\ Division D £> \ 0 { Section .3 • £ 36 V.l Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/undersyriansunle01inch_0 UNDER THE SYRIAN SUN VOL. I A FEW PRESS NOTICES ON MR. STANLEY INCHBOLD S PICTURES Literary World. —“We do not remember to have seen before any such attempt as Mr. Inchbold makes to represent the wonderful variety of continually changing colour that is peculiar to the Holy Land. Though these water colours have their purely artistic value, they are specially interesting because of the vivid and sympathetic way in which they represent the cities and landscape of Palestine.” Morning Post. —“ The water-colour drawings of Mr. Stanley Inchbold at the Fine Art Society take cognisance of early morning, noon, and evening so satisfactorily that it follows as a matter of course their colour is capably regulated, while the wealth of detail has been guided by endeavour to be accurate and at the same time to prevent items from being unduly demonstrative.” Globe. —“ An artist with more than ordinary observa¬ tion. He has succeeded admirably in recording the pecu¬ liar character of the country.” World. —“ Mr. Stanley Inchbold is particularly suc¬ cessful in rendering the clear white light of an Oriental day, and his sunsets are as gorgeous as Eastern sunsets should be.” Gentlewoman —“ It is in his treatment of light and shade and atmosphere on landscape and sea-scape, com¬ bined with poetry of feeling rendered with certainty of touch and masterly execution, that Mr. Stanley Inchbold’s strength as a water-colour artist lies.” UNDER THE SYRIAN SUN THE LEBANON, 'BAALBEK GALILEE , AND JUDAEA By A. C. INCHBOLD Author of “Phantasma,” “Princess Feather,” “The Silver Dove,” etc. WITH 4O FULL-PAGE COLOURED PLATES AND 8 BLACK-AND-WHITE DRAWINGS BY STANLEY INCHBOLD Vol. I PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. 1907 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN ' * CONTENTS VOL. I CHAPTER I PAGE FROM THE SEA TO THE MOUNTAINS OF LEBANON . . I CHAPTER II SOME CHILDREN OF THE LEBANON l6 CHAPTER III THE TRANSLATION OF THE DRUSE SHEIKH . . -31 CHAPTER IV VISITS OF CEREMONY AND A PERENNIAL CUSTOM . . 47 CHAPTER V THE SPRING OF REFRESHMENT. 59 CHAPTER VI A SECRET RELIGION.67 v VI Contents CHAPTER VII PAGE BARUK CEDARS.85 CHAPTER VIII PILGRIMS OF THE CHURCH OF THE FUTURE . . 95 CHAPTER IX A DRUSE WEDDING.108 CHAPTER X THE CEDARS OF AINZAHALTA AND THE PLAIN OF THE BEKAA. 122 CHAPTER XI THE CITY OF THE SUN. 137 CHAPTER XII BAALBEK. 154 CHAPTER XIII DAY OF RAISING THE KEYSTONE OF THE GREAT PORTAL OF THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER .... I74 CHAPTER XIV LEX TALIONIS AND THE BATTLE OF THE WINDS . l86 Contents CHAPTER XV THE ROOTS OF LEBANON .... CHAPTER XVI LORD OF THE DANCING FESTIVALS CHAPTER XVII THE BROW OF CARMEL AND ITS MONASTERY CHAPTER XVIII OLD AND MODERN HAIFA .... CHAPTER XIX • • VII PAGE . 199 . 210 . 221 • 233 FLOWERS OF THE PLAINS OF GALILEE . 247 ILLUSTRATIONS VOL. I COLOURED PLATES SYRIAN SHEPHERD BOY Frontispiece FACING PAGE THE VILLAGE OF AINZAHALTA. SUNSET IN THE LEBANON : DJEBEL BARLk GOATHERD OF THE LEBANON ...... CEDARS OF LEBANON ....... SYRIAN WOMAN OF THE HAURAN ..... DRUSE WOMAN OF MOUNT LEBANON .... THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA FROM THE MOUNTAINS OF LEBANON RELICS OF THE GREAT TEMPLE OF THE SUN . BAALBEK FROM ANTI-LEBANON ..... GREAT PORTAL OF THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER . RUINS OF THE ACROPOLIS, BAALBEK .... SOUTH PERISTYLE OF THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER THE TEMPLE OF VENUS, BAALBEK ..... THE RAS-EL-METN ........ A ROCKY HEIGHT OF MOUNT LEBANON .... SUNSET OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN, FROM MOUNT CARMEL THE CITY OF TIBERIUS ....... GALILEE : FLOWERS NEAR KARN HATTIN WITHIN THE WALLS OF TIBERIUS ..... 6 18 62 88 100 114 126 134 144 152 162 178 180 202 214 224 248 254 260 * BLACK-AND-WHITE PLATES DRUSE TOMB, MOUNT LEBANON ..... A DRUSE WITH HIS SILKWORM COCOONS .... THE COLOSSAL STONE IN THE ANCIENT QUARRY, BAALBEK A DRUSE HOUSE, MOUNT LEBANON. 42 54 140 i90> Vlll UNDER THE SYRIAN SUN CHAPTER I FROM THE SEA TO THE MOUNTAINS OF LEE ANON T he sight of the mountains of Lebanon from the sea was a revelation. The sea itself was the colour of lapis-lazuli, the sky of turquoise-blue. Between sea and sky the mountains rose and receded, ridge upon ridge of atmospheric spectral appearance showing, as through a transparency, the markings of forest and chasm, the villages and towns lying snugly on the slopes, or remote on the distant peaks of the various hill-ranges. Their beauty of form remains ever mysterious and wraith-like, whether veiled by the sunlight in an atmosphere of delicate shades of lavender and pallid greys, or transmuted by the setting sun to the colouring of amethyst and rosy pink, while the sea, as if in worship at their feet, deepens from rose to the ruby hue of wine. VOL. i i 2 Under the Syrian Sun The wind was so strong off Beyrout that an hour slipped away in making attempt to anchor. We had to steam out to sea again, and then return to leeward under the quay, instead of anchoring as usual within the harbour. The boats that swarmed to the ship’s side seemed precariously small in comparison with the Jaffa boats, scarcely equal to the double task of conveying passengers and baggage in a stiff breeze the distance of half a mile to the landing-stage. The customs were no longer a sinecure—that is to say, a matter of discreet backsheesh administered at the psychological moment. One of the perennial telegrams from headquarters at the Sublime Porte had been received, giving warning of the attempted smuggling of contra¬ band arms into the Lebanon. Everything belonging to anybody and everybody, with no respecting of persons, was examined with the maximum of fuss and noise. The whole place was like a bear-garden in conjunction with the shrill chatter of the monkey-house. It was only by exercise of our most skilful diplomacy that we escaped leaving our typewriter in the grip of these energetic netters for the Turkish revenue. At last we drove off to our pension, a charming house with a garden in which we dined later under the trees. The breeze of the afternoon had dwindled towards sunset into a languid zephyr, deliciously cool after the blazing heat, and laden with perfumes of the flowering shrubs and trees. Of Beyrout itself upon that visit we received no more than the fleeting impression of a drive by moonlight through the shadowed streets, The Mountains of Lebanon 3 past the closed bazaars, the open-air cafes, and the fine residential houses of the suburbs, which we left behind before reaching the pines on the Damascus road, a favourite corso in Beyrout for riding and driving. July had begun. The town was deserted by all who could fly from the vapoury heat of the plains to the hill districts, where the air is dry though often intensely hot. Accommodation in the highlands of Lebanon is improving and increasing yearly. It was early morning, barely six o’clock, when we drove out to the first station on the Beyrout-to-Damascus railroad in order to avoid the worry of renewed official research in our baggage at the terminus. The drive wound through the suburbs and out towards the foot¬ hills of Lebanon in gradual ascent, with mulberry-groves, pines, and luxuriant growth of fruit trees and shrubs of all kinds spreading right and left of the dusty roads. The train journey was a continual climb, the railway mounting by rack and pinion like many an Alpine one, three or four miles between the stations, a distance that required the space of twenty minutes or half an hour to cover. Over and around, height upon height we climbed, passing terraced hill-slopes of vine or mulberry, gazing into the remote depths of a mountain gorge, at every turn taken by surprise with glimpses of tiny villages perched on apparently inaccessible hill-summits or pre¬ cipitous cliff-side. And always the sea, “ the deeply, beautifully blue ” sea, and the glorious plains spread out below in their full beauty of dazzling light, or revealed in magic peeps through fissures in the hillsides. 4 Under the Syrian Sun Half-way to Damascus we alighted from the train at the station of Ain Sofar, almost the highest point of the railway at an elevation of some 4,000 feet above sea-level. Opposite the station stood a large hotel, originally built as a speculation, with the laudable object in view of making Ain Sofar the Monte Carlo of the Lebanon, and, in fact, of the whole of the nearer East. For some time after it was opened every effort was made to render the summer season spent there a fashionable casino life with petits chevaux , roulette, and cards. Though the play, as far as the petits chevaux gambling was concerned, had been stopped by a special irade of the Turkish Government, the hotel was, and still is, a fashionable resort for the gay and wealthy folk of Beyrout, Egyptians, and rich Syrians generally. It is a spot where the most incongruous contrasts of Parisian or Viennese fashions, with mountain scenery of the ruggedest descrip¬ tion, and the native life of Lebanon peasant or nomadic Bedawin, are continually in opposition. So marked is it at times as to present a spectacle at once ridiculous and lamentable. We passed the modern caravanserai of many stories and staring windows, its chief outward attraction the magnificent prospect of mountain scenery and plain from the terrace, and went on to a small native locanda, for we shunned the shadow of Western Philistinism on the heights of these beautiful mountains. Tea was our first refreshment, for it was a baking day, the beginning of a burning sirocco that endured for three days. Then we rested, with an interval for lunch, until three o’clock, The Mountains of Lebanon 5 by which time the carriages were ready for our drive to a highland village some ten miles away. The road had only just been finished, by express order of the governor of the Lebanon, in time for the arrival of the British Consul-General, who was going to spend the summer months of this year at the same Lebanon village. The highway was still very much in the rough, and, in part of the drive, entirely blocked with huge stones which the natives, at work building a parapet to safeguard a dangerous bend in the road, had to remove before the carriage with its team of three horses abreast was able to proceed. The glare occasioned by the sirocco heat was excessive, for the rough, rocky environment was singularly bare, and destitute of shade, with very few trees scattered scantily on the mountain-sides. About two hours before reaching our highland village it came into view, perched on a hill at apparently no great distance, with a back¬ ground of other hills rising high above, and the flat, quadrangular roofs mounting like terraces near and over one another, presenting the effect of a castellated height. Between us, however, and our desired haven was fixed the great gulf, in the form of a broad and ex¬ ceedingly deep ravine through which purled a Lebanon stream, spreading the green fertility in its wake that was lacking to the grey aridity of the exposed heights. The precipitous hillside, climbing up to our right, was covered with small pines, less dense and more straggling, but similar to those on an Italian slope. 6 Under the Syrian Sun It is these hidden beauties of the Lebanon, bursting suddenly upon one, in contrast with the scanty vegetation of the limestone heights, that constitute one of the chief charms to the traveller. Even to the mere passer-by there is a fascination that urges nearer investigation, but leisure and opportunity, mothered by the spirit of soli¬ tude, are the guides which best conduct to close know¬ ledge of the wealth and beauty constituting the full glory of Lebanon. The road proceeded for some distance on the brink of this beautiful wadi, but then descended by a slow and winding gradient, with pines and undergrowth on either side, to its depths, passed over a bridge spanning the river, and then zigzagged upwards with many a pre¬ cipitous corner, for a mile or more, to the plateau crowned with the nest of Druse and Maronite houses. Mulberry-groves on terraces and in small plantations grew everywhere around the village, and between the sun-bleached roofs. Here, as on the lower slopes of Lebanon, were whole acres laid out with the “ spreading vine of low stature,” terrace upon terrace in luxuriant fertility. The locanda 1 was of recent completion, reached from the high-road on foot, by a path so rocky as to be difficult to climb. A yard, bare, stony, and strictly unadorned except by a leafy booth, stretched in front of the house, which was constructed in Syrian fashion, with the pillared entrance above a flight of steps, doors to the left and right, and a second entrance into the lewan, lined by the 1 Small hotel. The Mountains of Lebanon 7 bedrooms of the summer visitors. The balcony of the lewan, extending along the glass front, overlooked the village and the amphitheatre of hills surrounding it. Exactly opposite, rising from the further side of the concealed wadi from which we had climbed, rose a hill of conical shape with a flattened summit. Clouds were heaped above it, grey but luminous with light, the outer edges white against the sky ; right over the hill they cast an all-embracing shade, while the hill- range beyond was pale yellow and delicate in the sunlight. Over the bosomed outline of a more distant mountain chain cloud-shadows passed, melting into fresh forms the lower the sun dropped towards the western horizon. The hill of shadow looming across the ravine stood out ominous and dark against the sunlit background. Pine-trees were darkly outlined on the summit which, according to imparted information, had been levelled artificially at one period. It was a hill of worship, where secret rites of unknown nature were supposed once to have been held regularly by the Druses. This village of Ainzahalta was, strictly speaking, a Druse village, though there was also a community of Maronites who had a church of their own on the spot. They lived peaceably enough together, though never intermarrying, and interchanged many ceremonious com¬ plaisances in spite of their religious antagonism, such as assisting in the jubilations of the marriage festival or the cries of lament over a dead body. The smartest of the Druse men wore full white pantaloons of the usual Oriental kind, an embroidered 8 Under the Syrian Sun vest, and a coloured or plain zouave ; over the whole, when considered essential, a black abbai or haik. Their forehead and head were bound by a snow-white fillet, placed in close folds, not voluminous like the Moslem turban. Their general aspect was one of strict cleanliness, and superior, independent bearing. The workers in the fields or with the silkworm industry adopt a more negligee costume, as can be observed in the drawing of one who is seen busily engaged in his work. The feminine dress had also a distinction of its own in the full dark blue shirt drooping to the ankles, and the close-fitting but open bodice which discloses the folded chemisette of muslin to the waist, and is there drawn in to fit the lines of the figure with silver or metal clasps, generally of massive work. On the head is worn no longer the high horn formerly associated with the Druse national costume, but simply the long white veil of the ordinary Syrian woman, allowed to float freely over the shoulders to the knees with graceful effect, unless when in view of the opposite sex. When taken unawares on these occasions, the face is swiftly veiled, with the exception of one mellow, bewitching eye. For the Druse women have beauty of a marked, even distinguished type. The Maronite man will don, instead of the snowy fillet, a coloured scarf tied carelessly round his head, and sometimes the ordinary keffiyeh. His pantaloons are generally blue, and his coat, striped in colour, hangs loose to the knee. The Maronite women do not always wear the white veil, and being Christians their The Mountains of Lebanon 9 faces are uncovered, but they cover their hair with a coloured mandeel, sometimes elaborately worked, or if somewhat superior to their neighbours, with a black lace scarf. These details are not only applicable to the one village but to the majority of hamlets in the highlands and lowlands of Lebanon. Even in this remote spot one of the British Missions had planted a station of work. The house was within a stone’s throw of the locanda, and boasted of a pleasant garden, graced by the refreshing shadow of two magnificent walnut-trees, under which, by the kind courtesy of the two ladies in residence, we were often allowed to enjoy the luxury of a few cool hours. The villagers were awaiting with no small degree of excitement the arrival of the British Consul-General, Mr. Drummond Hay (now Sir Robert Drummond Hay), and making every preparation to receive him and his family with every honour they could demonstrate, in accordance with national custom. The house to which the visitors were coming—divided only by a small mulberry plantation from the locanda—was frequently invaded on the eventful day of arrival by natives eager to give voluntary help in the preparations. The flight of steps conducting to the entrance if swept down once that morning was done a dozen times ; the railings and the portal were festooned with branches of the poplar and pine trees of the vicinity. Guns were let off at any moment, and at any corner of the village, or even under the windows, keeping every one in continual stir and start. 1 was VOL. i ‘ 2 IO Under the Syrian Sun sitting with a fellow-guest in the booth at the end of the courtyard overlooking the road when a shot whizzed through the fading foliage overhead. Coming out in haste we saw that the aggressors, a party of villagers who had taken their stand in the yard to test their weapons, were advancing towards the booth in some trepidation. “ What is the meaning of this ? Such recklessness is unpleasant,” we made remonstrance in dumb speech that signified its own amazement. One of the men, of picturesque and martial bearing, came up to me with his gun in his hand, and pointed significantly to the trigger. tc Inghilterra ! ” he said in a pleading voice. “ Inghil- terra ! ” He was trying hard to convey to us the idea that they were doing it all for England’s sake. And this was true, for the Druses bear a particular goodwill to England and all that is English. Their reasons for cultivating this favourable attitude will explain themselves as their character and the nature of their religious belief become further disclosed. Early in the afternoon a single gun was suddenly fired, and then arose promptly the slow chanting of men’s voices in strains that appeared to ring the various modulations of three notes only. Down the road leading away from the Consul’s house, where they had been gradually collecting, marched at their ease a body of men in native gala costume, all singing, with guns in their hands, and shooting at random into the air, an accompanying salute to their songs of welcome. The Mountains of Lebanon 11 The sky was tropical, the air filled to stifling with sirocco fumes, which, circulating in slight breezes, set the poplars lining the road in motion, sending flickering sheen from their slim tree-tops to the grey of their silvery stems. The mountain-sides radiated a great heat, while the new-looking tiled roof across the mulberry- grove blazed to scarlet in the glare of the sunlight. The predominant colourings, blue and red, of the men’s costumes stood out in brilliant relief against the thick¬ leaved battalions of the dwarf mulberry-trees planted in the rich, reddish soil. Through the trees wended in and out figures of women in their blue skirts and long veils. Here and there in silhouette against the blue sky a figure stood out on a house-top, while others of the villagers grouped themselves like birds on the walls that banked the paths and road. The men were on their way to the bridge at the foot of the hill, where, in the wayside khan, and by the mill where the stream rushes with the vivaciousness of champagne through the arches into an eddying pool, they intended to keep watch and bid their favourite Consul welcome to their mountain home. Towards evening they returned in triumph and continued the festivities of welcome until midnight. Bonfires were lighted and dancing was in progress for many hours before the Consul’s dwelling, and later in the courtyard of the locanda for the entertainment of the visitors from u Inghilterra.” In the deep wadi at the foot of the hill one met with the strangest contrasts at every turn, of wild 12 Under the Syrian Sun Lebanon scenery and sweet sylvan nooks of a typically English nature. And what was seen in one deep valley or narrow canon was characteristic of all in a more or less wild and natural degree, according to accessibility and the proximity of habitations. Here would be seen a rolling cragside scattered with boulders, and overgrown with rhododendrons, trees and bushes of them, wherever was to be found the smallest sustenance for their roots. Oleanders clustered near the water, their roses fresh and glowing in the cool recesses of the mountain, even beneath the ardour of an August or September sun. Here was a Syrian mill, quaint and even picturesque, worked by a stream diverted from the river ; higher up the river yet another came to view with a curious rustic bridge slung from one side of the water to the other. It was strange and delightful to find such a number of romantic spots hidden away between the cliffs. Baby brooks slipped unexpectedly into view from narrow passages in the rocks, tempting one to turn aside and trace them to their source. I scrambled over the water to a large stone in the middle of one stream which I had tracked from the place of its union with the river, and this is what I saw. A sturdy little spring gurgled out of the rocks at the foot of a high background of tangled greenery, moss, and creepers hanging in festoons. Like quicksilver playing and glittering it fell in a tiny whirlpool which spread and merged into a mellow-voiced, limpid stream, deeply ensconced between high barriers of precipitous The Mountains of Lebanon i3 cliffs of rich and varied hues. For in Mount Lebanon as well as the limestone formations there is also a sand¬ stone formation of reddish and yellow hue, with a certain amount of iron ore and iron pyrites upon clay beds. The colours of the rocks were often of great beauty, and the effect of sunlight or the sunset glow upon many of the cragsides near Ainzahalta dyed the whole into a full gamut of glowing colours. However, the undersurface of stony soil and rock in this little home of the stream was clothed and even concealed by ferns, moss, and undergrowth of every variety of soft-hued greens and greys, already displaying delicate suggestions of autumn tints. Dainty tendrils flung caressing feelers round the fallen bare branches of an uprooted sapling which stretched across the stream from one bank to the other. Summer insects had spun innumerable webs which bound leaves and stems under a spell of apparent enchantment, until winter frost or snow would bring all to a swift death. A broad band of moss ran like a living ribbon up from the bed-rock of the brook to the root of a tree growing out from the cliff near the summit. The grey trunk grew downward in inverted position for several feet, then suddenly curved out over the stream and shot erect, spreading into small tufted branches of light- toned foliage, aspiring skyward. By the water edge grew a cluster of purple campanula. A solitary sister was growing higher up the rock, where emerald fronds of maidenhair lifted their dainty stems from a bed of glistening, water-sprinkled moss. 14 Under the Syrian Sun The opposite bank was edged thickly with the ever¬ green of the rhododendron. Great clusters of healthy osmundas, displaying a redundance as luxuriant as bracken on a Welsh hillside, wandered up the rock or bent to the mirror of water below. The tranquil rock, lying so demurely under its veil of green, burst beyond it into joyous waves over a rocky bed, and then slipped in swift concentrated current to a hollow in the rock, smooth and bevelled with the never-ceasing flow. In splashing content it sprang over step after step of rock, slipping between the stones, forming here a crystal pool with pebbled depth, and there a miniature cascade. Overhead where the trees concealed it from view, the sky peeped through with clear blue eye only where the effect of summer heat and autumn rime had already worked havoc in the leafy boughs ; for spring is late and autumn premature in these rocky fastnesses of Lebanon. A little bird darted from side to side in blissful in¬ decision ; there were so many tempting springs to try, such myriads of tantalising sunbeams to catch and water- flies to chase. High on the brink of the nearest crag stood a pine-tree, isolated, but cheerily green and fruitful. Lower down the main stream another little burn from the opposite side of the valley came hurrying to join it. Near the meeting of the waters its banks were lined with willows, shot with sheen of silver and grey. A low native house with a mulberry plantation were divided from each other by the brook. The house was of two low stories, flat-roofed, the first story or foundation The Mountains of Lebanon i5 affording stabling at night for the animals, a horse and mule, which were tethered to posts beneath the willows close to the little khan. A modern water-wheel, with light-painted wood of an aggressive crudeness, turned on its axis between two barriers, now lazily, now swiftly, the water splashing and rushing with corresponding unequal rhythm. The current rippled merrily away between the narrow banks under a rough stone causeway flung carelessly across. It bent with serpentine curves, as if seeking an egress, then with sudden energy the waters expanded into a spreading pool which overflowed the broken masonry of the mill- bank in leaping rivulets finding its home in the river at last. CHAPTER II SOME CHILDREN OF THE LEBANON T RAVELLING, until quite recent years, was attended by so many difficulties in Syria, that only those who united enthusiasm with love of exploration ever attempted it, except by the safest and best-known routes. Fifty years ago there were practically no roads, only beaten tracks leading from place to place over the natural soil, or unbroken strata of bare rock. Roads were, indeed, hardly needed, for wheeled vehicles of the simplest nature were then unknown in the country, the mode of conveyance for man and traffic being necessarily by camel, horse, donkey or mule. Perhaps the worst and most arduous district to penetrate on this account was the mountainous Lebanon. The railroad from Beyrout to Damascus has only been constructed twelve years. The diligence road, beside which it winds for the greater part of the way, leading up to the highest passes and down to the plain of the Bekaa, was built by the French during their occupation of the Lebanon after the tragedy of i860, and thus gives a date to the introduction of wheeled vehicles. It was the visit of the German Emperor some 16 Some Children of the Lebanon 17 years ago that gave a tremendous spurt to road-making in Syria. As in the days of old, so in the present time, the rough places are made plain, the crooked paths straight, and roads prepared even through the wilderness, when Oriental authorities in high places are making ready to welcome the visit of a great king or dignitary. In every way that is in their power they seek to facilitate his progress through their own dominion, even to making roads where roads have never been made before. Much of this labour was expended in vain, for a sirocco of the rare duration of twenty-one days also gave welcome to the Imperial travellers directly they set foot on the shores of the Levant. Travelling became so painful a pleasure under these conditions that the visit had to be summarily curtailed. Several of the roads in readiness were never entered upon at all, and have since fallen into entire disuse. However, the necessary impulse once given seems to have worked effects elsewhere, for at present no better carriage roads than those in the district of Lebanon are to be found in all Syria. This is only by way of explanation before stating that the new road, only just completed between Ain Sofar and Ainzahalta, and on which we were presumably the first travellers by carriage, after winding round the village, continued, with many bends, to ascend the hillside beyond. The steep declivity to the left was barred- by a low parapet of great stones which did not hide the depth of the mountain fissure beneath, nor the opposite crag with its remarkable strata and massed vol. 1 3 18 Under the Syrian Sun debris of brilliantly hued rocks, the vestiges of some pre-historic volcanic eruption. The summit was crowned with a small forest of pines, among which in summer-time open-air life could be enjoyed to perfection under conditions of ease and good fare, and having for a continual feast of aesthetic pleasure the wild, romantic beauty of a vast panorama. The proprietors of the colony of tents, established every summer between the pines, were Syrians, and thoroughly understood the art of making the c< simple life ” on the heights of Lebanon, an experience which, once tasted by their guests, was generally repeated in succeeding seasons. The carriage road descended by short, steep curves to the valley of the Baruk on the other side of the hill, and continued as far as Bet-ed-Din, the summer quarters of the Governor of the Lebanon. His castle, with its colonnades, courts, fountains, and beautiful gardens, is a restored palace of Emir Beshir, of the noted Shehaab family, who was chief sheikh of the Druses at the time of the French invasion of Syria under Napoleon Bonaparte, and who, after Djezzar Pasha’s death, allied himself with the English for a time, with the political aim in view of freeing his territory from the power of'the pashas. The ambitions and vicissi¬ tudes of this emir’s career are surprising enough to fill a book of themselves, and cannot be enlarged upon here. Naoum Pasha, the Governor who had caused this new road to be constructed, with the object of connecting Sunset in the Lebanon : Djebel Baruk. Some Children of the Lebanon ig his summer seat of government with the railroad at Ain Sofar, was an Armenian by birth. He was also a Christian. Since the tragedy of the Christian massacre in Damascus and the Lebanon in i860, when Europe interfered in the affairs of Turkey, the whole Lebanon district, exclusive of the town of Beyrout, has been an independent sanjak of which the Governor is required to be of the Christian religion, and his appointment sanctioned by the six Powers. Naoum Pasha, whom we had the opportunity of meeting with his wife on several occasions at the Consul’s house, was a tall, fair- bearded man of good presence ; he was in his tenth year of office, having been re-elected at the end of the first five years. His wife, the daughter of a former pasha and governor, was of striking appearance, tall and dignified, with an abundance of auburn hair coiffed in the latest mode. She was a cultured woman, possessed great savoir-faire , and, like the majority of Syrian ladies, spoke French with facility. Visitors to the high altitudes of the Lebanon are apt to flag upon their first arrival, until they have had time to become accustomed to the change of climate and rarefied air. Some people take at least a fortnight to get used to both. We recovered from the effects of the sirocco, and the journey in the intense heat in less than a week, and then started one day, in the cool of the morning, to visit the villages of Baruk and El Fureidis, situated some miles distant near the highroad to Bet-ed-Din. 20 Under the Syrian Sun The ladies in residence at the mission-house divided their labours, the one acting as hakim 1 to the village and vicinity, the other visiting the schools of villages far and near. The latter was an enthusiastic walker, knowing the neighbourhood well, and was thoroughly fearless. Under her kind guidance, we started on foot, followed by a donkey and muleteer, carrying provisions for the day, and the necessary sketching gear for the artist. The way conducted through vineyards, laid out in terraces on the mountain-side, until gradually the ridge of the hill was gained, and we touched upon a broken track, which dipped over the opposite side of the same hill down to the hamlet of El Fureidis (Paradise), clinging to the steep side of the slope. The valley beneath showed a luxuriant vegetation of mulberry plantations and vines, through which meandered the River Baruk, artificially divided into three streams for purposes of irrigating the whole of that fertile bed. Across the valley was the village of Baruk, built terrace¬ like with the flat gleaming roofs rising one above the other. Far up the towering mountain background was visible in miniature the dark outline of one grove of the only cedars that are now remaining of all the abundance of Lebanon’s famous forests. Another small group still remains on the hills above Ainzahalta ; the third and most frequently visited are those on Djebel-el-Arz (Hill of Cedars), 6,000 feet above the level of the 1 Doctor. Some Children of the Lebanon 21 sea, and easily reached from Baalbek. With the first glimpse of the remnant of those vast woods, which had once covered the whole mountain-range, we formed a firm resolve to climb the steep hill to the summit and see them at near view. Stepping from the brilliant sunshine into the dim, cool interior of the little school-house, the eye had to accustom itself to the subdued light. The floor was earthen, hollowed and hillocked by age and use into compact cement ; the ceiling of the room consisted of dark timber beams, formed of complete trunks of trees. Two stout plaster pillars, rugged and irregular in shape, divided the long, narrow room, and fitted in between the beams overhead, their grey hue striking the eye as white in contrast with the seasoned beams. The tall figure of the native teacher advanced to meet us, his strong dark face breaking into a smile of radiant welcome. He wore the ordinary fez and full pantaloons with a coat. Now the eye, accustomed to the change of light, distinguished first a long row of little bare toes, and then the sparkling interested gaze of small figures, squatting on the matting against two of the walls. Little figures clad in blue, and red, and white ; little faces, deeply bronzed and delicately fair ; little heads, with brown or black hair, curly or straight; little faces, bright and intelligent, shining with the fire of an ardent, delightful curiosity. Between the plaster pillars a table stood in retreat, facing a low doorway with sides which showed the 22 Under the Syrian Sun thickness of the house walls, and the bright green foliage of the mulberry-trees in the sunshine without. Dark and intense in contrast stood out the figures on either side of the open door. And now the stalwart teacher marshalled forward a class of boys to face the table. The visitor opened the Bible, and every scholar read a verse in his turn, and when the passage was finished, question was put and answer received, the teacher standing at hand ready to prompt and support his pupils. The verve and personal influence of their examiner roused thought and intelligence in the class. While they still stood before the table giving no eye to any but the one face confronting them, there suddenly appeared, framed in the open doorway, a tiny black-eyed maiden in blue, an older girl peeping round the corner. The little one stood open-eyed and wondering in heart- whole enjoyment of the scene, while the big girl was shy and horribly afraid of being caught peeping. Then of a sudden the entrance became crowded with draped, veiled figures of women. The news had spread that strangers, who had never been to the school before, were there with the well-known visitor, and none could resist coming to verify report with their own eyes. Girls stepped inside the room, and, emboldened by the sight, in came our donkey-boy, and, unabashed, squatted on the floor in the most conspicuous spot he could find. The first class stepped aside to make place for a second section of lads who read aloud from primers Some Children of the Lebanon 23 and the ever-young and enduring Peep of Day. In the shadow of the great mountains of Lebanon, visible through the front entrance, the rapt little turbaned faces bent over their book at the chapter speaking of the story of Joseph, just such a lad as one of themselves, their lips moving silently to the slow rhythm of the one who was reading aloud. Though the majority of the boys wore the red, or a white close-fitting cap, the head-covering highly favoured by all was an ordinary black straw hat, ancient and ragged, and that seemed to belong to all and no one in particular. Surreptitiously it passed from one hand to the other, that every one might experience in turn the gratification and privilege of wearing a covering so unique, and totally different from the jejune, everyday cap. From El Fureidis we descended— “ To see the green plants of the valley, To see whether the vine budded, And the pomegranates were in flower— To see the flowing streams from Lebanon.’’ We wandered along the river bank until we came to a green island, shaded by tall and thickly leaved willows, and there we sat us down to eat what con¬ stituted our c< precious fruits,” the goodly lunch provided for us. Said, our muleteer, with a little help, built a small wood fire between the stones to boil water for the inevitable tea, as much prized by the Arabs— when they can get it—as by an ordinary English dame. The word “ tschai is a magic word, conjuring up a 24 Under the Syrian Sun smile of delectable anticipation, and unlimited exertion from the most languid of Syrians in preparation of the necessary fuel at any time or season. As we sat down under the trees, in the midst of a veritable garden of green, a Druse spied us out, and crossed the stream to make our near acquaintance, and sit in friendly commune with the Inglizi visitors, always attractive to his race. For, as was stated before, one and all of the Druses bear in their hearts a lofty notion of the important position held by the English nation among the nations of the world. Falling in with the custom of the country at once, we invited him to join the repast, an invitation in which he ac¬ quiesced with a cheerful alacrity and many salaams of gratitude. It is undeniable that he proved to be a very hungry Druse, and he was grateful too, for with vehement speech and gesture he urged us to come with him and partake of hospitality beneath his roof, where he hoped, in the name of Allah, that we would also remain for the night. The martial character and independent spirit of the Druses make all take a lively interest in the world’s politics and wars totally unconnected with their own government. This man was insatiable in his demand for information concerning the late Boer war, and boasted of the number of Lebanon Druses who at a single word from the English monarch would set out in their tens of thousands to fight for his cause against the world. We left him to discuss the affairs of the universe Some Children of the Lebanon 25 with the artist, whom he had conveyed pick-a-back across the stream within sketching distance of a flock of black- fleeced goats with their herd, and set out for the schools of Baruk. One feat of supererogation awaited me on the way that was quite unforeseen. The river remained between us and our goal, and unless we undertook a lengthened walk, for which time and the heat scarcely provided, there was no means of crossing to the other side except upon the rocky, streaming ridge of a small weir. My companion, an adept in Lebanon climbing, crossed with comparative ease, but alack ! for me there was no alternative but to take off stockings and shoes and wade knee-deep through the water. The icy cold¬ ness of that River Baruk was not readily forgotten, for it left the undesirable legacy of a severe cold, to which I allude on the simple score of warning to others not to go and do likewise in the quite tropical heat of a midsummer day in the Lebanon. After a long walk through a labyrinth of stony paths, rough as the pebbled beds of a mountain torrent, we reached the school with its fifty scholars, big and small boys. The variety of costume was here more marked, tunics of old faded colours, striped red and white, or dark and light blue. Over these some of the boys wore embroidered zouave coats in black, brilliant orange, or plain white. Their headgear varied from the plain red skull-cap to caps of black astrachan, white wool, and velvet figured with silver. Bare feet alternated with old shoes and slippers displaying the bare feet thrust within. VOL. 1 4 26 Under the Syrian Sun The types of faces were extraordinarily diverse. There were grey eyes, and deep lustrous eyes. The grey-eyed had small chins and delicate features. The brown eyes were set in faces of a rounder, more solid cast, but brimful of intelligence. There were nervous, thin little faces, too, among them, with sweet dark eyes of mercurial activity and finely pointed chins. A Druse sheikh followed us in from the village path, and took a chair by my side without waiting for an invitation or permission to be present. From time to time he turned solemn looks of inquiry through a pair of huge, brass-framed spectacles, upon the Inglizi visitor to the school, more especially when anxious to note the impression made by his son’s erudition displayed in reading English from the primer. His son, by the way, was already a shoemaker, and though then an ex-member of the school, had hastened to leave his occupation— doubtless at the father’s bidding—and hurry within to take a proud share in the examination and reading of his comrades. For this special village of Baruk the continent of South America holds a special interest, Buenos Ayres being the town to which many of the people emigrate. The sum-total of the Druse sheikh’s meditations during • the half-hour spent in the school was revealed in the question put at the close with a great show of earnestness : u Do the Spanish people of South America resemble these English people ? ” The closing hymn, sung with great heartiness, was started by the missionary visitor to the tune of a Turkish Some Children of the Lebanon 27 national air. Through an open window peered the heads of veiled women, with smiling and delighted eyes, one holding up a spotlessly clean, fair-haired child to watch the singers. From this school-house we went on to the girls’ school. On the way through the village we passed a number of Druse women sitting within the cool recessed entrances of their houses, who gave us pressing invitation to enter, and appeared deeply disappointed at our refusal for lack of time. They were all of an exceedingly handsome type, wearing their abundant hair woven in thick plaits, which they wound round the head and chin making a unique setting, like a frame, for their truly classical, marble-hued faces. Their spotless veils hung over the head and nearly to the ground in straight flowing lines. The building we now entered was a new one with mud walls, and cemented floor, with no glass to the windows, only iron bars across, letting in the sweet mountain air and sunshine. The girls sat on low benches round three sides of the room, the infants with folded arms as in an English school ; little dark heads with clear skins, sun-browned, and wonderful eyes, melting and big like those of their mothers whom we had just seen. A row of older girls sat in the middle of the room, several with white veils, others with head-shawls folded cornerways and tied beneath the chin: green, scarlet, and purple mingled with the white. Some of their sweet¬ sounding names, for which I made inquiry, still linger 28 Under the Syrian Sun like music in the mind : Hafiza ; Naifeh, which means “delicate” ; Hacibeh ; Saida ; Yacod ; Drea ; Kitsyia ; and so forth, all bearing some under-current of meaning. Outside those barred windows were the everlasting hills and the grey rocks bathed in sunlight. Within, the voices of thirty Syrian maidens, singing with spirit and whole-hearted joy of aspect : The Lord is our Rock—in whom we abide, A Shelter from the stormy blast. In winter-time the number of these girls increases to as many as sixty, but in the summer there is work for them to do elsewhere ; education must be secondary. The teachers of these two schools, the boys and the girls, were brother and sister, and when their duties for the day were over, they joined us by the river-side, where we found another shaded retreat beneath willows, and had tea all together before starting on the homeward route. A few days later the villagers excelled themselves in celebrating the great occasion of the Consul’s birthday. The balcony of the lewan in his house directly overlooked the roof of the lower part of the building, stretching out like a broad spacious terrace. A series of small bonfires was lighted on the border of two sides, while the other sides of the roof were thronged with the picturesque figures of Druse and Maronite highlanders, the gay colours of their garb and dark faces with flashing eyes weirdly illuminated by the environment of leaping flames. They Some Children of the Lebanon 29 danced untiringly on this terrace until nearly midnight, to the accompaniment of their own rhythmic hand-clapping, swaying of the body, and the shrill, half-melodious, half-plaintive music of their reed-pipes. In the interval one of these men came into the lewan, where refreshments were being served for guests of the house invited over from the locanda, and performed some very clever sword feats. Two paper loops were suspended over two chairs, and upon these was balanced, with great care in the placing so as not to damage the paper, a stout stick of poplar wood. With one swoop of his sword the man cut the wood cleanly in two without breaking or stirring the loops of paper. Another stick was produced, examined, and then placed across two wineglasses, which in their turn were raised on the top of a couple of empty bottles. Again the sword expert cut the stick in two, but, to his own intense chagrin, smashed one of the wineglasses, though the other remained intact. Nothing would pacify him but permission to make a second attempt. He did so, and with perfect success. “ A Chinese executioner to the life,” whispered a bystander. He withdrew to the roof to perform, in concert with a companion, a dance, called u the Sword Dance,” with such realistic and excited action that it was with a measure of relief we heard they were both Christians. So quickly does the latent animosity between Druse and Maronite leap to sight at the smallest provocation that one can never tell what may not inadvertently be the tinder 30 Under the Syrian Sun kindling the ready fire. One dance followed the other in rapid succession, while at intervals the Arab coachman, dressed in his livery of white linen, quietly let off rockets almost under our noses all in honour of his master and Inghilterra. CHAPTER III THE TRANSLATION OF THE DRUSE SHEIKH Mine age is removed and is carried away from me like a shepherd’s tent: I have rolled up like a weaver my life; he will cut me off from the loom. T HE locanda was situated on the hillside. The flat sun-baked roofs of the village spread out below on the same plane as the mulberry tree-tops which en¬ framed them, the colours combining to form a whimsical mosaic of multi-toned greens and greys. On the slope above the locanda were some Druse cottages grouped round an open space of ground serving as a court to the small community. One of these dwelling-places stood on the bank immediately above my room. When the wooden shutter of the window which faced the passage between the locanda wall and the sheer rock of the hillside was swung open, there often descended to the ear from the Druse interior the sound of the querulous, high-pitched tones uttered by a very aged man. One day the repose of our siesta was broken into by the clatter of rushing feet on the plateau below the house. A number of natives ran up the steps at the side, crossed without ceremony the open court of the locanda, and scrambled to the terrace above. From the loggia an 3 * 3 2 Under the Syrian Sun hour later figures could be seen moving hurriedly to and fro behind the breastwork of loose, piled stones that skirted the bank. They were handling a large piece of drapery which they proceeded to suspend over the court while they talked loudly in visible excitement. “ What has happened ? ” I asked of a native standing near. “ It is a death,” was the reply. tc The death of an old Druse sheikh who was a hundred and ten years of age.” Already a chorus of women's voices bewailed the dead. Their lament was both weird and affecting, though the musical phrase reiterated with unvarying monotony was crudely elemental. The clatter of feet over the stony track continued, the hum of voices steadily heightened. The day rapidly declined until valley and mountain-side became veiled in the golden rain of sunset rays. With the vanishing of sunlight, dusk dropped into night with tropical swiftness. At intervals the wailing of the women was strengthened by the admixture of male voices uplifted in a curious slow measure, both drawling and monotonous, the words being uttered with a quavering twang that was the quintessence of elegiac melancholy. Dark figures still continued to thread the stony tracks from the village. They climbed the bank of crumbling debris and proceeded in decorous procession along the terrace singing their funeral dirge. Their heads drooped dejectedly on their breasts, the handkerchief carried in obtrusive evidence by one and all was pressed to the eyes with frequent dramatic action accompanied by sobbing upheaval of the chest. The i portrayed emotion The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 33 could be regarded as feigned or spontaneous according to the viewpoint of the spectator. Hearing that a visit would be regarded as a mark of condolence and sympathy by the dead sheikh’s relatives, we resolved to betake ourselves to the scene of mourning. A broad area of light beneath the canopy which was suspended over the open space between the Druse cottages, was visible through the arches of the loggia, but a direct ascent of the bank, with its steep slope and stone barrier above, was impracticable. To gain the summit we had to cross the open ground in front of the locanda, to dip into a pebbly path, and then turn abruptly up the hill in face of a house standing at the end of a terrace occupied by the group of cottages. It was a superior Druse habitation, constructed after the ordinary style in the Lebanon. The lower part consisted of stables and recesses for cattle, and provender entered through arches of massive stonework ; the upper dwelling was approached by steps opening into the large porch or loggia, which had two archways formed by slender pillars, while doors within gave entrance to the various rooms. The windows, also the arches of the loggia, were rimmed with a broad outline of white, which gleamed with a spectral pallor in the flickering light shed by some scattered petroleum lamps of primitive make. We stumbled over the rising ground, passed the Druse house and its adjoining courtyard, and pro¬ ceeded towards the canopied space, our goal. A vast crowd of sombre, draped figures, with wild eyes flashing below the snow-white bands wreathing their brows, was 5 VOL. I 34 Under the Syrian Sun collected on that bare terrace of earth. They sat in circles round lamps on the ground, or in groups on the stone wall guarding the precipitous bank to the right. With becoming gravity of bearing we passed slowly through the crowded space towards an archway leading into the Druse settlement where the death had occurred. Three tall Druses, relatives of the deceased, stood there to receive the visits of condolence, and conduct the caller to the lying-in-state of the sheikh. They were eager to make way for us, manifesting open satisfaction at our appearance. With ceremony they conducted us through the archway, passing by the open door of a mean dwelling made temporarily attractive by a light on the floor within playing with lurid effect on the fantastic costumes of men, who talked together inside with animated gestures. But only a glance in passing, for attention was instantly absorbed by the sense of mystery in the air, our feet were drawn swiftly forward by the compelling notes of the women’s mournful chant. Suddenly we emerged on the squared enclosure over which from below we had watched the canopy dilate and subside like a sail in the evening breeze. Whither had the spirit led us ? Was this a scene conjured up, by the necromancy of the dusky figures conducting us, from the age of the Patriarchs ? And was that marble-still figure lying in state under the centre of the draped dome one of those historic characters whose names Biblical literature brings glibly to our lips, though our minds receive so vague and limited an impression of the local setting of custom and race ? The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 35 It was a dignified profile, possessing the noble aquiline nose that signifies the power of command, the fine Eastern contour of cheek and chin, the prominent brow throwing into relief the sunken socket of the closed eyelids which doubtless concealed orbs as wildly bright in the heyday and pride of life as those of the men standing near. Round his head was rolled the snowy fillet, that outward badge which signifies that the Druse who wears it is a wise Druse, an akkal, who, through self-discipline and the outward marks of a blameless life—such as total abstinence from intoxicating drinks or the use of tobacco—has advanced so far in the wisdom of his religion as to be admitted into the Khalweh, their secret places of worship erected in remote places and closed to all outsiders, as well as to their own womankind. The dead sheikh was dressed in the garb of his race—full pantaloons, coloured vest, united by a broad sash ; the whole surmounted by a flowing black robe which stretched in classical folds from head to feet. The dais on which he lay consisted of several mattresses resting one upon the other, their predominating colours of red and gold forming a framework for the statuesque sleeper. Two lighted candles were burning at the head, and one on each side of the white-socked feet. On the ground below the feet there stood a candle on a tall stand casting a circle of light, catching the eye directly upon approach. It was a facsimile of the candlestick referred to in Holy Writ placed by the man “ that they which came in might see the light.” 36 Under the Syrian Sun Grouped on the ground in a circle round the bier were the women, the only spot on the whole terrace where they were to be seen. The long white veils, drawn half over their faces, were hanging over their shoulders to the ground in unstudied picturesque folds that enveloped yet revealed the yielding lines of the figure. At first glance there seemed to be no method in the arrangement of this group, but it soon transpired that the mourners, one on either side of the da'is, com¬ pletely covered by their veils, and bending close and low to the earth as if overwhelmed with calamity, were the dead sheikh’s two aged sisters, one of the amazing age of a hundred and fifteen, the other a little younger. Squatting in a crescent round the head were the other women relatives, and behind them, and continuing the circle, were grouped women of the Druse religion. The large number clustered round the foot of the bier with the veils thrown off the faces and sweeping the ground behind were Christian women—that is to say, they were Maronites, or Greek Catholics. There was a stir as we approached, and the women relatives signified their wish that we should be seated. We declined with courteous thanks and stood near, breath * involuntarily halting with suppressed awe and sympathy. The simplicity, the naturalness of the open-air ceremony preparatory to the scene of the morrow’s entombment, possessed a charm not wholly emotional. Under the veils of two or three of the women peered forth a baby’s curly head. A little child stood The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 37 upright in a small open space left round the tall candle¬ stick. She looked, in feature and colouring, as if she had stepped out of one of Murillo’s masterpieces. The big solemn eyes wandered round till they rested on our group, which held her in fascinated contemplation the whole time we stood near. Other children, boys and girls of tender age, slipped quietly in and between the women, or glided in the background like figures in a stage scene. The insistent rhythm of the women’s chant aided the illusion. It was explained by the Druse accompanying us that the man for whom they mourned was a sheikh and an akkal ; that if he had been young, and still unversed in the practice and tenets of his religion, the wailing would have been more pronounced, even violent. He would have been carried to and fro, loud inter¬ cessions and laments would have been his portion. But this sheikh had exceeded the allotted span of life. It was time that he should be born again. Hence their chanting was intended to be more a soothing accompaniment to the passage of his soul to a new life ; a testimony to his many virtues, and the wisdom and goodness of a life brought by natural decadence of the physical part of his being to nature’s death. He had been a wise sheikh, a good sheikh. He would therefore be born again in China. “ How blessed will it be when all people are born again in China,” chanted the women, as we stood there, the belief of the simple-minded of their race being that the soul of a good Druse is always born again in China, 38 Under the Syrian Sun that of a bad Druse in Egypt. In a word, China is their ideal Paradise, Egypt their place of torment. They hold to the firm conviction that half of the Chinese of the present day have been Druses in their past lives. “ The gates of China are opening, his new parents are giving him welcome,” continued the women. “ He will be a prince, a pasha, a great man in his new home.” A commotion in the rear accompanied by the loud nasal singing of a fresh company of mourners diverted the attention of the gaunt, delicate-looking Druse at our side. Hastily he left us to receive his new guests. Out of the obscurity a procession of dark figures slowly evolved into shape, headed by a fine-looking man arrayed in white woollen robes that only lacked the insignia of the cross to give him the appearance of a priest vested for religious service. Close behind him was a black-bearded man arrayed in cassock and mitre. They were respectively the mudir or governor of the village, and the Greek priest, with attendants and the heads of the chief families in the community. All held a folded handkerchief in their hands, pressing it to their eyes when they halted every few steps to groan and catch their breath convulsively, while their dirge of lamentation dragged out in dismal notes of unison. These newcomers were so large a company that the surrounding space was thronged with figures. We retired a few paces and stood under a young The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 39 acacia-tree growing on the brink of the slope, its foliage casting grotesque shadows on the canopy lighted up from beneath. As the men approached, the women pulled their veils closer over their faces ; their chant, lowered in tone, giving natural precedence to the masculine chorus. These two functionaries of the village with their companions marched solemnly round the circle of women, the volume of lamentation increasing in agitated sound and speed. The circle completed, they came to a pause, though their voices ceased not from wailing aloud as they alternately dried their eyes and gazed upon the dead sheikh. Then with automatic precision they wheeled slowly round and marched gravely away, keeping up the same appearance of funereal woe, the harsh tones mellowing into plaintive indistinctness in the distance. Close at hand the women renewed with tireless repetition their monotonous plaint. One lingering look at the living picture : that unconscious figure lying in subjection to the King of Terror yet manifesting naught but peace and repose in the placid dignity of the lifeless features ; the body¬ guard of veiled women ; the children in close proximity symbolising love clasping hand with death ; the candle- flames typical of the vital spark fled from that motionless form to find new habitation according to their religious belief in the Utopian land of China—strange incongruity of symbol and ideal, survival and perversion in one and the same breath. Then a long gaze upwards, where, between the swaying border of the canopy and the 4° Under the Syrian Sun black edge of the flat roof opposite, a clear space of deep purple sky had become gradually suffused with a silvery bloom, which announced the rising of the crescent moon. We turned to leave, and again faced the vista of figures crowding the open space beyond the archway. Dark, lustrous faces, with gleaming eyes smiling kindly at the “ Inglizi ” visitors, peered with undisguised curiosity through the dim atmosphere from all sides. Salutations of peace accompanied our withdrawal as we picked our way in the dark under difficulties of rock- strewn paths back to the locanda. Women held their watch and prolonged their mourning dirge until daybreak. The places of those who were tired were filled at once by newcomers. Another visit of condolence was made early next morning by the mudir, attended by the same ceremonious details of lament. They then remained on the terrace with the relatives, and sitting in a circle they chanted their burial service at certain intervals for several hours before the interment. Deputations from the neighbouring villages, to which word of the death had swiftly been carried, also arrived in large numbers. The same musical phrase was repeated by each body of men as they trod the steep track from the village and mounted to the scene of mourning. It was evidently a customary elegiac tune to which was adapted an improvised eulogy of the dead to suit the occasion and personality. The visit of ceremony to the dead sheikh’s family The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 41 creating the most attention and grateful acknowledgment was that made by the British Consul-General. Young men and old, children and babies in arms, all arrayed in best garments, congregated in the vicinity of the house. Boys in full pantaloons, scarlet or purple vests beautifully embroidered, with short coats and sashes round the hips, white turbans binding their foreheads, strutted round in conscious pride of festal array. The noonday sun blazed on the stony ground, giving to the grey roofs an obtrusive glare. Then people began to bestir themselves briskly. A distinguished personage from Baaklene, the chief Druse centre in the Lebanon, had arrived to offer his condolences and be present at the funeral ceremony. This was the Sheikh-el-Akkal, the head sheikh of the Druses, holding among them a position equivalent in rank to that held by a Greek Patriarch ; he made an impressive appearance surrounded by his subordinates, his tall black-robed figure surmounted by the white fillet, rising above them like a cedar in the midst of young pine-trees. Soon after noon a loud wailing cry was uttered by the assembled company. Beneath the canopy, trans¬ formed in the sunlight into a dome of indigo hue, moved a struggling mass of men, their heads and shoulders just visible above the stone barrier. They were all greatly excited. In another moment they stood erect, bearing on their shoulders the burden of the dead sheikh’s coffin. It was a roughly made case with no lid, and broader at the head than at the feet. The 6 VOL. 1 42 Under the Syrian Sun body was concealed by a canvas covering strapped round the coffin with bands and ropes of divers colours. On one side was attached a plain white strip bearing the inscription, “ Allah hakh ! ” (God is just). About ten sheikhs, with the Sheikh-el-Akkal pro¬ minent in their midst, headed the procession as it advanced slowly along the terrace. The majority of the mourners walked in a crowd surrounding the bearers of the coffin, chanting without intermission the familiar funeral dirge. They descended the rugged track and turned to the left along the plateau beneath the northern wall of the locanda. Up they clambered over the stones to a path which wound close to the mountain-side. Terrace upon terrace of mulberry-trees planted in red soil, and banked murally with rough stones, sloped abruptly to the valley. Gazing upwards, the stone-banked terraces, which stretched far as the eye could see, embosomed thousands of vines, heavy with the ripening vintage of grapes. Across the valley the lime-streaked cliffs rose sheer from the river concealed in the wadi-bed by pinewoods skirting its banks, and then merged into the parched brown slopes of an extended hill-range. The mulberry-groves were left behind. Odd-shaped patches of stubble-land divided by stone barriers came into view, with here and there a solitary group of pine- trees arresting the eye with their spreading crests of vivid green. Now there came a stage of the way where the steepness of the slope yielded nothing but a spur of massive rocks rising in spiky turrets against the skyline. DRUSE TOMB, MOUNT LEBANON The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 43 These had split asunder under influence of summer sun and torrents of winter, scattering a heavy debris of boulders of all sizes and colours over the pathway. They made a quarry of the precipitous ground, which was only redeemed from absolute desolation by the magic effect of sunlight upon the colouring of the flints. Along this rough ascent the crowd of mourners contracted into a lengthened train. The dirge of wailing waxed wilder and louder. It was evident that the place of interment was close at hand. Round the rocky spur of the hill, high up the bank, they came upon a small plateau of stone, containing one solitary building. It was small and cube-shaped, built of large rough- hewn stones. The roof was flat and earthen, like the houses of the village. Narrow apertures, such as are seen in ancient towers, pierced the low walls at intervals. It was a Druse tomb. In most cases a Druse burial- ground consists of several of these stone structures, which are used in the manner of family vaults. They argue in favour of this mode of entombment that the ground is too rocky to admit of graves of sufficient depth to keep wolves away in winter, which is of severe character in the high mountain villages of the Lebanon. The bearers deposited the coffin in the path beneath the tomb, and then withdrew to one side while the sheikhs and relatives of the deceased gathered round, bending low and uttering many lamentations, their folded handkerchiefs pressed intermittently to their eyes. At intervals came from the bystanders a loud refrain in response. 44 Under the Syrian Sun Then the Sheikh-el-Akkal, his commanding figure straightened with impressive dignity, repeated loud prayers in which he extolled the virtues of the departed soul. His oration ended, the coffin was replaced on the bier and borne with cautious steps up the bank, shifting and insecure to the foot with its flinty soil. In the side of the tomb there was a low opening from which a big rock and many small stones had been removed. Now the ropes were unwound from the coffin, which was then slipped with noticeable celerity through the low entrance. In an instant the rock was rolled into its former position, the stones piled around it filling up every crevice, until the place of entrance was entirely concealed. With the bearers one of the sheikhs had mounted to the plateau. When the interment was over, he crossed to the heaped-up stones, and crouching on the ground, his head close to the wall, he spoke to the man within, to the dead body which would never again be seen by these his fellow-sheikhs. This was the purport of his parting message : “ If any one meets you in the land of your new > birth and asks you the question to what religion you belong, answer that you are of the Druse religion, the chief of Mohammed’s religions.” When he rose to his feet, every one present climbed the bank. Round the tomb they went through many genuflexions, putting their hands against their ears, then bringing them together again, with the back of one hand in the palm of the other, and dropping both in The Translation of the Druse Sheikh 45 front, while they declaimed farewells to the dead with admixture of eulogistic tribute after the manner of epitaphs. During this general speechification the im¬ posing figure of the Sheikh-el-Akkal stood black and motionless against the steely glitter of the rocks, and then, lifting his hands with solemn gesture, while all pressed the handkerchief of ceremony to their eyes, he gave utterance to the peroration of the burial rites with rhetorical emphasis. At the conclusion the mourners descended the slope and grouped themselves on the ground, when the mudir produced a paper, which he handed ceremoniously to the man sitting next to him. This paper, which was the dead man’s will, was passed on by every man to his neighbour until, the circle completed, it returned to the mudir, who read the contents aloud. Silence greeted the disclosure, though later, and for days follow¬ ing, discontent and rage was displayed by those members of the family whose expectations had come to naught. The whole property was left to a grand-nephew of the tender age of six. No provision was made for the aged sisters. Nephews who had anticipated great things were blessed respectively with the magnificent legacy of twenty- five piastres, a sum amounting to a little less than five shillings. After the reading of the will, the men got up from the ground and circled in slow procession round the spot where the coffin had rested in the pathway. A few interchanges of condolence ensued, accompanied by the wish that all present would be blessed with as long 46 Under the Syrian Sun a life as the deceased had enjoyed. Then the black- robed figures retraced their steps to the village, while the sun blazed fiercely on the plateau of rock, which bore on its adamant surface the humble tenement to the number of whose silent inmates had been admitted a brother Druse, of the same race, of the same mysterious faith. We turned our back on the blinding rock, and lo ! high above the valley, breaking the monotony of empyrean blue that had been pallid with quivering heat, hovered in gracious symbolism large white-bosomed clouds. Born of the sea mist, that after intense heat envelops the coast plains and floats eastward over the purple hills of the distant background, these were fore¬ runners of the refreshing breeze from the west.