Great Cities Through Travelers' Eyes Page 10
1326 AND 1348 IBN BATTUTA
The great Muslim traveller Ibn Battuta (see page 72) visited Damascus in the 1320s when it was a provincial capital of the Mamluk dynasty of Egypt; during a second visit in 1348, the Black Death killed up to half the population.
Damascus surpasses all other cities in beauty, and no description, however full, can do justice to its charms. The Umayyad Mosque is the most magnificent in the world, the finest in construction and noblest in beauty, grace and perfection; it is matchless. Its construction was undertaken by Caliph Walid I, who sought the Roman emperor at Constantinople to send craftsmen to him, and the emperor sent him twelve thousand. The mosque is on the site of a church, and when the Muslims captured Damascus, one of their commanders entered from one side by the sword and reached the middle of the church, while another entered peaceably from the eastern side and reached the middle also. So the Muslims made the half of the church which they had entered by force into a mosque while the half which they had entered peacefully remained as a church. When Walid decided to extend the mosque over the entire church he asked the Greeks to sell him their church, but they refused, so he seized it.…
One of the principal doctors at Damascus was Taqi ad-Din Ibn Taymiya, a man of great ability and wide learning, but with some kink in his brain. The people idolized him. One day he said something from the pulpit that the other theologians disapproved, and he was imprisoned.… His mother interceded for him, so the sultan set him at liberty until he did the same thing again. I was in Damascus at the time. In his discourse he said ‘Truly God descends from Heaven in the same bodily fashion that I make this descent,’ and stepped down one step of the pulpit. A Malikite doctor objected, but the people beat him with their hands and their shoes so severely that his turban fell off and disclosed a silken skullcap on his head. Inveighing against the doctor for wearing this skullcap, they hauled him before the authorities who had him imprisoned and beaten.… But the other doctors accused Ibn Taymiya of heresy; and the sultan had him imprisoned in the citadel, where he remained until his death.
One of the celebrated sanctuaries at Damascus is the Mosque of the Footprints (al-Aqdam), which lies two miles south of the city, alongside the main highway which leads to the Hijaz, Jerusalem and Egypt. It is a large mosque, richly endowed and highly venerated. The footprints from which it derives its name are impressed upon a rock and are said to be the mark of Moses’ foot.…
I saw a remarkable instance of the veneration in which the Damascenes hold this mosque during the great pestilence on my return journey through Damascus in July 1348. The viceroy ordered all the people to fast for three days and that no one should cook anything in the market during the daytime (for most of the people there only eat food prepared in the market). So the people fasted for three days, then they assembled in the Great Mosque…until the place was filled to overflowing, and they spent the Thursday night in prayers and litanies. After the dawn prayer next morning they all went out holding Korans in their hands, and the emirs barefooted. The procession was joined by the entire population of the town; the Jews came with their Book of the Law and the Christians with their Gospel, all of them with their women and children. The whole concourse, weeping and supplicating and seeking the favour of God through His Books and His Prophets, made their way to the Mosque of the Footprints, and there they remained until near midday. They then returned to the city and held the Friday service, and God lightened their affliction; for the number of deaths in a single day at Damascus did not attain 2,000, while in Cairo it reached the figure of 24,000 a day.…
The people of Damascus have a high opinion of North Africans, and freely entrust them with the care of their moneys, wives and children. Strangers are handsomely treated and never forced to any action that might injure their self-respect.
1849 JAMES LAIRD PATTERSON
The future Catholic Auxiliary Bishop of Westminster, Patterson (see page 17) was a recent convert when he undertook his journey to Egypt, Palestine, Syria and Greece in 1849. His perceptions of Damascus were strongly influenced by his religious interests.
We left about seven o’clock, and had the hottest ride across the plain I have ever undergone; and that in spite of a very fresh breeze. We halted near a stream for lunch, and let the poor mules (who trudge away bravely under their burthens) precede us to Damascus. On the right, the plain in which S. Paul’s miraculous conversion took place was shewn us.… I pictured to myself ‘the persecutor Saul’ riding in his glittering armour, on a steed proud apparently of its noble burthen, as he himself was, in his mistaken zeal and purpose, of his own charge from the chief priests of his nation. Thus he pricked forward across the hot plain, in all the excitement of speedy arrival, heedless of the noonday glare and fierce heat which fanned his cheek, flushed with yet fiercer passion from within; when suddenly, ‘above the brightness of the midday sun’, a light from heaven smites him to the earth, and rolls horse and rider, in their brilliant trappings, in the dust which they seemed just now to spurn beneath their feet. Trembling and blind, and yet for the first time truly brave and truly seeing, he is raised from the earth by his astonished followers and led slowly by the hand into Damascus. The outward change was great; yet how much greater that of the inner man.…
We stopped at the Hotel de Palmyre. I was so much tired with the journey that I could not sleep and went therefore to a late mass at nine.… After mass and Holy Communion, we accompanied the two Nazarist fathers who are here to their house and church. They are both French, and the national taste and neatness comes out in the arrangement and decorations of the house. As usual, they have very large schools, and have taught the children French, so that that language begins to be much spoken here. The Protestants have also a mission, and disseminate their Bibles and other books, but without much effect: the people take them for the sake of the covers, and burn the insides! These missionaries are always called ‘Ingliz’, though many are Americans and Germans and the name is used as one of opprobrium (among both Turks and Christians), tantamount to ‘infidel’ or misbeliever.… We also looked into the great square of the mosque, once the cathedral of S. John Damascene, which has been a cruciform church. The court appears to have been surrounded by a magnificent cloister, of pointed arches on Roman marble columns.…
We spent a great part of the morning in buying some Damascus silks. The khan in which our silk merchant lived was a fine one, but not so much so as that of the banker, which consists of a large quadrangle, roofed in and divided into six arcades, supporting as many domes. Round this space, in which is a range of shops or chambers, there runs a gallery, corresponding with one on the ground floor, in front of which, on wooden divans, the shopkeepers squat and transact their business. We also visited the jewel bazaars; but I saw nothing worth having. The bazaars here are very extensive, and almost all roofed in. Some are handsome, but on the whole they are decidedly inferior to those of Cairo. We went to a café to eat ice, or rather milk and snow from Hermon, which is its substitute here, and found a large shed built over running water, opposite the castle (a fine Saracen building, with great towers), in which various groups were reposing on the divans. In the evening we went to the convent…and visited the place where S. Paul was let down from the wall.… We also went, about as far again westward, to the Catholic burial ground, which it seems is now generally regarded as the true place of the conversion of S. Paul. Certainly the account seems to imply a much nearer vicinity to Damascus than that shewn us on Saturday.
1870–71 ISABEL BURTON
Isabel, Lady Burton (1831–1896) was a renowned English traveller and the wife of explorer Richard Burton, whose biography she wrote. Her Inner Life of Syria, Palestine, and the Holy Land (1876) described her stay there in 1870–71.
After a long residence in Damascus, I always say to my friends, ‘If you have two or three days to spare, follow the guidebooks; but if you are pressed for time come with me, and you shall see what you will best like to remember, and you shall buy the things that are
the most curious.’ We will make our purchases first, visiting on the way everything of interest….
Before we enter the bazars, look at that Afghan sitting under yonder tree. If you like to invest in a little brass or silver seal, he will, for a few piastres, engrave your name upon it in Arabic. We will then enter the sadlery bazar, where you can buy magnificent trappings for a pony or donkey for the children at home. This is a pretty Suk. There are saddle-cloths of every colour in cloth, embossed with gold, holsters, bridles of scarlet silk, with a silken cord – a single rein, which makes you look as if you were managing a fiery horse by a thread, and the bridle is effectively covered with dangling silver and ivory ornaments. There are mule and donkey trappings of every colour in the rainbow, mounted with little shells….
We should do wisely to go into the shoemakers’ bazar. You see how gaudy the stalls look. I want you to buy a pair of lemon-coloured slippers, pointed at the toe, and as soft as a kid glove. The stiff red slippers and shoes are not so nice, and the red boots with tops and tassals and hangings, are part of the Bedawi dress, and that of the Shaykhs generally. Why must you buy a pair of slippers? Because you must never forget at Damascus that you are only a ‘dog of a Christian’, that your unclean boots must not tread upon sacred ground, and that if you wish to see anything you must be prepared at any moment to take off the impure Giaour things, put on these slippers and enter reverently; all around you will do the same for that matter. Here we cover our heads and bare our feet to show respect; you Franks cover your feet and uncover your heads. Do not forget always to have your slippers in your pocket, as naturally as your handkerchief and your purse, until you return to the other side of Lebanon, or you will often be hindered by the want of them.
We will now inspect the marqueterie bazar, where we shall find several pretty things inlaid with choice woods, mother-of-pearl or steel; the former are the best, if finely worked. These are the large chests which form part of the bride’s trousseau. Those ready-made are generally coarse, but you can order a beautifully fine and very large one for about five napoleons. There are tables, and the clogs used by the hanam in marble courts…. Now we will go to the smithy-like gold and silver bazar, where they sit round in little pens, hammering at their anvils. Each seems to have a strongbox for his treasures. All this is the greatest possible rubbish for a European to wear, but you will pick up many barbarous and antique ornaments, real gold and real stones, though unattractive. You may buy all sorts of spangling things as ornaments for your horse; you will find very beautiful Zarfs, or filigree coffee-cup-holders; you may order, on seeing the pattern, some very pretty raki cups of silver, inlaid with gold, very minute, with a gold or silver fish trembling on a spring, as if swimming in the liqueur.
While we are here, I will take you up a ladder on to the roof, not to lose time. The men will give me the key of the door for a little bakshish. By this way we shall reach the southern side of the Great Mosque, and after scrambling over several roofs, and venturing a few awkward jumps, we shall arrive at the top of a richly ornamented triple gateway; it is outside the Mosque, and hardly peers above the mud and debris and bazar roofs, which cover up what is not already buried. Over the central arch is a cross, and Greek inscription: ‘Thy kingdom, O Christ! is an everlasting kingdom, and thy dominion endureth throughout all generations.’ It is a serious reflection that this bit of truth should have remained upon a mosque, perhaps for 1,762 years. It doubtless belonged to the stupendous Temple of the Sun, befitting the capital. After the birth of our Saviour it became a Christian Cathedral, dedicated to St John the Baptist, whose head is said to lie under a little railed-off cupola’d tomb, and is still venerated by the Moslems. The Christian Cathedral was divided at the conquest between Christians and Moslems, but it has long since become wholly and exclusively Moslem. Yet this inscription testifying to the truth has lived down every change of masters.
We will now pass down a narrow lane joining two bazars. A wretched wooden stall with shelves, filled with dirty bottles, and odds and ends of old china, here attracts your eye, and squatting on the counter a shrivelled little old man sits under his turban, with his palsied chin shaking like the aspen leaves. You see how smilingly he salutes me: out of those unwashed bottles he is looking for his finest atr (ottar) and his best sandalwood oil. Being fond of ladies’ society, he will saturate our handkerchiefs and clothes with his perfumes, and we shall be traceable for a week to come – it is not easy to divest yourself of ottar when it has once touched clothes. He has long ago given me all his confidence. He is not so poor as he looks. He has sold ottar and sandalwood oil all his life, some 95 years; he has 15 wives and 102 children, and he would still like, he says, to marry again. I reprove him for having married eleven more than allowed by the Koran.…
You can also buy an izar, to walk about the bazars incognita like a native. It covers all, except your face, from head to foot, like a shroud. It is pure silk, and you can choose your own colours; they are mostly brilliant, but I care only for black. Some are worked beautifully in gold. If you wish to pass for a Christian, you may expose your face, or wear an apology for a covering; but as Moslemahs we must buy mandils, white handkerchiefs, or coloured, with flowers and figures so thickly laid on that no one can recognize our features. If you have one of the black and gold or coloured izars, you will be a great personage. If you want to pass unobtrusively, you must wear a plain white linen sheet, with a thick mandil, and in that costume you might walk all day with your own father and not be known except by the voice.
1928 FREYA STARK
Writer and photographer Freya Stark (see page 44) was always concerned to get as close as possible to the people she met on her travels. She recounted some hair-raising adventures in Syria in her letters to her mother.
2 April
Darling B
I am much better again today, and hope to be quite well by the end of the week. I was able to be out this morning and enjoy my walk through Damascus slums, trying to find the ‘four great gates’. I had an adventure which might really make the mission hair stand up and gave me a nasty qualm. I fell into it because it was so like the Arabian nights. An old man with a venerable beard came up as I was strolling along with my camera and said, just as anyone would expect, ‘Follow me, oh lady, and I will show you a beautiful place.’ So I followed. He told me it was an ancient bath, unused I supposed; and turned down a very narrow dark passage which went below the level of the street. I did hesitate but he said, ‘Have no fear’, and it is not so easy as it seems to change one’s course when once started. We came to a heavy studded door on which he knocked; ten centuries dropped from me by magic: I should not have been at all surprised to see the caliph and his two companions on the other side! The door opened from the inside and there was a great vaulted hall, lighted from a window in the roof, and with a cistern of flowing water in the centre. There were alcoves with carpets on a raised platform round three sides, and various men lying about on them with their heads wrapped in turbans and nothing much except their big bath wraps on. I did feel I was not at all in a suitable place! They gathered round me in an instant. Then I heard the door clank to behind me with a horrid sound as if a chain were dropped.
I had an unpleasant sensation as if my heart were falling – literally a sinking of the heart in fact – but I did remain outwardly calm; only I put my back against the wall so as to face them. I said to the old man: ‘Oh my father, wilt thou hold my gloves while I take the picture?’, and got my camera ready with complete disregard to the rules of photography. They had all come up so close to me and I thought them a villainous-looking crowd. Someone murmured to the old man, ‘French?’ ‘English,’ said I hastily: ‘We are your people’s friends.’ This had an extraordinarily soothing effect on the atmosphere. I asked if they would mind moving away from me for the picture, which they did in silence. When I had taken it I thanked the man who seemed master of the bath and turned to my old man to have the door unfastened: this was also done in complete silence but
just as I was stepping out two or three asked me to turn back and look over the baths. This you may imagine I did not do. I was very glad to have that door open, though I suppose it was really quite all right. I wish now I had taken the picture with more care, for I don’t imagine any European had been in that particular place before. I am not mentioning this episode here, for as it is I am being almost shadowed by the family who are evidently fearfully anxious. Think of it! My landlady has never in all her life been even to the Great Mosque.
DUBLIN
Dublin was founded by Vikings in the 10th century, and the town rose to prominence in the Middle Ages when it became the centre for the precarious English hold over Ireland. In the mid-17th century, it saw a Catholic uprising against Protestant English rule that left much of the city derelict, but following the Restoration of Charles II in 1660 its fortune revived, based in large part on the wool trade.
In the 18th century, Dublin flourished economically, becoming the second largest city in the British Isles: culturally, with many well-known writers and musicians based there; and architecturally, with elegant classical squares and terraces. The late 18th century saw the emergence of a nationalist movement in Ireland, fuelled in large part by grievances at the treatment of the majority Catholic population, which contributed to social and political unrest in 1798 and political union with England in 1800.
In the 19th century, Dublin was marked by the general poverty that caused widespread emigration from Ireland. Independence in 1922 saw Dublin the capital of essentially Catholic and introverted Eire, but in the 21st century the city has become more cosmopolitan in outlook and has attracted large businesses from across the world.