having
given the lucky writer of the present, occasion to behold a second
beauty. This was a native Syrian damsel, who bore the sweet name
of Mariam. So it was she stood as two of us (I mention the number
for fear of scandal) took her picture.
So it was that the good-natured black cook looked behind her young
mistress, with a benevolent grin, that only the admirable Leslie
could paint.
Mariam was the sister of the young guide whom we hired to show us
through the town, and to let us be cheated in the purchase of gilt
scarfs and handkerchiefs, which strangers think proper to buy. And
before the following authentic drawing could be made, many were the
stratagems the wily artists were obliged to employ, to subdue the
shyness of the little Mariam. In the first place, she would stand
behind the door (from which in the darkness her beautiful black
eyes gleamed out like penny tapers); nor could the entreaties of
her brother and mamma bring her from that hiding-place. In order
to conciliate the latter, we began by making a picture of her too--
that is, not of her, who was an enormous old fat woman in yellow,
quivering all over with strings of pearls, and necklaces of
sequins, and other ornaments, the which descended from her neck,
and down her ample stomacher: we did not depict that big old
woman, who would have been frightened at an accurate representation
of her own enormity; but an ideal being, all grace and beauty,
dressed in her costume, and still simpering before me in my sketch-
book like a lady in a book of fashions.
This portrait was shown to the old woman, who handed it over to the
black cook, who, grinning, carried it to little Mariam--and the
result was, that the young creature stepped forward, and submitted;
and has come over to Europe as you see. {2}
A very snug and happy family did this of Mariam's appear to be. If
you could judge by all the laughter and giggling, by the splendour
of the women's attire, by the neatness of the little house,
prettily decorated with arabesque paintings, neat mats, and gay
carpets, they were a family well to do in the Beyrout world, and
lived with as much comfort as any Europeans. They had one book;
and, on the wall of the principal apartment, a black picture of the
Virgin, whose name is borne by pretty Mariam.
The camels and the soldiers, the bazaars and khans, the fountains
and awnings, which chequer, with such delightful variety of light
and shade, the alleys and markets of an Oriental town, are to be
seen in Beyrout in perfection; and an artist might here employ
himself for months with advantage and pleasure. A new costume was
here added to the motley and picturesque assembly of dresses. This
was the dress of the blue-veiled women from the Lebanon, stalking
solemnly through the markets, with huge horns, near a yard high, on
their foreheads. For thousands of years, since the time the Hebrew
prophets wrote, these horns have so been exalted in the Lebanon.
At night Captain Lewis gave a splendid ball and supper to the
"Trump." We had the "Trump's" band to perform the music; and a
grand sight it was to see the captain himself enthusiastically
leading on the drum. Blue lights and rockets were burned from the
yards of our ship; which festive signals were answered presently
from the "Trump," and from another English vessel in the harbour.
They must have struck the Capitan Pasha with wonder, for he sent
his secretary on board of us to inquire what the fireworks meant.
And the worthy Turk had scarcely put his foot on the deck, when he
found himself seized round the waist by one of the "Trump's"
officers, and whirling round the deck in a waltz, to his own
amazement, and the huge delight of the company. His face of wonder
and gravity, as he went on twirling, could not have been exceeded
by that of a dancing dervish at Scutari; and the manner in which he
managed to enjamber the waltz excited universal applause.
I forgot whether he accommodated himself to European ways so much
further as to drink champagne at supper-time; to say that he did
would be telling tales out of school, and might interfere with the
future advancement of that jolly dancing Turk.
We made acquaintance with another of the Sultan's subjects, who, I
fear, will have occasion to doubt of the honour of the English
nation, after the foul treachery with which he was treated.
Among the occupiers of the little bazaar matchboxes, vendors of
embroidered handkerchiefs and other articles of showy Eastern
haberdashery, was a good-looking neat young fellow, who spoke
English very fluently, and was particularly attentive to all the
passengers on board our ship. This gentleman was not only a
pocket-handkerchief merchant in the bazaar, but earned a further
livelihood by letting out mules and donkeys; and he kept a small
lodging-house, or inn, for travellers, as we were informed.
No wonder he spoke good English, and was exceedingly polite and
well-bred; for the worthy man had passed some time in England, and
in the best society too. That humble haberdasher at Beyrout had
been a lion here, at the very best houses of the great people, and
had actually made his appearance at Windsor, where he was received
as a Syrian Prince, and treated with great hospitality by Royalty
itself.
I don't know what waggish propensity moved one of the officers of
the "Trump" to say that there was an equerry of His Royal Highness
the Prince on board, and to point me out as the dignified personage
in question. So the Syrian Prince was introduced to the R
oyal
equerry, and a great many compliments passed between us. I even
had the audacity to state that on my very last interview with my
Royal master, His Royal Highness had said, "Colonel Titmarsh, when
you go to Beyrout, you will make special inquiries regarding my
interesting friend Cogia Hassan."
Poor Cogia Hassan (I forget whether that was his name, but it is as
good as another) was overpowered with this Royal message; and we
had an intimate conversation together, at which the waggish officer
of the "Trump" assisted with the greatest glee.
But see the consequences of deceit! The next day, as we were
getting under way, who should come on board but my friend the
Syrian Prince, most eager for a last interview with the Windsor
equerry; and he begged me to carry his protestations of unalterable
fidelity to the gracious consort of Her Majesty. Nor was this all.
Cogia Hassan actually produced a great box of sweetmeats, of which
he begged my Excellency to accept, and a little figure of a doll
dressed in the costume of Lebanon. Then the punishment of
imposture began to be felt severely by me. How to accept the poor
devil's sweetmeats? How to refuse them? And as we know that one
fib leads to another, so I was obliged to support the first
falsehood by another; and putting on a dignified air--"Cogia
Hassan," says I, "I am surprised you don't know the habits of the
British Court better, and are not aware that our gracious master
solemnly forbids his servants to accept any sort of backsheesh upon
our travels."
So Prince Cogia Hassan went over the side with his chest of
sweetmeats, but insisted on leaving the doll, which may be worth
twopence-halfpenny; of which, and of the costume of the women of
Lebanon, the following is an accurate likeness:-
CHAPTER XI: A DAY AND NIGHT IN SYRIA
When, after being for five whole weeks at sea, with a general
belief that at the end of a few days the marine malady leaves you
for good, you find that a brisk wind and a heavy rolling swell
create exactly the same inward effects which they occasioned at the
very commencement of the voyage--you begin to fancy that you are
unfairly dealt with: and I, for my part, had thought of
complaining to the Company of this atrocious violation of the rules
of their prospectus; but we were perpetually coming to anchor in
various ports, at which intervals of peace and good-humour were
restored to us.
On the 3rd of October our cable rushed with a huge rattle into the
blue sea before Jaffa, at a distance of considerably more than a
mile off the town, which lay before us very clear, with the flags
of the consuls flaring in the bright sky and making a cheerful and
hospitable show. The houses a great heap of sun-baked stones,
surmounted here and there by minarets and countless little
whitewashed domes; a few date-trees spread out their fan-like heads
over these dull-looking buildings; long sands stretched away on
either side, with low purple hills behind them; we could see specks
of camels crawling over these yellow plains; and those persons who
were about to land had the leisure to behold the sea-spray flashing
over the sands, and over a heap of black rocks which lie before the
entry to the town. The swell is very great, the passage between
the rocks narrow, and the danger sometimes considerable. So the
guide began to entertain the ladies and other passengers in the
huge country boat which brought us from the steamer with an
agreeable story of a lieutenant and eight seamen of one of Her
Majesty's ships, who were upset, dashed to pieces, and drowned upon
these rocks, through which two men and two boys, with a very
moderate portion of clothing, each standing and pulling half an
oar--there were but two oars between them, and another by way of
rudder--were endeavouring to guide us.
When the danger of the rocks and surf was passed, came another
danger of the hideous brutes in brown skins and the briefest
Sketches and Travels in London Page 12