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TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST, 
 
 INCLUDING A 
 
 JOURNEY IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 BY ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 1850. 
 
EDINBURGH : 
 PRINTED BY W. AND R. CHAMBERS. 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTIN E. 
 
 There is no name amongst the modern French which has attained a 
 celebrity more extensive than that of Lamartine, both from the eminent 
 success which has marked him in the world of letters, and from the 
 remarkable part he has played in the last memorable crisis that has again 
 plunged his country into the uncertainties of a new existence. There is 
 something inexpressibly interesting in the biography of a man who unites 
 in himself so many claims to notice, who has been at times the singer of 
 sublime and melancholy verse, which has found a response in the hearts 
 of sympathising millions ; who has wielded the pen of the historian with 
 effective power; who has described the experiences of a traveller in holy 
 places with entrancing pathos and eloquence; who has figured on the 
 political arena in all possible metamoqmoses; and who, in the heavings 
 of a revolution, has been tossed to a height which irradiated him for a 
 moment, only to gather around him more certainly the obscuring clouds of 
 oblivion. So diversified a career, crowned by such a singular and ano- 
 malous catastrophe, must needs contain numerous incidents replete 
 with instruction and interest to a generation eager for the lessons which 
 indicate the path of honourable distinction, or deter, by exemplary warn- 
 ings, from the idle aberrations of vanity and ambition. 
 
 The early life of this Alphonse dc Lamartine was wTapped in a deep 
 romance, which had begun before his own birth. His grandfather had 
 fought in the armies of Louis XV., and at the battle of Fontenoy had 
 won the cross of St Louis, which was then esteemed the highest prize 
 that could be awarded by his sovereign to a noble and gallant cheva- 
 lier. With this proud emblem of his services the soldier could return 
 to his native province, and pass the rest of his days in dignified retire- 
 ment as one who had deserved well of his king and country. The 
 decoration itself w r as generally accompanied with a pension, which en- 
 abled the fortunate possessor to live in a respectable competence, even 
 though destitute of any patrimonial estate — especially when allied, as 
 was almost invariably the case, with a wealthy and influential family. 
 But fortune had been even more propitious to the grandsire of Lamar- 
 tine, for he was himself the head of his family, and inherited a consider- 
 able property around Macon, on the Saone, in which town he had a large 
 mansion befitting his elevated condition. He married a wife too who 
 brought him a large accession of property situated in Franche-Comte, 
 towards the eastern frontier of France, so that he occupied an eminent 
 
vi 
 
 LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 place in the estimation of his neighbours, and was regarded as the chief 
 notable of an extensive district. This old gentleman had a progeny of six 
 children — three sons, and three daughters — but, according to the feudal 
 principles of succession then in vogue, the eldest son was held entitled to 
 inherit the entire estate of both father and mother. Younger sons had 
 the professions of the church, the army, and the navy open to them; 
 whilst daughters, unless they married early, were disposed of in nunneries 
 or chapters of canonesses. These establishments abounded in France 
 before the Revolution, and still survive in parts of Germany and Italy; and 
 it seems that all the three daughters of old Captain de Lamartine became 
 inmates of such cloistered retreats. The second son also embraced the 
 ecclesiastical profession ; but the youngest entered the same regiment 
 in which his father had served, hoping, like him, to earn, after many 
 years, the cross of St Louis, and to retire in mature age, full of military 
 glory, to enjoy the consideration of the rustic community from which he 
 had started in his youth to seek fame and fortune. 
 
 This youngest son was the father of the poet, the historian, and the 
 statesman. His proper fate, according to the ideas of the time, was never 
 to have married; for it was held a gross dereliction of established usages 
 in a junior son to encumber an aristocratic family with a wife and off- 
 spring. It happened, however, fortunately for the chevalier, that after he 
 had gained the much-coveted cross, and had actually fallen in love, his 
 eldest brother became an invalid, and unfitted for a state of wedlock; inso- 
 much that, considering the noble race of the Lamartines might otherwise 
 become extinct, the rigid patriarch himself, who was very loth to sanction 
 such an innovation of time-honoured precedent, reluctantly acquiesced in 
 the propriety of the chevalier's marriage; and he was married accordingly. 
 At this time he was already thirty-eight, but still in the prime of man- 
 hood, for he lived to the great age of ninety in the possession of robust 
 health. His young wife was a Mademoiselle des Roys, whom he had met in 
 one of the chapters of canonesses to which his eldest sister was attached, 
 and where a secret affection had been nourished between them, under 
 all the clouds of doubt hanging over the chance of their ultimate union. 
 A more happy couple never existed, according to the testimony of their 
 son, who, like Tristram Shandy, has commenced the history of his life long 
 before he was born. The lady, upon the same authority, was not only the 
 most faultless, but the most beautiful, perfect, and accomplished female the 
 earth has hitherto beheld. She was the daughter of a gentleman filling 
 the situation of intendant of the finances to the Duke of Orleans, and her 
 mother was under-governess to the children of that unfortunate prince. 
 With the latter she had been educated as the companion of their toils and 
 recreations, and in the velvet lawns of St Cloud she had been used to romp 
 with the sedate boy who became in progress of time Louis-Philippe, King 
 of the French. She brought her husband a moderate dowry, enhanced by 
 the expectations derived from the patronage of the royal house under 
 whose fostering care she had been reared; which were destined, however, 
 by adverse fate, to bear no fruit. . It was during the early storms of the 
 Revolution that she became the wife of the Chevalier de Lamartine, and 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 vii 
 
 on the 21st of October 1791, in the family mansion at Maqon, she was 
 delivered of her first-born, the illustrious subject of this brief memoir. 
 
 On the fatal 10th of August 1792, the loyal chevalier was found among 
 the few brave adherents who mustered at the Tuileries to defend the 
 life and throne of Louis XVI. In the butchery which ensued he escaped 
 with a slight wound, and having performed all that duty demanded of 
 him, he retreated to his domestic circle. But under the persecution of 
 the Jacobins, so marked a family as the Lamartines could not hope to be 
 spared; and one winter night the brigands of the Convention invaded 
 their peaceful home, and carried off the venerable sire and his infirm 
 wife, both upwards of eighty years of age, their two eldest sons, and the 
 three daughters, who had already fled from the invaded sanctuary of 
 their cloisters. They were removed to the great central prison of the 
 district at Autun; but by an unexplained chance the chevalier was 
 confined at Maqon itself, in an old convent, which had been converted 
 into a prison for revolutionary victims, whilst his wife was left alone in 
 the deserted house, guarded by the new gendarmerie of the people. 
 She was then suckling her puling infant — who has attributed in his 
 manhood the melancholy tendency of his mind to this awful scene of 
 sorrow and desolation — yet she bore up against the calamity with true 
 matronly spirit ; and having removed into some back premises, standing 
 immediately opposite the prison of her husband, she enjoyed at least the 
 satisfaction of gazing on the gloomy walls which encircled him. Misfor- 
 tune is often cheered by some unexpected mitigation, and the harrowed 
 feelings are relieved by timely alleviations in the most dismal tales of 
 misery. Thus it happened with the fair Alicia des Roys. Her husband 
 had secured for his cell an upper garret of the convent, the window of 
 which looked towards the rooms in which she had fixed her abode. Eyes 
 perpetually in search of each other, says the poet, never fail at last to 
 meet ; and one auspicious day the chevalier and his wife exchanged glances 
 which were to them a revelation of bliss. An intercourse was at once 
 established between them by signs, and the enraptured mother held up 
 her little child to the view of its other equally enraptured parent. Not 
 content with this imperfect communication, they soon contrived, with the 
 proverbial ingenuity of wit sharpened by love, to correspond by letter. 
 Mounting to the ruined turret of her domicile, Alicia took her husband's 
 bow and arrow, and shot into his opposite garret a letter at the end of a 
 string, with which she drew back again his tender effusions. This dan- 
 gerous operation was effected under cover of the night ; and as it met 
 with complete success, they were emboldened to a yet further act of 
 audacity. A strong cord was thrown by the skilful hand of the shooter 
 across the narrow street, and when all was hushed in gloom and repose, 
 the eager captive flung himself upon the frail support, and landed happily 
 in the arms of his trembling wife. Through this bold device they pro- 
 cured nightly interviews, all the sweetness of which must be left to 
 sympathetic imaginations, and whereof M. de Lamartine with justice sup- 
 poses himself the ever-fondled darling. These continued until that bright 
 day of liberation shone on France which saw the head of the bloody die- 
 
Till 
 
 LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 tator fall; and with the death of Robespierre the prison-gates of thousands 
 were thrown open, who, like the Lamartines, were rescued from living 
 tombs, and restored to the arms of despairing kindred. 
 
 After this deliverance from captivity the family again assembled under 
 the roof of the old mansion at Macon, where it remained until finally 
 broken up by the death of the venerable pater fimilias. Then occurred 
 the interesting process of dividing his property. By the new law of the 
 Revolution all exclusive privileges were abolished, and amongst the rest 
 the obnoxious one of primogeniture, so that all the children of a person 
 dying intestate were entitled to equal shares of his estate, whether real 
 or personal. By will, a testator might make a slight preference ; but in 
 the case of the Sieur de Lamartine, for very obvious reasons, no will was 
 left ; for he could not have brought himself to recognise so unpalatable a 
 change, and any other disposition would have been simply nugatory. On 
 liis death, therefore, his six children were called upon to apportion amongst 
 them his estates, which consisted of four separate properties, situated 
 in the former provinces of Franche-Comte and Burgundy. But the che- 
 valier, acting upon a high sense of honour, and bearing in devout reverence 
 his father's real intentions, refused to accept his share of this large patri- 
 mony, and was content to retain the small possession of Milly, wliieh had 
 been settled upon him on his marriage. This self-denial does not appear 
 to have been imitated by Ins sisters, notwithstanding the vows of poverty 
 they had previously taken; nor was it attended with any other effect than 
 that of entailing upon himself the inconveniences of a remarkably narrow 
 income. The rental of Milly, as his son states, did not exceed 300 livres, 
 or about L.12 sterling, and altogether his resources did not supply him 
 with a revenue much above L.100 a year. Nevertheless, he fixed his 
 abode in the little country-house, and fashioned his household according 
 to the slender means at his command, enjoying with his beloved wife and 
 infant family the pleasures of a retirement rendered ineffably sweet from 
 the boisterous contrast which had preceded. 
 
 It was here, on this secluded farm of Milly, that the young Alphonse 
 received the first rudiments of his education. His mother was his prin- 
 cipal instructor, and she instilled into him those religious principles which 
 formed so prominent a feature in her own spotless character. That she 
 was a very admirable woman, and eminently fitted to train children in the 
 paths of virtue, seems incontestable ; nor do the enthusiastic terms of gra- 
 titude and affection in which her son speaks of her appear exaggerated. It 
 is impossible to overrate the importance of such a mother's early lessons 
 in the development of the mind, in the bias given to it, or in the fruits it 
 may bring forth; for hers is a tuition combining elements none other can 
 supply, and which, when duly administered, rarely fails to be attended 
 with redundant benefits. His father the chevalier was less calculated, 
 from his austere and grave temperament, to win the love and confidence 
 of children, but he afforded them an example of integrity and content- 
 ment, which had greater weight perhaps from the absence of too indul- 
 gent a tenderness. He lived respected among his simple neighbours of 
 the adjoining hamlet, and regarded with indifference the political changes 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 ix 
 
 which continued to agitate his unhappy country. The revolutions that 
 succeeded each other so rapidly at Paris, the various constitutions that 
 were promulgated for the government of France, scarcely excited in him 
 a passing interest, for he shared the weariness and lethargy which were 
 universal amongst the French after the delirium and excitement of the 
 convulsion had passed away. Absorbed in his rural occupations and in 
 the sports of the field, he had ceased to concern himself with the affairs 
 of a turbulent world, and, like the rest of his countrymen, accepted with 
 placidity the inevitable change from revolutionary violence to a military 
 tyranny. 
 
 Up to his twelfth year Alphonse resided with his parents, subject to 
 the excellent moral training of his mother, but with regard to physical 
 education left almost entirely to his natural instincts. He roved at plea- 
 sure through the fields and woods, dressed in the common garments of 
 a peasant boy, with his feet and arms uncovered, and joined in all the 
 pursuits of the village shepherds, as if destined for no higher calling. This 
 absolute freedom of action was favourable to the muscular development, 
 to the grace and beauty, of the person, and to a robust state of health. 
 He had attended for a year or more a school kept by the old cure of the 
 neighbouring parish, who was a relic of the old regime, and had little vo- 
 cation for the instruction of bare-legged rustics ; accordingly, he allowed 
 them, with great complacency, to take as many hours for play as they 
 thought fit. But although this was agreeable doubtless to the pupils 
 themselves, the father of Lamartine, and especially his uncles, saw with 
 uneasiness that so promising a scion of their race was advancing towards 
 puberty uninstructed in the learning befitting his future station in life; 
 and in a serious family council it was resolved, despite the protestations 
 and tears of maternal solicitude, that the young eagle should be caged 
 within the walls of a public academy. A celebrated one of the kind at 
 Lyons was fixed upon, and thither did his mother one mournful day con- 
 vey her precious charge to be lodged with strangers. After a passionate 
 farewell, the great iron gate was closed, and the boy, whose spirit had been 
 so long elastic with the air of freedom, naturally abandoned himself to 
 sorrow and despair. So vehemently did his instincts rebel against this un- 
 usual thraldom and the cold scholastic forms of the institution, that after a 
 few months he made his escape, and with three francs in his pocket, set 
 out to seek his distant home. At the very first stage from Lyons, however, 
 he was captured by the redoubtable head of the establishment in person, 
 accompanied by a gensdarme, and carried back to his prison in the dis- 
 creditable character of a deserter. So decided a proof of his repugnance 
 nevertheless weighed with his relatives, and he was removed to an institu- 
 tion at Bellay, on the frontiers of Savoy, which was under the manage- 
 ment of a company of Jesuits. The remarkable capacity of that distin- 
 guished order in gaining the affections of youth, and exciting in their 
 pupils the thirst of knowledge, was not belied in the instance of this wild 
 boy of the mountains. Naturally gentle and confiding in disposition, he 
 was soon reconciled to his new instructors, who so skilfully combined reli- 
 gious with secular education; and during the four years he remained at 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 the college, he passed his time happily and beneficially, returning home 
 at length, crowned with academic laurels, and accomplished in all the 
 gifts of a pious and generous cultivation. 
 
 It was after his return from college that the poetic temperament first 
 fully appeared in Lamartine, and betrayed him into some of those vagaries 
 which young votaries of the muse are ever prone to nourish and encounter. 
 He had conceived an inordinate admiration of Ossian, or rather those 
 poems which Macpherson had so successfully palmed on the world as pro- 
 ductions of an early Gaelic bard, and in this he only followed the example 
 of the great Napoleon, who had set all France mad on the subject of Fin- 
 gal, the land of Morven, and icy fogs encircling mountain tops. Mingling 
 now in the genteel circles of his province, he soon found out a young lady 
 who was equally smitten as himself with the northern bard, and straightway 
 a sympathetic attachment sprung up between them. They met in lonely 
 places, and climbed to the summits of hills, seeking ever for wreaths of 
 snow, for mists, for vapours, and for yawning caves, amid which they 
 might read together the verses that bewitched them, and realise the 
 images of the chill and dismal song. A night adventure, in which Lamar- 
 tine dropped stealthily from his window, scoured the fields, and met on 
 the terrace of her dwelling the fair enthusiast, to enjoy an outpouring of 
 Ossianic fervour under the actual canopy of the stars, dissolved this peril- 
 ous intimacy of two ardent minds, for a rough but faithful dog disturbed 
 the enamoured pair, and by his obstreperous barking revealed the secret 
 of their youthful romance. Parents are always surprised, and generally 
 indignant, when they discover their children engaged in the game of love; 
 with artless simplicity they wonder how such things can be, and tear 
 asunder the tender hearts with the rude hand of authority. It was 
 deemed advisable that Alphonse should travel into Italy, to forget his 
 youthful indiscretion; nor did the task seem difficult to him, for it has 
 cost him no tear to record the early death of the poor girl who had given 
 up to him her innocent heart. 
 
 Italy, as is naturally to be supposed, aroused in him all the warmth 
 of his latent enthusiasm. Originally circumscribed to Tuscany as the limit 
 of his journey under the guardianship of a relation, he broke loose from 
 the parental injunction, and started as a truant for Rome. There he 
 passed a winter in the house of a poor painter, alone and friendless, but 
 supremely happy in those sublime contemplations which are common to 
 reflective minds amid the scenes of a grandeur embracing two civilisations 
 — the one extinct, yet robust in deathless glory; the other quick with life, 
 but already enfeebled by ignorance and degeneracy. From Rome he wan- 
 dered onwards to Naples, where he met with a college friend about his 
 own age, who was ready to join him in any romantic enterprise he might 
 suggest. There were no pirates or robbers with whom they might conve- 
 niently associate themselves, so they made shift to be content with a 
 fisherman, whose rough and adventurous calling they embraced, living 
 with him in a cave on the shore of the bay, accompanying him to 6ea in 
 his excursions, dancing among the lazzaroni and their black-eyed mis- 
 tresses in the evenings, and enjoying that careless and wild existence which 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 has such peculiar charms to the youthful imagination. One night they 
 were overtaken by a storm, and being unable to round Cape Misenum, their 
 little bark was driven by the waves on the rocks of Procida, where it was 
 speedily dashed to pieces. On this island, however, it happened that the 
 fisherman had a cottage, in which, during the summer, his wife and grand- 
 daughter resided, for the purpose of rearing figs and grapes, to be sold in 
 the market of Naples; and to this cottage accordingly the shipwrecked 
 mariners forthwith directed their steps, creeping wearily along the steep 
 and broken rocks. Here they at length found shelter, though not without 
 incurring the muttered curses of the old grandmother, who ascribed the 
 disaster to the presence of two Frenchmen, who were notorious in the 
 world as infidels and sons of the devil. Graziella, her beautiful grand- 
 daughter, viewed the strangers with different eyes, and interceded in 
 their favour; but the good woman was inexorable in her denunciations, 
 until, on the following day, they purchased for her husband a new boat, 
 and fitted it out with the requisite tackle. Then her anger was turned 
 to exuberant joy, and from that moment the Frenchmen became welcome 
 inmates of her household. They remained a considerable time, following 
 the same idle and thoughtless life, until the companion of Lamartine was 
 peremptorily summoned to France, and the latter was left alone. Then 
 came the inevitable catastrophe. Graziella had fallen in love with him, 
 although he denies having given her the least encouragement. On his 
 leaving the place, she pined and died, apparently from mere distress at 
 his desertion. 
 
 Shortly after his return from Italy, the restoration of the Bourbons took 
 place, and then, in accordance with the royalist principles of his family, 
 he was enrolled as one of the body-guard of Louis XVIII. Upon the flight 
 of the king to Ghent, this guard accompanied him to the frontier, where 
 it was disbanded, and Lamartine again sought the shelter of his paternal 
 roof. Filled with an inextinguishable animosity against Napoleon, he re- 
 solved to leave France rather than be subject to the new conscription of 
 the Emperor, and consequently made his escape into Switzerland. There 
 he remained, loitering about the shores of Lake Leman, until the second 
 restoration enabled him to resume his duties in the royal guard, to which 
 he continued attached until its ultimate dissolution. Subsequently to this 
 event he was cast loose upon society, and, by his own account, gave him- 
 self up to dissipation for more than two years, during which he became 
 fearfully addicted to the passion of gambling. By the efforts of his friends 
 he was redeemed from this deplorable course of life, and a situation pro- 
 cured for him in the diplomatic service. He was successively attached to 
 the French legations at Florence and Naples, and had been nominated by 
 the government of Charles X. to fill the post of ambassador in Greece, 
 when the revolution of 1830 occurred, which at once subverted the 
 monarchy, and put an end to his appointment. Like all the Legitimists, 
 he refused to serve under the new government of Louis-Philippe, and with 
 a haughty disgust retired into private life. 
 
 Such, then, was the career of Lamartine up to the great era of 1830. It 
 is evident that the desultory course of life he had led was not favourable 
 
xii 
 
 LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 to the formation of very strict principles ; and despite the early lessons of 
 his mother, it is not surprising that in his future conduct he evinced a 
 lamentable weakness and vacillation. But in the meantime he had gained 
 a prodigious reputation from the poems he had already published. It was 
 in 1820 that his first important work appeared, and it was received with 
 an applause of which there are few examples among modern writers. The 
 title he gave it — that of ' Poetic Meditations ' — was an unpretending one, 
 but its tone and spirit were eminently adapted to the period in which it 
 was written. The exhaustion and calamities of France consequent upon 
 the overthrow of Napoleon had created a sadness in the public mind, 
 to which it formed an admirable echo, and although a collection of de- 
 tached pieces, its success was not affected by a form which is often detri- 
 mental to the interest of a work. A second series of these ' Meditations T 
 sustained the fame of their author, which was nevertheless considered as 
 somewhat impaired by his subsequent publication of a poem entitled 
 ' The Death of Socrates,' and of a concluding canto to Lord Byron's 
 4 Childe Harold.' The ' Poetic and Religious Harmonies ' followed these 
 rather inauspicious efforts, which, despite their lofty and sublime inspi- 
 ration, have been severely criticised for the mystic and transcendental 
 vagueness marring their otherwise majestic beauties. His next work was 
 ' Jocelyn,' a long poetic romance, of which the hero was a priest, and the 
 plot derived from an affecting story communicated to him by the cure of 
 a parish adjoining Milly. This work commanded all the popularity of his 
 earlier poems, which was far from being the case with one that succeeded 
 it, called ' The Fall of an Angel.' The last poetic effusion of Lamartine 
 bears the title of ' Recueillemens Poetiques,' and in his preface to it he 
 took occasion to condemn poetry as beneath the attention of a man en- 
 gaged in important avocations, and pretty clearly intimated that he him- 
 self had come to regard it with a feeling very nearly akin to contempt. 
 This outbreak against the source of his own fortune is indicative of the 
 morose and discontented spirit which seems gradually to have overmas- 
 tered him, and prepared the way for a new career. In his poetry, never- 
 theless, Lamartine will find his justest claim to distinction, for in it at 
 least he has nothing to mourn, to regret, or be ashamed of. His versifica- 
 tion is extremely pure and melodious, although occasionally disfigured by 
 tasteless distortions, and his sentiments are ever noble and exalted, a 
 truly fervent piety animating the whole with such intensity, that he may 
 be well considered the poet of religion in his native country. Still, with 
 all these qualifications, his poems are not adapted for any atmosphere but 
 that of France, and none but occasional translations of selected fragments 
 have as yet introduced him in his best capacity to the notice and appro- 
 bation of the British public. 
 
 The case has been very different with his prose works, of which the one 
 given in the following pages maybe esteemed the most favourable specimen. 
 It is his 'Voyage en Orient,' or 'Journey in the East,' which was under- 
 taken in the year 1832, when circumstances of domestic affliction rendered 
 him more than usually the prey of melancholy. He had very recently lost 
 his mother, to whom his affection has clung with a tenacity long lost for 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 every other object ; and his infant son had also died, to whom he looked 
 as the heir of his name. The wife he had married was an Englishwoman, 
 a Miss Birch, with whom his wayward fancy had been at length smitten ; 
 and they had another child, a daughter, whose death in Syria will be 
 found to form a touching episode in his Eastern adventures. The work 
 he has composed is scarcely a book of travels, but rather a succession of 
 pictures of ravishing beauty, richly interspersed with pious, sentimental, 
 and philosophical reflections. He has himself disclaimed the idea of 
 writing what may be called a regular work, and says, with evident justice, 
 that it is a collection of notes thrown together under the inspiration of 
 time and locality, which doubtless he subsequently moulded into a more 
 finished and elaborate form. It is nevertheless a composition of extraor- 
 dinary interest, embracing visits to all those places which are so dear to 
 the memories of Christians, and embodying the views and impressions of 
 one who, above all others, has painted in glowing eloquence the pro- 
 found emotions of a soul wrapped in divine reveries. 
 
 Here a biographer would willingly drop the veil, and terminate his 
 account of the life of M. Lamartinc. But that being impossible, he will at 
 all events seek to hasten over the scenes which have cast around him the 
 shadow of darkness and of evil. Whilst yet absent on his excursion to 
 the Holy Land, he was elected a member of the Chamber of Deputies, 
 and first took his seat in that assembly on the 4th of January 1834. Ho 
 appeared in the ranks of the Legitimists, the irreconcilable opponents of 
 the existing dynasty, and therein only acted a part imposed upon him by 
 the traditional tendencies of his family. It was long before he gained any 
 reputation in the Chamber, for his oratory was marked by a dreamy and 
 inflated style, utterly inappropriate to a popular assembly, and he was 
 seldom listened to with anything like attention or regard. This indiffer- 
 ence rankled deeply in his heart, where there no doubt dwelt a deep 
 sense of powers and feelings far above the general level. In all attempts to 
 include him within the fold of a definite party, Lamartine proved refrac- 
 tory ; for his ideas were impracticable, and his principles unsettled, and, 
 moreovei', his egotism revolted from being confined to a category not ex- 
 clusively of his own dictation. Thus, whilst every other member of the 
 Chamber had a position more or less fixed, he alone occupied no ascer- 
 tainable ground, floating from side to side with every gust of his spleen or 
 caprice. Meanwhile his oratory had assumed a far higher character, and 
 his speeches in the tribune were generally regarded as masterpieces of elo- 
 quence, which, if they failed to produce any decisive effects in the Cham- 
 ber itself, operated wonderfully on the public imagination, from that high- 
 wrought fervour which invariably distinguishes his effusions. Hence he 
 was continually making for himself a name in popular estimation, and the 
 more so from the very circumstance of his being free from the quarrels of 
 factions, in which the bulk of the population had ceased to take the 
 smallest interest. It is undoubted that subsequent to 1840 the govern- 
 ment of Louis-Philippe had completely lost the national character it 
 originally possessed, and was reduced to support itself upon a system of 
 corruption which gradually undermined its foundations. In such a state 
 
xiv 
 
 LIFE OF LAilARTLNE. 
 
 of things, it was only natural that Lamartine should raise an indignant 
 voice in common with other members of the opposition, among whom his 
 old friends the Legitimists were as vociferous as any ; but in his denun- 
 ciations of ministerial acts, he was not held to transgress the allowed 
 limits of parliamentary warfare. From various causes, a change came over 
 the spirit of Lamartine. He gradually passed from the extremity of mo- 
 narchical principles to that of universal rule or democracy. 
 
 It would be preposterous to deny that Lamartine had arrived at earnest 
 convictions that the monarchy of 1830 had ceased to fultil the expectations 
 of France, and that its consequences had been injurious to her liberty and 
 morality. Under the peaceful policy of Louis-Philippe she had obtained 
 an extraordinary material prosperity, but that was rather a crime than 
 otherwise. Ideas were not progressing, the sacred principles of the Revo- 
 lution were becoming more and more ignored, and the mere physical 
 happiness of millions was not to be considered in a question affecting their 
 political rights. Having duly pondered the subject in this light, Lamar- 
 tine selected the press instead of the tribune to proclaim his new opinions, 
 and in the year 1847 astounded all classes of his countrymen by the pub- 
 lication of his ' History of the Girondins.' In this very extraordinary pro- 
 duction it was not the Girondins he was called upon to defend, for they 
 have been treated by historians with a forbearance not merited by their 
 actions, but extorted by their individual virtues and sufferings ; it was 
 Robespierre, whom he undertook to relieve from the load of odium that 
 rests upon his execrable name, and whom he sought to invest with the 
 fascinating attributes of a hero. The very animation of the style, the vivid 
 force of descriptions, the enthusiasm of conversion preaching its sudden 
 propaganda, added to the marvellous and mischievous effect of the book. 
 It was multiplied in cheap reprints until it became disseminated tlirough- 
 out the whole of France, and bore with it a weight from the favourable 
 antecedents of the author which no other name could have commanded. 
 "With Lamartine, the pious, the sentimental, the philanthropic, whose pre- 
 tensions to every human excellence had been taken upon liis own word, 
 it could be no disgrace to harmonise in convulsive theories : his popularity 
 rose to a boundless pitch, wliich tended only to intoxicate him with yet 
 brighter visions of a glory still to be attained. 
 
 The events that have subsequently occurred, and his own recent reve- 
 lations, leave no room to doubt that from this time Lamartine was in 
 intimate communion with the leaders of the republican faction. He took 
 no prominent part in the great cry for parliamentary reform which arose 
 in France during the autumn of 1847, deeming perhaps the institutions of 
 a hateful monarchy not worth improving. He was still in the background 
 when the convulsion of February 1848 approached, and even when it 
 ultimately broke forth ; but such was the paramount influence the repub- 
 licans ascribed to him, that on the morning of the 24th of February, the 
 third day of the insurrection, when the popular victory was in fact assured, 
 they left to his sole determination the establishment of a regency under 
 the Duchess of Orleans, with himself as her controlling minister, or the 
 immediate proclamation of a republic. Lamartine decided for the latter, 
 
LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 XV 
 
 and the celebrated scene in the Chamber of Deputies ensued, when the 
 Duchess and her son, the Count de Paris, were ruthlessly thrust forth from 
 the national asylum, and a provisional government was declared at the 
 dictation of the mob. So utterly was the complicity of Lamartine even 
 then unknown, that in France itself, and certainly in every other country 
 of Europe, the announcement of his name as a member of this government 
 created an almost universal surprise. His associates comprehended men 
 who had already advocated doctrines of violence and anarchy, with whom 
 a contest commenced from the first in the councils of the Hotel de Ville, 
 which continued during the whole tumultuous existence of the extem- 
 porised dictatorship. Lamartine remained steadfast to the cause of order 
 amid tlireats and dangers which would have appalled an ordinary man, 
 and finally he succeeded, by dint of a personal heroism and persuasive elo- 
 quence, to which nothing similar has been witnessed in any age of the 
 world, in delivering over the destinies of France to an Assembly elected by 
 the universal suffrage of his countrymen. In the interval the populace of 
 Paris had risen several times in the exercise of its sacred right of rebel- 
 lion, and stormed the Hotel de Ville ; the red standard of blood had been 
 mounted, and the ominous theories of Socialism and Communism not only 
 propounded, but partially put in practice ; the National Assembly itself 
 was outraged by the irruption of a barbarian horde within a few days of its 
 meeting ; and at length, after four days of the most sanguinary conflict 
 that ever took place between citizens in the streets of their capital, the 
 horrible catastrophe terminated in a military despotism. Lamartine dis- 
 appeared from the scene, and left his country plunged in a chaos of ruin 
 and turmoil from which it cannot soon recover. 
 
 Thus has this singular individual reached the last measure of distinction 
 to which his ambition has been for ever aspiring. He has since returned 
 to his calling as an author, and given to the world an extemporised 
 epitome of the 'History of the Revolution of 1848.' In this work he 
 expounds the principles upon which he justifies his share in provoking 
 that lamentable event, and he reduces them to two: 1st, The universal 
 participation by all men of adult age in the affairs of government and a 
 universal proprietorship, not after the manner of the Socialists, whom he 
 declares he regards with pity, or of the Communists, whom he looks upon 
 with horror, but after a fashion which he takes care to leave unexplained, 
 save that it is to be accomplished without the least disarrangement of 
 existing rights ; Idly, The separation of all religious affairs from the con- 
 cern of the State. These two principal ideas he considers ' sufficiently 
 holy and sufficiently matured to warrant the promotion of a revolution,' 
 and he therefore ' disinterestedly and conscientiously' promoted one. 
 The ideas themselves may be abstractedly good, but would any man of the 
 least sanity of judgment forcibly break up the institutions of a nation for 
 their hypothetical realisation ? It was competent for him to have advo- 
 cated their adoption by peaceful and moral means, nor could he say these 
 might not have been successful if the nation itself was sensible of their 
 merits ; but the moment the nation pronounced its verdict, it condemned 
 and repudiated them ! This is the melancholy peculiarity of France, which 
 
Xvi LIFE OF LAMARTINE. 
 
 exposes it to such incessant dangers. Men, totally destitute of judgment 
 or appreciation, like Lamartine, work themselves up into a belief in the 
 superior efficacy of certain dogmas, principally springing, as in his case, from 
 distempered feelings, and they straight way view themselves as entitled to 
 substantiate them at any cost of blood or happiness to the rest of man- 
 kind. Thus no sooner has the grand panacea of a republic been applied 
 to the wounds of France, than there are five or six bands of conspirators 
 arrayed to pull it in pieces and subvert it, or mould it according to the 
 impulses of their caprice and selfishness. 
 
 One other ground of exculpation of his conduct, it is proper to state, 
 Lamartine seeks to establish. The peaceful policy of Louis-Philippe pre- 
 cluded the idea of a territorial aggrandisement of France, whilst a republic 
 would be likely to repair so improper an abnegation. It is true he had 
 signed a decree of the provisional government in which the fraternity of 
 nations was proclaimed with the avowed purpose of ' abolishing war by 
 abolishing conquests f but that he seems to treat, what it was probably 
 intended to be, as a piece of conventional moonshine. He conceives one 
 of two lines of policy prescribed to France, both of them being based on 
 the prostration of England: — 1st, An alliance with Austria, leading to the 
 absorption by France of Savoy, Switzerland, and the Rhenish provinces, 
 with the extension of Austria in Italy and on the Danube ; An 
 alliance with Russia, by which France would appropriate Italy, the 
 Rhenish provinces and Belgium, and establish a direct protectorate over 
 Spain ; whilst to Russia would be abandoned Constantinople and all 
 European Turkey, even to the Adriatic, thereby extinguishing the new 
 monarchy of Greece. This latter alliance he deems by far the most pre- 
 ferable one, pronouncing it in fact as ' the cry of nature and the revelation 
 of geography.'' Such are the blessings M. Lamartine proposes to engraft 
 on his republic, and which necessarily presuppose the accompaniment of 
 another general war. It was only by his abrupt dismissal from authority 
 that this fearful scourge was probably averted; for he had resolved to send 
 the French army across the Alps, and to seize upon Savoy, as he takes care 
 to record. He had certainly upheld the cause of peace after the first 
 outbreak of the Revolution, but it was only whilst he thought it expedient 
 for the interest and consolidation of the infant republic. 
 
 What may be the future fortunes of Lamartine it is impossible and 
 perhaps useless to conjecture. A rumour is now in circulation that he 
 intends to retire into the East and become a subject of the sultan of 
 Turkey. 
 
 T. W. R. 
 
 Edinburgh, February 18-SO. 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 This is neither a book nor a journey ; I never thought of writing either 
 the one or the other. M. de Chateaubriand lias composed a book, or 
 rather a poem, on the East : that great author and poet only passed over 
 that land of prodigies, but he has imprinted for ever the marks of genius 
 upon that dust which so many ages have stirred. He went to Jerusalem 
 as a pilgrim and a knight, the Bible, the Gospel, and the Crusades in his 
 hand. I visited it only as a poet and philosopher: I have brought from it 
 profound impressions in my heart, high and awful precepts in my mind. 
 The reflections I have there made upon religions, history, manners, tra- 
 ditions, the different phases of humanity, are not lost upon me. Those 
 reflections which expand the narrow horison of the thought, which bring 
 before the reason the great religious and historical problems, which force 
 men to turn upon themselves, and scrutinise their previous hastily- 
 formed convictions to change them for new ones ; that grand and inward 
 improvement of the thought by the exercise of thought itself, by localities, 
 by facts, by comparisons of eras with eras, manners with manners, creeds 
 with creeds, nothing of all this is lost to the traveller, the poet, or the 
 philosopher — they are the elements of his future poetry and philosophy. 
 AVhen he has amassed, classed, arranged, elucidated, and digested the 
 countless throng of impressions, images, and thoughts which the earth 
 and men arouse whom lie studies — when he has matured his mind and his 
 eonvictions — he also gives them vent ; and whether good or bad, just or 
 false, he utters his thoughts to his generation, either in the form of a poem 
 c>r a philosophic summary. He speaks his word, that word which every 
 man who thinks is called upon to speak. This moment will perhaps occur 
 for me ; but it has not yet come. 
 
 As to a book of travels — that is to say, a complete and faithful descrip- 
 tion of the countries I have traversed, the personal events that have 
 befallen me, or the effect of the impressions made upon me by places, 
 men, and manners — I have still less intended to compose. It is already 
 done for the East in England, and is now progressing in France at this 
 moment with a faithfulness, talent, and success which I could not hope 
 to surpass. M. de Laborde writes and designs with the talent of the 
 traveller in Spain, and the pencil of our greatest artists. M. Fontanier, 
 consul at Trebisonde, gives us in succession exact and living portraits 
 of the least-explored parts of the Ottoman empire. And the Eastern 
 Correspondence supplied by M. Michaud of the French Academy, and by 
 VOL. I. B 
 
XV 111 
 
 author's preface. 
 
 liis brilliant fellow-labourer M. Poujoulat, leaves nothing to curiosity, as 
 to the history, morals, or landscapes of the East, to desire. M. Michaud, 
 an experienced writer, an accomplished and classical historian, enriches 
 the description of the places he visits with all the recollections, so vivid 
 to him, of the Crusades. He exercises his criticism upon localities by 
 historical illustrations, and clears up history by an examination of the 
 scenes themselves ; his ripened and inductive mind pierces the ob- 
 scurity of the past equally with the manners of the people whom he 
 surveys, and spreads the salt of liis piquant and graceful intellect over 
 the usages, customs, and religions he investigates: he is the man ad- 
 vanced in years and wisdom, leading youth by the hand, and showing 
 to him, with the smile of reason and irony, new scenes. M. Poujoulat 
 is a poet and a painter : his style, conveying the impression and hues of 
 the very places, reflects them all sparkling and warm with the local 
 brilliancy. We feel that the Asian sun still shines upon and heats his 
 young and teeming mind whilst he writes to his friend : his pages are 
 portions of the very country itself, which he bears to us all radiant in 
 their native splendour. Such two varied talents, acting in conjunction, 
 render the Eastern Correspondence the most complete work that we 
 could desire upon this admirable country, as well as presenting the 
 most varied and attractive information. 
 
 We have not hitherto effected much as to geography ; but the labours 
 of M. Caillet, a young staff-officer whom I met in Syria, will be doubtless 
 shortly published, and will give us a complete picture of that part of 
 the world. M. Caillet has passed three years in exploring the Isle of 
 Cyprus, Caramania, and the different parts of Syria, with that zeal and 
 intrepidity which characterise the enlightened officers of the French 
 army. Having shortly ago returned to his native land, he brings with 
 him information that would have been extremely useful to Bonaparte's 
 expedition, and which may pave the way for others. 
 
 The notes which I have here consented to give to the public have 
 none of these merits. I yield them with regret ; they are merely in the 
 shape of recollections for myself, and were destined for that purpose 
 alone. There is nothing of science, history, geography, or manners in 
 them — the public was far from my thoughts when I wrote them — and 
 how did I write them? Sometimes at noon, during the mid-day repose, 
 under the shade of a palm-tree, or under the ruins of a monument in 
 the desert ; more often in the evening beneath a tent, beaten by the wind 
 and rain, by the light of a torch of resin ; one day in the cell of a Maro- 
 nite convent on Lebanon ; another day amid the rolling of an Arab boat, 
 or upon the deck of a brig, in the midst of the shouts of sailors, neighing 
 of horses, interruptions and distractions of all sorts by land and sea ; 
 sometimes eight days without writing at all ; at other times losing the 
 scattered pages of an album, torn by jackals, or steeped in the brine of 
 the sea. 
 
 When returned to Europe, I might have doubtless revised these frag- 
 ments of impressions, collected, arranged, and prepared them, and, like 
 another, made a book of travels. But I have already said to write 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 xix 
 
 travels was not in my mind. It would have needed time, freedom of 
 spirit, attention, and labour ; and I had none of all this to give. My heart 
 was broken, my mind was elsewhere, my attention distracted, my leisure 
 destroyed ; it was necessary either to burn the notes, or let them go forth 
 such as they were. Circumstances, which it is not requisite to explain, 
 have induced me to adopt the latter alternative : I repent of having done 
 so, but it is too late. 
 
 Let, then, the reader close the book before casting his eyes over it if 
 he seeks anything but the most fugitive and superficial impressions of a 
 traveller who marches without tarrying. There can be a little interest 
 only for painters — these notes are almost exclusively picturesque : it is 
 the look, the glance of a passer-by, seated on his camel or on the deck of a 
 brig, who sees landscapes float before him, and who, in order to remember 
 them on the morrow, throws a few colourless pencil-marks on the pages 
 of his journal. Sometimes the traveller, forgetting the scene which 
 surrounds him, turns upon himself, speaks to himself, listens to himself 
 thinking, enjoying, or suffering ; he then records a word of his distant 
 feelings, so that the wind of the desert or the ocean may not bear away 
 his whole existence, and so that there may remain some trace of them at 
 another time, when returned to the solitary hearth, striving to reanimate 
 an extinct past, give heat to frozen remembrances, and to link again the 
 chains of a life which have been snapped in so many places. Such are 
 these notes : of interest, they possess none ; of success, they can expect 
 no portion ; of indulgence, they have too much reason to claim a con- 
 siderable share. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 MARSEILLES, 20th May, 1832. — My mother had received from her 
 mother, on her deathbed, a fine Bible of Royaumont, in which she 
 taught me to read when I was a little child. This Bible had engrav- 
 ings of sacred subjects in all the pages. There was Sarah, there was 
 Tobit and his angel, there was Joseph or Samuel; above all, there 
 were those fine patriarchal scenes where the solemn and primitive 
 nature of the East was mingled with every act of that simple and 
 marvellous life which was led by the early men. When I had cor- 
 rectly recited my lesson, and read nearly without a fault a half page 
 of sacred history, my mother uncovered the engraving, and holding 
 the book open on her knees, made me contemplate it, while giving 
 me its explanation as my reward. She was endowed by nature with 
 a soul equally pious and affectionate, and Avith an imagination of the 
 most sensitive and graphic order : all her thoughts were sentiments, 
 all her sentiments were images ; her fine, noble, sweet countenance 
 reflected in its beaming physiognomy all that was glowing in her 
 heart, all that Avas painted in her conceptions; and the silvery 
 tone of her A^oice, so affectionate, solemn, and impassioned, imparted 
 to her every Avord an emphasis of such force, and interest, and love, 
 as still at this moment vibrates in my ear, alas ! after six years of 
 silence ! The vieAv of these engravings, the explanations and poetical 
 commentaries of my mother, inspired me from my tenderest infancy 
 Avith Scriptural tastes and inclinations ; and from the love of these 
 representations, to the desire of seeing the places where the events 
 represented had taken place, there was but one step. I burned, then, 
 from the age of eight years, with an eager Avish of visiting those 
 mountains where God descended; those deserts where the angcis 
 came and pointed out to Hagar the hidden spring from which to re- 
 animate her poor banished infant that Avas dying of thirst; those 
 rivers that issued from the earthly paradise ; that heaven Avhere the 
 angels Avere seen to descend and to ascend on the ladder of Jacob. 
 This longing had never been extinguished in me ; I mused continually 
 on a journey to the East, which formed the one great act of my intel- 
 
22 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 lectual existence : I was eternally constructing in my thoughts a vast, 
 religious epic, of which these beauteous localities were to form the 
 principal scene ; it seemed to me also as if my spiritual doubts and 
 religious perplexities were there to find their solution and their paci- 
 fication. In a word, I was from this source to find colouring for my 
 poem ; for life always presented itself to my intellect as a great poem, 
 while to my heart it breathed of love. God, Love, and Poetry — 
 these are the three only words I should wish engraved on my monu- 
 ment, should I ever deserve a monument. 
 
 Such was the origin of those notions that now impel me to the 
 shores of Asia. Such is my reason for now being at Marseilles, and 
 for my taking so much pains to leave a country which I love, where 
 I have friends, and whence some fraternal feelings will pursue me 
 with regret. 
 
 Marseilles, 22c? May. — I have freighted a vessel of 250 tons, with a 
 crew of sixteen. The captain is an excellent man. His physiognomy 
 pleases me. His voice has that grave and sincere accent that denotes 
 firm integrity and a pure conscience ; there is a gravity in the expres- 
 sion of his countenance, and his look has that lively, frank, and 
 direct beam which is so sure an index of a prompt resolution, energy, 
 and intelligence. He is, besides, a mild, polite, and well-bred man. 
 I have examined him with all that carefulness which one must natu- 
 rally bring to the selection of an individual to whom he is about to 
 confide not only his fortune and his life, but the lives of his wife and 
 only child — thus concentrating three existences, as it were, into one 
 alone. May God protect us, and grant us a safe return ! 
 
 The vessel is named the Alceste. The captain is M. Blanc of La 
 Ciotat. The owner is one of the worthiest merchants in Marseilles, M. 
 Bruno-Rostand. He overpowers us with attention and kindnesses. He 
 has himself resided a long time in the Levant. He is a well-informed 
 man, and capable for the highest employments ; and in his native city 
 his probity and talents have gained for him a consideration equal to 
 his fortune. The latter he enjoyed without ostentation, and, sur- 
 rounded by a charming family, he is entirely occupied in diffusing 
 among his children the traditions of loyalty and virtue. "What a 
 noble country, where such domestic spectacles are to be met with in 
 every class of society ! And how amiable are those household insti- 
 tutions that protect, preserve, perpetuate, the same sanctity of 
 morals, the same nobility of sentiments, the same traditional qualities, 
 in the cottage, in the counting-house, or in the lordly mansion. 
 
 May 25. — Marseilles welcomes us as if we were children of her 
 own beauteous clime ; it is a land of generosity of heart, and of the 
 poetry of soul : they receive poets as brothers, they are poets them- 
 selves: and I have found, among men of the common walks of 
 society, among the academicians, and amidst young people who have 
 scarcely entered upon life, a host of character and of talent capable 
 of doing honour, not to their native province alone, but to entire 
 France. The south and north-of France appear to me in this respect 
 much superior to the central provinces. The imagination languishes 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 23 
 
 in these intermediate regions, in these over-temperate climates : it 
 must have an excess of temperature. Poetry is daughter of the sun, 
 or of eternal hoar-frosts : we find either a Homer or an Ossian, a 
 Tasso or a Milton. 
 
 May 28. — My heart will carry with it an eternal memorial of the 
 benevolence of the Marseillese. It seems as if they wished, in my 
 case, to heighten those feelings of anguish that oppress the heart 
 when one is about to leave his native land without knowing if he 
 shall ever revisit it. I wish also to treasure up the names of those 
 individuals who have given me a more particular reception, and whose 
 reminiscence will abide with me as the last sweet impression of my 
 natal soil : M. J. Freyssinet, M. de Montgrand, Messrs de Villeneuve, 
 M. Vangaver, M. Autran, M. Dufeu, M. Jauflfret, &c. — all men distin- 
 guished for some eminent quality of mind and heart, as philosophers, 
 statesmen, authors, or poets. May I see them again, and pay them 
 on my return all those tributes of gratitude and of friendship which 
 it is so sweet to owe, and so sweet to discharge ! 
 
 Here are some verses which I wrote this morning in sailing be- 
 tween the islands of Pomegue and the coast of Provence. They are 
 a farewell to Marseilles, which I quit with the feelings of a son. 
 There are also some stanzas of it which point to earlier and more 
 remote passages in my heart : — 
 
 A FAREWELL TRIBUTE TO THE ACADEMY OF MARSEILLES. 
 If to yon swift bark's canvass I confide 
 
 Each blessing Heaven has willed it to impart ; 
 If I commit to Ocean's fickle tide 
 
 A wife and child, twin portions of my heart; 
 If I expose to sandbank, surge, and blast, 
 
 Such hopes as these, so many beating breasts, 
 And with no gage of safety, save a mast 
 
 That quivers when the south- wind lists; 
 
 'Tis not that lust of gold inflames a soul 
 
 Which to itself hath nobler treasures made ; 
 Nor that I thirst in glory's flaming scroll 
 
 To write my name — if written, soon to fade ; 
 'Tis not that like to Dante's is my fate, 
 
 The bitter salt of exile doomed to taste ; 
 Nor that inconstant faction's angry hate 
 
 Hath laid my parent roof- tree waste. 
 
 No, no ! I leave upon a valley's side, 
 
 And weep to leave, green fields and shade-fraught trees — 
 A home where sweet remembrances abide, 
 
 Which many a kind eye blesses when it sees ; 
 Screened by the woods, I have secure retreats, 
 
 Where never factious brawls the calm destroy, 
 Where, 'stead of civil tempests, nothing meets 
 My ear but thankfulness and joy. 
 
 An aged sire, girt by our imaged forms, 
 
 Starts if around the walls the winds but sigh, 
 And daily prays that He who rules the storms 
 
 May not beyond its strength our canvass try ; 
 
lamartine's 
 
 Workmen and serv ants, masterless each one, 
 
 Trace on the turf our steps with sad acclaim, 
 And, basking 'neath my window in the sun, 
 My dogs whine as they hear my name. 
 
 Sisters I have, nursed at the same kind breast, 
 Boughs on the same trunk cradled by the gale ; 
 
 Friends, too, whose souls my ppirit has possest, 
 "Who read my eye, and can my thoughts unveil ; 
 
 And hearts unknown are by the muse made mine — 
 Friends who hold converse with my poesies — 
 
 Echoes unseen, who round my path combine 
 To pour responsive harmonies ! 
 
 Yet souls have instincts hard to be defined, 
 Like that which prompts some hardy birds to roam 
 
 In quest of nurture of another kind, 
 And cross at one bold flight the deep sea foam. 
 
 What seek they in the regions of the East? 
 Have they not mossy homes beneath our caves ! 
 
 And store of food their little ones to feast, 
 
 When autumn shakes our sun-tipt sheaves'? 
 
 I have, like them, the bread each day requires, 
 Like them I have the river and the hill ; 
 
 Most humble is the range of my desires, 
 Yet I, like them, am coming, going stdl ! 
 
 The East, like them, some power now bids me trace ; 
 For never have I seen or touched the land 
 
 Of Cham, the first dominion of our race, 
 
 Where man's heart felt God's kneading hand. 
 
 I have not sailed across the sandy sea, 
 To the slow rocking of the desert ship; 
 
 At Hebron's well, beside the palm-trees three, 
 I have not wet at eve my yearning lip ; 
 
 My cloak beneath the tents I have not spread, 
 
 Slept in the dust which strewed Job's brow cf yore, 
 
 Nor dreamt by night, with moaning sails o'erhead. 
 The dreams which Jacob dreamt before. 
 
 Of earth's seven pages one yet waits my eye ; 
 
 I know not how the stars may keep their sphere — 
 'Neath what ideal weight the lungs may ply — 
 
 How palpitates the heart — when gods are near ! 
 I know not, when the grand old columns throw 
 
 On the bard's head the shadows of the past, 
 How herbs may speak, or if earth murmurs low, 
 Or sadly weeps the passing blast. 
 
 I have not heard the nations' cries ascend, 
 And call responses from the cedars old ; 
 
 Nor seen high Lebanon's God-sent eagles bend 
 Their flight on Tyre — emblems of wrath foretold ; 
 
 My head I have not laid upon the mounds 
 Whence all of Tadmor but the name is gone, 
 
 Nor have my lonely footsteps woke the sounds 
 
 Tliat sleep round Mcmnoii's vacant throne. 
 
 I have not heard the mournful Jordan pour 
 Low munnurings from its abysmal caves, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 20 
 
 Weeping sublimer tears than those of yore, 
 With which sad Jeremiah chilled its waves ; 
 
 I have not heard the soul within me sing 
 In that resounding grot, where, 'mid the night, 
 
 The bard-king's trembling fingers swept the string, 
 Led by the hand of fiery light. 
 
 I have not traced the prints around that spot, 
 Where, 'neath the olive, Jesus weeping lay, 
 
 Nor on the straggling roots the tears have sought, 
 Which eager angels could not kiss away ; 
 
 By night I have not in that garden watched, 
 Where, while the sweat of blood was undergone, 
 
 The echo of our griefs and sins unmatched, 
 Resounded in one heart alone. 
 
 To that dear dust I have not bowed my head, 
 Which was by Christ's departing foot imprest, 
 
 Nor kissed the stones in which his mother laid 
 His tear-embalmed remains of earth to rest ; 
 
 Nor have I beat my bosom in the place 
 
 Where, conquering the future by his death, 
 
 He stretched his arms all mankind to embrace, 
 And blest them with his latest breath. 
 
 For these things I depart — on these bestow 
 The span of worthless days yet left for me. 
 
 What boots it where the winter winds lay low 
 The barren trunk, the withered 6hadeless tree? 
 
 ' Madman ! ' the crowd exclaims, itself unwise ! 
 All do not find their food on every road — 
 
 The pilgrim-poet's food in thinking lies: 
 
 His heart lives on the works of God ! 
 
 Adieu, my aged sire, and sisters dear! 
 
 My white and walnut- shaded home, adieu ! 
 Farewell, my steeds, now idling all the year ! 
 
 My lonely, hearth-couched dogs, farewell to you J 
 Each image grieves, and haunts me like the ghost 
 
 Of bliss departed, that would stay me fain: 
 Ah, may our reuniting hour be crost 
 
 By no like shades of doubt and pain ! 
 
 And thou, my land, more vexed by surge and blast 
 Than the frail bark which now my all conveys, 
 
 Land, on whose fate the hopes of earth are cast, 
 Adieu ! thy shores now fly my dimming gaze ! 
 
 Oh may a ray of heaven dispel the gloom 
 
 Which wraps thy freedom, temples, throne, and thee, 
 
 And all thy sacred borders re -illume 
 With light of immortality ! 
 
 And thou, Marseilles, that at the gates of France 
 
 Sittest as if to hail each coming guest, 
 Whose port smiles o'er these seas, with hope-bright glance, 
 
 And seems for winged barks an eagle nest; 
 Where kindly hands yet feel the clasp of mine, 
 
 Where yet my feet half cling in fond sojourn, 
 Thine be my parting prayer, Marseilles, and thine 
 My first salute on my return ! 
 
26 
 
 LAMAIVTIXE's 
 
 June 13. — We have been to visit our ship — our house for so many 
 months ! It is divided into small cabins, in which we have room for 
 a hammock and trunk. The captain has caused some small windows 
 to be pierced, which give the cabins a little light and air, and which 
 we shall be able to open when the sea is not high, or when the vessel 
 does not heel much over. The great state-room is reserved for 
 Madame de Lamartine and Julia. The waiting-maids will sleep in 
 the captain's little state-room, which he has been so kind as give up 
 to us. As the season is fine, we shall eat on deck, under a tent rigged 
 close to the mainmast. The brig is encumbered with provisions of 
 all kinds required for a journey of two years in countries of no re- 
 sources. A library of five hundred volumes, all selected works of 
 history, poetry, and travels, forms the finest ornament of the largest 
 apartment. Bundles of arms are grouped in the corners, and I have 
 purchased, besides, a private arsenal of muskets, pistols, and sabres, 
 to arm ourselves and our people. The Greek pirates infest the seas 
 of the Archipelago. We are determined to fight to the utmost, and 
 not allow them to board while life is left us. I have to defend two 
 lives, which are dearer to me than my own. There are four guns 
 on deck, and the crew, who are aware of the fate reserved by the 
 Greeks for the unhappy sailors they surprise, are resolved to die 
 rather than surrender to them. 
 
 June 17. — I take out with me three friends. The first is one 
 of those persons whom Providence attaches to our path when it 
 foresees that we shall have need of a support that may not bend 
 under peril or misfortune — Amedee de Parseval. We have been 
 linked together from our tenderest youth by an affection which 
 no period of our life has found defective. My mother loved him 
 as a son ; I have loved him as a brother ; whenever I have been 
 wounded by a stroke of destiny, I have found him at hand, or have 
 seen him arrive to take his share of it — the principal share, the 
 calamity all entire, had it been in his power. His is a heart that 
 lives only in the happiness of others, and suffers only from their 
 misfortunes. When I was, fifteen years ago, at Paris, alone, unwell, 
 ruined, desperate, and dying, he passed the nights in watching by 
 my lamp of agony: when I have lost some adored being, it was 
 always he who came and brought me the balm of solacement ; on 
 the death of my mother, he reached me as soon as the fatal intelli- 
 gence, and conducted me from a distance of two hundred leagues 
 to that tomb where I repaired in the vain search of that last adieu 
 which she had addressed to me, but which I had never heard ! More 
 
 lately ! But my misfortunes are not ended, and I shall again 
 
 experience his friendship whenever there is despair to be soothed 
 away from my heart, whenever there are tears to be mingled with 
 mine. 
 
 Two worthy intellectual and well-informed men, two truly choice 
 personages, have also arrived to accompany us in this pilgrimage. 
 The one is M. de Capmas, sub-prefect, deprived of his aim by the 
 revolution of July, one who has preferred the precarious chances 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 "27 
 
 of a painful and uncertain future to the preservation of his place. 
 An oath would have been repugnant to his loyalty, for the very 
 1 reason that it would have appeared interested. He is one of those 
 men who make no calculation in the face of a scruple of honour, 
 and with whom political sympathies have all the warmth and virgin 
 purity of true sentiment. 
 
 Our other companion is a physician of Hondschoote, M. de la 
 Royere. I became acquainted with him at my sister's house during 
 the period when I was meditating this departure. The purity of 
 his soul, the original and unsophisticated graces of his intellect, the 
 loftiness of his political and religious sentiments, made a strong 
 impression on me. I was desirous of bringing him with me, much 
 more as a moral resource, than from any prospective reference to 
 my health. I have since congratulated myself on this, as I attach 
 much more value to his mind and disposition than to his professional 
 abilities, though these are very well established. We converse 
 together much more about politics than about medicine. His views 
 and ideas about the present and future condition of France are 
 liberal, and not at all limited by personal attachment or dislike. 
 He knows that Providence accepts no aid of party in its operations ; 
 and, like myself, he looks, in human policy, to ideas, and not to 
 men's names. His thoughts proceed to the result, without troubling 
 themselves through what channel the passage is to be made ; and 
 his mind is free from all prejudices and prepossessions, even those 
 of his religious faith, which is sincere and fervent. 
 
 Six servants, almost all born or of long service in the family, 
 complete our company. All of them set out with joyfulness, and 
 take a personal interest in this journey. Each believes he is on 
 his own private travels, and they all gaily brave the fatigues and 
 perils upon which I have not deceived them. 
 
 In the roadstead, at anchor off the little gulf of Montredon, 6th July 
 1832. — I have sailed: the billows have now our whole destiny in 
 their power. I am no longer connected with my native land, save 
 by the thought of those cherished beings I still leave in it ; by the 
 thought, especially, of my father and sisters. 
 
 To explain to myself how — already verging towards the close 
 of my youth, approaching that season of life when man withdraws 
 himself from the ideal world, to enter upon the world of earthly 
 interests — I should have quitted my beauteous and peaceful exist- 
 ence at Saint-Point, and all the innocent delights of the domestic 
 fireside, whose charm was a wife, and whose embellishment a child — ■ 
 to explain to myself, I say, why I wander at present on the vast sea 
 towards unknown shores and an unknown futurity, I am obliged 
 to remount to the source of all my thoughts, and to seek there the 
 causes of my travelling tastes and sympathies. It is because imagi- 
 nation has also its wants and its passions ! I was born a poet, that is 
 to say, more or less conversant with that noble language which 
 God addresses to all men, but more clearly to some, through the 
 medium of his works. When youngs I had heard this voice of 
 
2S 
 
 LAMARTINE'S 
 
 nature, this language formed of images, and not of sounds, in the 
 mountains, in the forests, on the lakes, on the margin of the chasms 
 and torrents of my own country, and of the Alps ; I had even trans- 
 lated into written language some of those accents that had affected 
 me, and which now in their turn affected other minds ; but those 
 accents were no longer sufficient for me; I had exhausted that 
 small treasury of divine converse which our soil of Europe utters 
 to man — I thirsted to listen to other specimens on more brilliant 
 and more eloquent shores. My imagination was enamoured with 
 the sea, the deserts, the mountains, the manners, and the traces of 
 God in the East. All my life had the East been the dream of my 
 days of darkness, amidst the fogs of autumn and winter in my 
 native valley. My body, like my soul, is a child of the sun ; it must 
 have light; it needs that ray of life which beams not from the 
 shattered bosom of our western clouds, but from out the depths of 
 that purple sky which resembles the mouth of the furnace ; those 
 rays which are not merely light, but a glowing shower, which calcine, 
 as they descend, the white rocks, the sparkling teeth of the mountain- 
 peaks, and which tinge the ocean with red, like to a conflagration 
 floating on the waters! I had a craving to stir and knead in my 
 hands a little of that land which had been the land of our first family, 
 the land of prodigies ; to see, to traverse that gospel scenery, amid 
 which was enacted the drama of divine wisdom in conflict with 
 human error and perversity ! — where moral truth became a martyr, 
 in order to fertilise witli its blood a more perfect civilisation ! And 
 then I was — I had almost always been — a Christian in heart and in 
 imagination : my mother had made me so : I had sometimes ceased 
 to be so during the less good .and pure days of my early youth ; 
 misfortune and love, that complete love which purifies whatever 
 it inflames, had conjointly driven me back, at a later period, into 
 this first asylum of my thoughts, into those consolations of the heart 
 which one strives to resummon from his reminiscences and his hopes, 
 when all the bustle of the heart has fallen within us ; when all the 
 emptiness of life appears to us, after a passion extinguished, or a 
 death which leaves us nothing to love. This Christianism of senti- 
 ment had once more become a sweet habitude of my thoughts : I 
 used often to say to myself — "Where is truth, perfect, evident, and 
 incontestible, to be found I If it be anywhere, it is in the heart — 
 it is in that felt evidence against which there is no reasoning that 
 can prevail. But truth in the mind is nowhere complete;* it is 
 with God, and not with us ; our eye is too narrow to absorb a single 
 ray of it; all truth, with respect to us, is only relative; whatever 
 is most useful to mankind, will be truest also. The doctrine most 
 fertile in divine virtues, then, will be that which contains the greatest 
 number of divine truths ; for what is good is true. All my religious 
 logic stood at this point ; my philosophy did not ascend higher ; it 
 interdicted me from doubts, those interminable dialogues of reason 
 
 * In the original — Mais la vcrite dc l'csprit n'est con: i lite nullcpart. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 29 
 
 with herself; it left me that religion of the heart which harmonises 
 so well with all the infinite sentiments of the life of the soul, that 
 religion which resolves nothing, but which pacifies everything. 
 
 July 7, seven o'clock of the evening. — I say to myself, This pil- 
 grimage, if not as a Christian, at least as a man and a poet, would 
 have so much pleased my mother ! Her soul was so ardent, and 
 coloured itself so quickly and so completely with the impression of 
 places and objects ! It was she whose soul would have exulted in 
 ipresence of this sacred and now deserted theatre, on which was 
 performed the great drama of the gospel — that complete drama 
 In which the human and the divine portion of our nature act each 
 its part, the one crucifying, the other crucified ! This journey of 
 ithe son she loved so well, must be pleasing to her in that heavenly 
 mansion where I now seem to perceive her ; she will observe us ; 
 she will place herself like a second Providence between us and the 
 itempest, the simoom, and the Arab of the desert ! She will protect, 
 against every danger, her son, her daughter of adoption, and her 
 grand-daughter, that visible angel of our destiny, whom we cany 
 everywhere with us. She loved her so much ! she rested her look 
 with such unspeakable tenderness, with such penetrating pleasure, 
 on the charming countenance of that infant, the last and fairest hope 
 of her numerous generations ! — and if there be imprudence in this 
 enterprise, on which we have so often mused together, she will 
 obtain for me a pardon on high in favour of the motives, which are, 
 Love, Poetry, and Kcligion ! 
 
 The same evening. — Politics return to assail us even here. France 
 is beautiful when viewed in the approaching future. A generation 
 of men are rising who will have, by virtue of their later appearance, 
 a complete disconnection from our rancours and recriminations of 
 forty years. Little matters it to them that one may have belonged 
 to this or that hateful denomination of our old parties ; these men 
 went for nothing in those quarrels; they have neither prejudices 
 nor vengeance in their minds. That generation present themselves 
 pure and vigorous on the threshold of a new career; but this career 
 we are already blocking up with our hatreds, our passions, and our 
 old disputes. Let us make way for it. How I should have loved 
 to enter upon it in their name ! to mingle my voice with theirs 
 from that tribune which still only resounds with repetitions that 
 have no echo in the future — that tribune where the weapons of war- 
 fare are the names of men ! The hour would have now arrived for 
 lighting up the beacon of reason and morality over our political 
 tempests, for establishing the new social symbol which the world 
 begins to foreknow and to comprehend — the symbol of love and 
 charity among men, the evangelical politics! I do not reproach my- 
 self, at least for my part, with any egotism in this respect ; I would 
 have sacrificed to this duty even my travels, that dream of my 
 imagination for sixteen years! May heaven rouse up some men 
 for this work, for our politics make man ashamed, and cause the 
 angels to weep ! Destiny grants one season in every age for humanity 
 
30 
 
 LAMABTUfrft 
 
 to regenerate itself ; the present is a season of revolution, and men 
 squander it in tearing each other to pieces! They give up to 
 vengeance the season granted by God for regeneration and advance- 
 ment ! 
 
 Same day, still at anchor. — The revolution of July, which has pro- 
 foundly afflicted me, because I loved, innately, the old and venerable 
 family of the Bourbons, because they had both the love and the 
 blood of my father, my grandfather, and all my relations, because 
 they should have had also mine if they had wished it — that revolu- 
 tion, notwithstanding, did not irritate me, because it did not astonish 
 me. I saw it approaching from afar ; nine months before the fatal 
 day, the fall of the monarchy appeared to me written in the very 
 names of the men intrusted with its government. These men were 
 devoted and faithful, but they belonged to another age, to another 
 school of thought : while the ideas of the age were moving in one 
 direction, they were preparing to move in another; the separation 
 was complete as to principles ; it could not be delayed as to events ; 
 it was a mere question of days and hours. I have wept over that 
 family, which seemed condemned to the destiny and to the blind- 
 ness of (Edipus ! I have deplored, above all, that divorce, without 
 any necessity, between the past and the future. The former might 
 have been so useful to the latter. Liberty, and the progress of 
 society, would have borrowed as much strength from that adoption 
 as the ancient royal houses, the old families and old virtues, would 
 have done from them. It would have been at once so politic and 
 so pleasant not to have separated France into two hostile camps, 
 into two opposing interests, but to have moved on together, the one 
 party pressing forward their steps, and the other retarding theirs, 
 in order not to be disjoined on the route. All this is now only a 
 dream. The fact must be regretted, but time must not be lost in 
 uselessly recalling such things to memory. We must act, we must 
 move forward ; this is the law of nature, the law of God. I regret 
 that what is called the royalist party, which embraces so much 
 talent, influence, and virtue, should wish to make a pause on the 
 question of July. It was not compromised in that affair, which was 
 a mere affair of the palace, of intrigue, of a clique, in which the 
 great majority of royalists had no part. It is always allowable, 
 always honourable, to take a share in the misfortunes of others ; but 
 one ought not to make himself a gratuitous accomplice in an error 
 which he did not commit ; we ought to leave to whoever vindicates 
 it the fault of state revolutions, and of the retrograde movement ; 
 to pity and bewail the august victims of a fatal mistake ; to abjure 
 nought of those affections that are honourable to them; not to 
 repudiate hopes, which, though remote, are legitimate ; and, in 
 one word, to return into the ranks of the citizens, to think, speak, 
 act, and combat along with that family of families, the country. 
 But let us drop this subject. We shall see France again in two 
 years. May God protect her, and all that is dear and excellent in 
 every party we leave behind us i 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 31 
 
 July 8: under sail. — This day, at half-past five in the morning, 
 ! we got under way. Some friends of few days' standing, but of much 
 i affection, had outrisen the sun, in order to accompany us some miles 
 : to sea, and thus postpone their adieus. The brig glided along a 
 (smooth sea, limpid and blue, like the water of a shady spring in 
 i the rock. Scarcely did the weight of the yards — those long arms 
 , of the vessel loaded with sails— cause a slight inclination of each 
 side alternately ; a young man from Marseilles (M. Autrun) recited 
 to us some admirable verses, in which he confided his vows for our 
 safety to the winds and the billows. We were affected by this 
 separation from the land, by those thoughts that flew back to the 
 shore, that traversed Provence, and proceeded towards my father, 
 my sisters, my friends ; by those adieus, those verses, that fine out- 
 shadowing of Marseilles, which was retiring and diminishing under 
 j our view, and by that boundless sea which was to become for so 
 long a while our only country. 
 
 Oh, Marseilles ! oh, France ! Thou deservedst better ! This age, 
 this country, these young men, were worthy of contemplating a true 
 poet, one of those men who engrave a world and an epoch in the 
 harmonious memory of mankind! But as for me — I feel it pro- 
 foundly — I am but one of those men without stamp, of a transitory 
 and effaced epoch, some of whose sighs have had an echo, because 
 the echo is more poetical than the poet. However, I belonged to 
 another period by my inclinations ; I have often felt in myself an- 
 other man; horizons immense, infinite, luminous with poetry at 
 once philosophic, epic, religious, and new, were scattered in con- 
 fusion before me; but, in punishment of my mad and lost season 
 of youth, these horizons were very quickly closed again. I felt them 
 too vast for my physical forces ; I closed my eyes, not to be tempted 
 to precipitate myself into them. Farewell, then, to those reveries 
 of genius, of intellectual pleasure ! It is too late ! I shall sketch 
 perhaps a few scenes, I shall murmur a few songs, and all that will 
 be said is this : — ' Make way for others ;' and, I perceive it with plea- 
 sure, there are others coming. Nature was never more fertile in 
 promises of genius than at this moment. What men we shall have 
 in the lapse of twenty years, if all should reach to manhood ! 
 
 However, if God were pleased to grant my prayer, this is all I 
 should implore of Him : a poem according to my heart and to His I 
 — a visible, living, animated, and coloured image of His visible and 
 invisible creations. Here would be a fine inheritance to leave to this 
 world of darkness, doubt, and sorrow! an aliment which would 
 nourish it, which would renew its youth for a century ! Oh, why 
 cannot I give this to it, or at least give it to myself, although even no 
 other person should hear a verse of it ! 
 
 Same day, at three o'clock, at sea. — The east wind, which disputes 
 the way with us, has blown with more force ; the sea has risen and 
 whitened ; the captain declares that he must regain the coast, and 
 anchor in a bay two hours' sail from Marseilles. Here we are then ; 
 the billows rock us sweetly ; the sea speaks, as the sailors say ; a 
 
32 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 murmuring is heard in the distance, resembling the hum that issues 
 from a large city. This threatening language of the sea — the first 
 we have heard — resounds with a solemn effect in the ear and in the 
 breast of those who are about to have such close conversation with it 
 for so long a period. 
 
 On our left we see the islands of Pomcgue, and the castle of If, 
 an old fortress, with gray, round towers, crowning a naked and slate- 
 coloured rock; ahead, over a lofty coast, intersected with whitish 
 cliffs, are numerous country seats, whose gardens, surrounded by 
 walls, only allow to be perceived the tops of the shrubbery, or the 
 green arcades of the vine arbours ; scarcely a mile farther up the 
 country, on an isolated and naked elevation, appear the fort and 
 chapel of Our Lady of Protection (Notre-Dame de la Garde), a place 
 of pilgrimage for the mariners of Provence, before their departure, 
 and at their return from every voyage. This morning, without our 
 knowledge, at the very moment when the wind was tilling our sails, 
 a Marseillese woman rose before daybreak, and accompanied by her 
 children, went to pray for us on the summit of this mountain, from 
 whence her friendly glance perceived, without doubt, our vessel like 
 ix white speck on the water. 
 
 What a world is that world of prayer ! What invisible but all- 
 powerful tie is this between beings, known or unknown to each 
 •other, and praying in company or in separation for one another! It 
 has always appeared to me that prayer — that instinct so unerring of 
 our powerless nature — formed the only real power, or at least the 
 greatest power, of mankind ! Man cannot conceive its result, but 
 what can he conceive ? The necessity that impels man to breathe, 
 proves to him, of itself, that air is necessary to life. The instinct of 
 prayer also proves to the soul the efficacy of prayer: let us pray 
 then ! And Thou who hast inspired unto us this marvellous power 
 of communication with thyself, with creatures and worlds invisible, 
 do thou, oh, my God ! hear us most favourably ; favour us beyond 
 our desires. 
 
 Same day, eleven o'clock at nvjlit. — A splendid moon appears to 
 hover between the masts, yards, and rigging of two brigs of war 
 anchored not far from us, between our anchorage and the dark moun- 
 tains of Var : the cordage of both vessels stands out in relief to the 
 eye on the blue and purple held of the evening sky, like the fibres of 
 a gigantic and fleshless skeleton seen from a distance by the pale 
 and steady lamp-lights of Westminster or St Denis. To-morrow, 
 these skeletons are to awaken into life, to expand their swelling 
 wings like ourselves, and fly away like birds of the ocean, to perch 
 on other shores. "We can hear, from the point where I am, the sharp 
 and modulated whistle of the boatswain superintending the duty — 
 the roll of the drum — the voice of the officer of the deck. The 
 colours glide downward from the mast ; the boats remount the 
 quarter with the rapid and living gesture of animated creatures. All 
 is once more silence on board, of these vessels and of our own. 
 
 Formerly, men did not commit themselves to sleep on this deep 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 33 
 
 and treacherous bed of the ocean, without raising their souls and 
 voices to God, without rendering homage to their sublime Creator, 
 in the midst of all these stars, and billows, and mountain-summits — 
 of all these charms and dangers of the night : yes, an evening prayer 
 arose from every vessel ! Since the revolution of July, this is done 
 no longer. Prayer expired on the lips of that old liberalism of the 
 eighteenth century, which had in itself nothing of life, save its cold 
 hatred to the concerns of the soul. That sacred breath of man, which 
 the children of Adam had transmitted, along with their joys and 
 their griefs, as far as our times, was extinguished in France during 
 our season of dispute and pride ; we mixed up the Almighty in our 
 quarrels. The shadow of God causes fear in certain men. Those 
 insects — which have just been born, which are to die to-morrow, 
 whose barren dust will in a few days be scattered by the wind, whose 
 blanched bones these eternal waves will cast on some rocky shore — 
 are afraid to confess, by a single gesture, the infinite Being whom the 
 heavens and the ocean testify ; they disdain to name Him who has 
 not disdained to create them ; and all this for what reason? Because 
 these men wear a uniform, because they can calculate as far as a 
 certain extent of numbers, and because they call themselves French- 
 men of the nineteenth century ! Happily the nineteenth century is 
 passing away, and I perceive a better approaching, an age truly re- 
 ligious, in which, if men do not confess God in the same language, 
 and under the same symbols, they will at least confess Him under 
 every symbol, and in every language. 
 
 Same night. — I have been walking an hour on the deck of the vessel 
 alone, and making these sad or consolatory reflections ; I have been 
 murmuring from my heart and from my lips all the prayers I learned 
 from my mother when I was a child. The verses and fragments of 
 psalms which I have heard her so often mutter in a low voice, 
 during our evening walk in the alley of the garden of Milly, rose 
 again to my memory, and I enjoyed a deep and close-felt pleasure in 
 pouring them forth, in my turn, to the waves, to the wind, to that 
 ear which is always open, and to which no movement of the heart or 
 of the lips is ever lost. The prayer which we have heard breathed 
 by some one whom we loved, and whom we have seen expire, is 
 doubly sacred ! Who among us does not prefer the few words his 
 mother taught him, to the finest hymns which he might himself com- 
 pose ? For this reason it is that, whatever sect our reason inclines 
 us to adopt at the age of reason, the prayer of Christianity will ever 
 be the prayer of the human race. I have thus offered up in solitude 
 the prayers for the evening and for the sea, in behalf of that wife 
 who makes no calculation of danger when uniting herself to my fate, 
 and of that fair child who was sporting meantime on the deck, or 
 inside of the boat, with the goat that is to yield to her its milk, or 
 with the pretty and gentle greyhounds, that lick her white hands, 
 and nibble her long fair hair. 
 
 Nine in the morning, under sail. — During the night the wind 
 changed and freshened; I heard from my cabin on the deck below 
 
 VOL. i. C 
 
34 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 the footsteps, voices, and plaintive song of the seamen, resounding 
 for a long while over my head, along with the clanging of the chain- 
 cable as they secured again the anchor to the bows. They were get- 
 ting under way ; we were proceeding on our route. Again I fell 
 asleep. When I awoke, and opened the port to gaze on the coast of 
 France, which we were so close to the evening before, I saw no 
 longer anything save the immense sea, clear, naked, and gently 
 rustling, with only two vessels, two lofty vessels, rising up like two 
 landmarks, like pyramids of the desert in the boundless distance. 
 
 The wave gently caressed the full and rounded quarters of our 
 brig, and babbled pleasingly under my narrow window, to which the 
 foam sometimes rose in slender white garlands; it was like the 
 unequal, varied, confused sound of the warbling of swallows, when 
 the sun is rising over a field of corn. There are harmonies between 
 all the elements, just as there is a general harmony between mate- 
 rial and intellectual nature. Every thought has its counterpart in 
 some visible object, winch repeats it like an echo, reflects it like a 
 mirror, and renders it perceptible in two ways : to the senses by the 
 image, to thought by thought ; such is the boundless poetry of this 
 doubleness of creation! Men call this comparison: comparison is 
 genius. To compare, is the art or instinct of discovering additional 
 words in that divine language of universal anologies which God 
 alone possesses, but part of which He permits certain men to attain. 
 This is why the prophet or sacred poet, and the poet or profane 
 prophet, were of old everywhere regarded as divine beings. At this 
 day they are viewed as mad, or, at the very least, useless creatures : 
 this is logical ; for if you reckon as everything the material and 
 palpable world — that part of nature which resolves itself into num- 
 bers and dimensions, into money and physical enjoyments — you do 
 well to despise those men who preserve only the culture of moral 
 beauty, the idea of God, and that language of images and of myste- 
 rious relations between the visible and the invisible. "What does 
 this language demonstrate? God and immortality! but these are 
 nothing to you ! 
 
 July 10, at anchor in the little gulf of La Ciotat. — The favourable 
 breeze that sprang up for a moment, soon died away from our sails, 
 which, drooping along the masts, left them to vibrate at the pleasure 
 of the feeblest wave. A fine image of those characters that want 
 decision — that moving curren^ of the human soul — irresolute charac- 
 ters that fatigue those who possess them : such characters are more 
 exhausted by feebleness than they would be from those courageous 
 exertions which a rigorous firmness of will impresses on men of 
 energy and activity ; just as ships are more annoyed on a sea un- 
 ruffled by the wind, than under the impulse of a fresh breeze that 
 drives and sustains them over the foaming billows. 
 
 Whether by chance, or through some secret manoeuvre of our 
 officers, we find ourselves obliged, on account of the wind, to enter at 
 three o'clock the delightful bay of La Ciotat, a small town on the 
 coast of Provence, where our captain, and almost all our seamen, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 35 
 
 have their houses, wives, and children. Under shelter of a little 
 mole, which projects from a pleasant rising-ground, quite clothed 
 with vines, fig-trees, and olives, like a friendly hand held out to 
 sailors from the shore, we let fall the anchor. The water is perfectly- 
 smooth, and so transparent, that at the depth of twenty feet we can 
 perceive the gleam of the stones and shells, the undulations of the 
 long marine plants, and the darting movement of thousands of fishes 
 with glittering scales — those hidden treasures in the bosom of the sea, 
 which is equally rich and inexhaustible as the land in vegetation and 
 inhabitants. Life is found everywhere, and so is intellect. All 
 nature is animated — all nature feels and thinks ! He who does not 
 see this, has never reflected on the inexhaustible fertility of creative 
 thought. It ought not to have stopped, nor has it been able to stop : 
 infinity is peopled ; and wherever there is life, there also is senti- 
 ment ; and thought has without doubt unequal grades, but has no 
 vacuum. Would you have a physical demonstration of this ? Look 
 at a drop of water under the solar microscope : you will there see 
 thousands of worlds gravitating ; you will see worlds in the larva of 
 an insect ; and if you succeeded in again decomposing each of these 
 thousands of worlds, millions of other universes would still appear 
 to you ! If from these numberless and infinitely small worlds you 
 suddenly raise your view to the innumerable great globes of the 
 celestial vault, if you plunge into the milky way — that incalculable 
 dust, so to speak, of suns, each of which rules over a system of globes 
 larger than the earth and the moon — the intellect is shattered by the 
 weight of such calculations; but the soul can sustain them, and 
 glorifies herself in having its place in this great workmanship, in 
 having strength to comprehend it, in having an impulse to bless and 
 adore its Author ! Oh, my God ! what a worthy prayer does nature 
 become to him who seeks Thee there, who there discovers Thee under 
 every form, and who comprehends some syllables of its mute lan- 
 guage, which, mute though it is, tells of everything ! 
 
 Bay of La Ciotat, eleven at night. — The wind has died away, and 
 there is no appearance of its return. The surface of the bay is with- 
 out a ruffle; the sea is so smooth, that one can distinguish here and 
 there the impression of the transparent wings of the moustiques,* 
 which float on its glassy surface, and which alone tarnish it at pre- 
 sent. See, then, to what a degree of calmness and repose that ele- 
 ment can descend, which bears the three-decker without feeling her 
 weight, which can gnaw away whole leagues of coast, wear down 
 hills, split rocks, and shatter mountains, by the shock of its roaring 
 billows ! Nothing is so gentle as that which is powerful. 
 
 We are to go ashore, at the earnest request of our captain, who 
 wishes to introduce us to his wife, and show us his house. The town 
 resembles the pretty towns in the kingdom of Naples, on the coast 
 of Gaeta. All is radiant, gay, serene ; existence is a continual feast 
 in the climates of the south. Happy is the man who is born and 
 who dies under a sunny sky ! Above all, happy is he who has his 
 * A species of gnat, found also in America. 
 
36 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 house — the house and garden of his fathers — on the borders of that 
 sea whose every wave is a sparkle that darts its light and its splen- 
 dour on the land. The lofty mountains excepted, which borrow the 
 white lustre of their summits and horizons from the snows that cover 
 them, from the sky into which they penetrate — no site in the in- 
 terior of countries, however joyous and graceful it be rendered by 
 hills and trees and rivers, can vie in beauty with the spots that are 
 bathed by the waves of the south. The sea is to the landscape what 
 the eye is to a fine face ; it lightens up the scene, and imparts to it 
 that radiance and expression which makes it to live and speak, to 
 enchant and fascinate, the contemplative eye. 
 
 Same day. — It is night, that is to say, what is called night in these 
 climates. How many days less light have I not counted on the 
 velvet slopes of Richmond Hill in England ! in the fogs of the 
 Thames, the Seine, the Saone, or the Lake of Geneva. x\. full moon 
 ascends in the firmament ; she leaves in the shade our dark brig, 
 which reposes motionless a short distance from the quay. The moon, 
 ■on her progress, has left behind her, as it were, a train of red sand, 
 with which she seems to have strewed one-half of the sky ; the re- 
 mainder is blue, and whitens up as she approaches. At a horizon 
 nearly two miles distant, between two small islands, one of which 
 has lofty yellow cliffs, resembling the Coliseum at Rome, and the 
 other is violet, like the flowers of the lilac, there appears on the 
 water the mirage of a great city — the eye is deceived in this : one- 
 sees domes glittering, palaces with dazzling facades, long quays in- 
 undated with a sweet and serene light ; to the right and left the 
 billows whiten, and seem to envelop it; one would say it was 
 Venice or Malta sleeping on the bosom of the waters. It is neither 
 an island nor a town — it is the reverberated light of the moon from 
 the point of the sea directly under her disc ; still nearer us, this re- 
 verberation extends and prolongs itself, and rolls a river of gold and 
 silver between two banks of azure. On our left, the bay carries out 
 to an elevated headland the long and sombre chain of its unequal 
 and serrated hills ; to the right there is a narrow and encompassed 
 valley, where there flows a beautiful fountain, under the shade of 
 some trees ; behind we have a higher hill, covered to the very sum- 
 mit with olives, which the night causes to appear black ; from the 
 top of this hill, down to the sea, some gray towers and small white 
 houses pierce here and there through the monotonous obscurity of 
 the olives, and attract the eye and the thought to the dwellings of 
 man. More distant still, and at the extremity of the bay, three 
 enormous rocks seem to rise, without any base, from the water; they 
 are of singular forms, rounded like pebbles, polished by the waves 
 and tempests : these pebbles are mountains, the gigantic freaks of a 
 primitive ocean, of which our seas are without doubt but a feeble 
 image. 
 
 July 12. — "We have visited the captains house, which is a pretty 
 dwelling, modest, but ornamented. We were received by his young 
 wife, who appeared to suffer from sadness at the sudden departure 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 37 
 
 of her husband. I proposed to take her on board, and that she 
 should accompany us during the voyage, which would be longer 
 than the average trips of a merchant vessel. Her state of health 
 was an obstacle to this arrangement: alone, and without children, 
 she would have to count long days, perhaps long years, during the 
 absence of her husband. Her mild and feeling expression bore the 
 impress of that melancholy prospect, and that solitude of heart. The 
 ! house resembled a Flemish one; its walls were tapestried with por- 
 traits of the vessels which the captain had commanded. Not far 
 from this, he took us to the country to see a house which he was, 
 although young, preparing as an asylum, to which he might retire 
 from the wind and the wave. I was well pleased at having seen the 
 rural establishment where this man was planning out beforehand 
 repose and happiness for his old age. I have always loved to get 
 acquainted with the fireside, the domestic circumstances, of those 
 [with whom I have had necessary intercourse in this world. These 
 pilings are a part of themselves, and form a second external physiog- 
 nomy, that supplies a key to their character and their destiny. 
 
 The greater part of our seamen belong also to these villages. 
 | Mild, pious, gay, and laborious men they are, managing the wind, the 
 (tempest, and the wave, with the same calm and silent regularity that 
 our husbandmen of Saint-Point handle the harrow or the plough; 
 they are ploughmen of the sea, peaceful and musical like the men of 
 our valleys, when they follow, by the rays of the morning sun, their 
 long smoking furrows on the flanks of their hills ! 
 
 July 13. — Having awoke early this morning, I heard the voices of 
 the sailors on deck, mingled with the crowing of the cock and bleat- 
 ing of the goat and sheep. Some women's and children's voices 
 completed the illusion. I might have imagined myself lying in the 
 Avooden chamber of a peasant's cottage on the banks of the lake of 
 Zurich, or of Soleure. I went on deck ; it was some of our seamen's 
 children whom their mothers had brought on board. The fathers 
 were making them sit on the ship's guns, or holding them upright on 
 the bulwarks, or laying them down in the boat, or rocking them in 
 the hammocks, with that tenderness in their accent, and those tears 
 in their eyes, which mothers or nurses might have displayed. Brave 
 fellows ! having hearts of flint against danger, but women's hearts for 
 those they love — rough or mild, like the element to which they are 
 so familiarised. Let him be shepherd or sailor, the man who has a 
 family has a heart kneaded, so to speak, with kindly and praiseworthy 
 sentiments. The family-spirit is the second soul of humanity ; modern 
 legislators have too much neglected it ; they think only of nations 
 and of individuals ; they omit to consider families, the only source of 
 a pure and a powerful population, the sanctuary of traditions and of 
 morals, in which all the social virtues are retempered. Legislation, 
 even after the diffusion of Christianity, has been barbarous in this 
 respect ; instead of inviting men to indulge the family-spirit, it re- 
 pulses them from such indulgence ! It interdicts one-half of man- 
 kind from wife and child, from the ownership of a fireside and a 
 
38 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 field : these blessings were due from it to every one so soon as he 
 reached the age of manhood ; it was only called upon to deny them 
 to culprits. A family is a miniature of society at large ; but it is a 
 society in winch the laws are natural, because they are the expres- 
 sion of feelings. Excommunication from the privilege of family 
 might have constituted the greatest reprobation, the last withering 
 effect of the law ; it would have been the only capital punishment 
 under a Christian and humane legislation : the sanguinary penalty of 
 death would have been abolished ages ago. 
 
 July, still at anchor, the icind being contrai~y. — A mile to the west- 
 ward, along the coast, the mountains are shattered as if by powerful 
 hammering ; enormous fragments have fallen here and there at the 
 feet of the mountains, or on the blue and greenish waves of the sea 
 that bathes them. The sea breaks there incessantly, and from the 
 wave, winch strikes with a dull alternating sound against the rocks, 
 there are darted forth, as it were, tongues of white foam, that lick 
 the salt sea-shore. These heaped-up portions of mountains, for they 
 are too large to be called rocks, have been heaved and piled in such 
 confusion over one another, that they form an innumerable cmantity 
 of narrow creeks, profound vaults, sonorous grottos, and sombre 
 caverns, whose pathways, windings, and exits, are known only to 
 the children of two or three fishers' cottages in the neighbourhood. 
 One of these caverns, into which you penetrate by the depressed 
 arch of a natural bridge, covered with an enormous block of granite, 
 gives access to the sea, and then opens out upon a narrow and 
 obscure valley, which the sea fills entirely with its waves, here 
 always limpid and smooth, like the sky in a lovely night. This is a 
 little sheltered bay known to the fishermen, where, whilst the billows 
 are raging and foaming without, and shaking the flanks of the coast 
 with their shock, the smallest boats can lie under shelter : you can 
 scarcely perceive in it that slight bubbling of a spring that falls in 
 a sheet of water. The sea preserved there that beautiful colour of a 
 greenish mulberry yellow, which painters of marine scenery find so 
 perceptible to the eye, but which they can never exactly transfer to 
 canvass, for the eye sees more than the hand can imitate. 
 
 On the two flanks of this marine valley there ascend out of sight 
 two walls of rocks almost perpendicular, sombre, and of a uniform 
 colour, resembling that of iron dross some time after it has fallen 
 from the furnace. No plant, no moss, can find there even a slit to 
 suspend itself by and take root, to cause to float there those garlands 
 of lianes and those fiowcrs which one sees so often undulating on the 
 walls of the rocks of Savoy, at heights where God alone can inhale 
 them ; naked, steep, dark, repulsive to the eye, these rocks are only 
 there to defend from the sea air the hills of vines and olives that 
 vegetate under their shelter ; images of those men that rule over an 
 epoch or a nation, exposed to all the injuries of time and tempest, in 
 order to protect more feeble and more happy men. At the bottom 
 of the little bay the sea widens a little, serpentines, takes a clearer 
 tint in proportion as it discovers more sky, and terminates at length 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 in a fine sheet of water, reposing on a bed of small violet shells, 
 bruised and compact like sand. If you land from the boat that has 
 carried you thus far, you find to the left, in the hollow of a ravine, a 
 cool and pure spring of fresh water ; then, on turning to the right, a 
 stony goat - walk, rough and precipitous, shaded by wild fig - trees, 
 and by medlars, which leads down from the cultivated grounds to 
 this solitude of the waters. Few spots have so much struck me, or 
 allured me so powerfully in my journeyings. It is that perfect 
 blending of strength and gracefulness which constitutes complete 
 beauty in the harmony of the elements, as well as in animated or in- 
 tellectual nature. It is that mysterious wedlock of the land and the 
 sea, surprised, so to speak, in their most intimate and most curtained 
 union. It is that image of calm and most inaccessible solitude, side 
 by side with that stormy and tumultuous theatre of the tempests, and 
 close upon the roar of its billows. It is one of those numberless 
 masterpieces of the creation which God has scattered everywhere, as 
 if to sport with contrasts, but which it pleases Him most often to hide 
 under the unattainable summit of a precipitous mountain, in the 
 depth of an inaccessible ravine, or on the most unapproachable reefs 
 of the ocean, like jewels of nature which she only discovers, and 
 that rarely, to simple men, to shepherds, to fishermen, to travellers, 
 to poets, or to the pious contemplation of anchorites. 
 
 July 14. — At ten o'clock, a westerly breeze springing up ; at three 
 o'clock, up anchor; we soon had nothing but sea and sky for our 
 horizon ; sea sparkling : soft and cadenced movement of the brig ; 
 murmuring of the wave as regular as the respiration of the human 
 breast. This regular alternation of the wave of the wind in the sail, 
 recurs in all the movements and in all the sounds of nature : may it 
 not be that she also respires ? Yes, undoubtedly ; she breathes, she 
 lives, she thinks, she suffers and enjoys, she feels, she adores her 
 divine Author ! He did not make death : life is the symbol of all 
 His works ! 
 
 July 15, out at sea, eight o'clock at night. — We have seen, gra- 
 dually sinking, the last peaks of the gray mountains on the coasts 
 of France and Italy, till the blue and sombre line of the sea at the 
 horizon submerged the whole. The eye, at this moment of the 
 known horizon's disappearance, runs over the floating desert of 
 space that surrounds it, like some unfortunate who has lost suc- 
 cessively every object of his affections and habitudes, and searches 
 in vain for something on which his heart may repose. 
 
 The sky becomes the grand and only scene of contemplation ; then 
 the view falls down again upon that imperceptible point, drowned, as 
 it were, in space, that narrow vessel now forming the entire universe 
 of those whom it conveys. 
 
 The boatswain is at the helm ; his manly and impassible counte- 
 nance, his firm and vigilant regard, now fixed on the compass in the 
 binnacle, and now on the ship's head, to trace, through the fore-rig- 
 ging, his course through the water ; his right hand grasping the tiller, 
 and by its movement impressing his will on the immense mass of 
 
40 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 the vessel. Everything in his appearance indicate the importance 
 of his charge — the fate of the vessel and the lives of tliirty persons 
 revolving in his ample forehead, and giving energy to his robust 
 arm. 
 
 In the forepart of the deck the sailors are to be seen in groups, 
 seated, standing, or reclining on the planks of shining fir, or on the 
 cables rolled in vast spirals ; some mending the old sails with large 
 iron needles, and seeming as earnest on the neatness of their tasks 
 as girls that embroider their marriage veil or the curtain of their 
 virgin bed ; others leaning over the bulwarks, viewing, without per- 
 ceiving them, the foaming waves, just as we look at the pavement of 
 a road that we have a hundred times travelled, and carelessly giving 
 to the wind the puffs of smoke from their pipes of red clay. One is 
 giving drink to the fowls in their long troughs ; another holds out a 
 handful of hay for the goat to nibble, grasping its horns with the 
 other hand ; while others again are playing with two beautiful sheep 
 that are roosted in the large boat suspended between the two masts : 
 these poor animals raise their restless heads over the gunwale, and 
 perceiving nothing but the undulating plain whitened with foam, 
 they bleat after the rocks and dry moss of their native mountains. 
 
 At the extremity of the vessel — the horizon of this floating world 
 — is seen the sharp prow preceded by its mast, the bowsprit, inclin- 
 ing to the sea : this mast projects from the ship's head, like the horn 
 of some marine monster. The undulations of the sea, which are 
 almost insensible at the centre of gravity, or near the middle of the 
 deck, cause the ship's head to describe slow and gigantic oscillations. 
 Now it seems to direct the path of the vessel towards some star cf 
 the firmament, and then it threatens to plunge her into some pro- 
 found valley; for the sea has the appearance of continually rising 
 and descending to one place at the stern of a vessel, the masts and 
 length of which multiply the effect of these undulations. 
 
 As for ourselves, separated by the mainmast from this scene of 
 maritime manners, we are seated on the quarterdeck benches, or 
 walk the deck with the officers, looking at the sun and the waves, as 
 they appear to rise and fall successively. 
 
 In the midst of all these manly, austere, and pensive figures, a 
 female child, with her loose hair streaming over her white garments, 
 and her rosy, happy, and smiling face beaming from under a little 
 straw hat of sailor fashion, is playing with the captain's white cat, or 
 with a brood of sea pigeons captured the evening before, which are 
 nestled on a gun-carriage, and for which she is crumbling her little 
 allowance of bread. 
 
 Meantime the captain of the vessel, with telescope in hand, and 
 spying in silence, towards the west, the precise moment when the 
 lower limb of the sun, refracted upwards as it is by one-half of the 
 disc, seems to touch the water, and float on it for an instant, before 
 being entirely immersed — raises his voice, and exclaims, 'Gentlemen, 
 prayers.' All conversation ceases; every game is closed; the sea- 
 men throw overboard their still lighted cigar, they doff their Greek 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 41 
 
 red-woollen caps, hold them in their hands, and come and kneel 
 between the two masts. The youngest of them opens the book of 
 prayer, and sings the Ave maris stella and the litanies with a tender, 
 plaintive, and grave melody, that seems to have been inspired by 
 thoughts of the surrounding element, and by that restless melancholy 
 of the last hours of day, when all the recollections of the land, the 
 cottage, the fireside, ascend from the heart to the meditations of those 
 simple men. The shades of evening are about to descend once more 
 upon the waters, and to overshroud, in their dangerous obscurity, the 
 path of the mariners and the lives of so many beings, who have now 
 no other beacon-light but Providence, no other asylum but in that 
 invisible hand which sustains them on the waters. If prayer was 
 not born with man himself, it must have been here that it was 
 invented, by men left alone with their thoughts and their feebleness, 
 in presence of that abyss of the firmament, where their view is lost 
 in confusion, and of that abyss of the sea, from which only a frail 
 plank divides them ; in hearing of that roar of the ocean, when it 
 growls, hisses, howls, and bellows, like the voices of a thousand 
 savage beasts ; amid those blasts of the tempest that make the 
 cordage utter so shrill a' 1 sound ; at the approaches of night which 
 magnifies every danger, and multiplies every terror. But prayer was 
 never invented ; it was born out of the first sigh, the first joy, the 
 first grief of the human heart, or rather man was only born for prayer 
 to glorify God, or to implore Him ; this was his only mission here 
 below. Everything else perishes before him, or with him ; but the 
 cry of glory, of admiration, or of love which he raises up to God, 
 though it passes away along the earth, does not perish ; it reascends, 
 it resounds from age to age, in the ear of God, as the echo of His own 
 voice, as a reflection of His magnificence ; it is the only thing that is 
 completely divine in man, and which he can exhale with joy and 
 with pride ; for that pride is a homage to Him who alone can have 
 it — to the Infinite Being. 
 
 Scarcely had we each revolved, in silence, these thoughts, or others 
 similar to them, when a cry arose from Julia, who was on the side 
 of the vessel facing the eastward. A fire on the sea ! A ship on 
 fire ! "We rushed to see this distant conflagration on the waters. In 
 fact a large mass of fire appeared floating to the eastward on the ex- 
 tremity of the horizon of the sea ; then, rising and rounding itself in 
 a few minutes, we recognised the full moon inflamed by the vapour of 
 the east wind, and issuing slowly out of the waves, like a disc of 
 red-hot iron which the smith draws with his pincers from the furnace, 
 and which he suspends over the water where he is about to qtiench it. 
 On the opposite side of the heavens, the disc of the sun, which had 
 just set, had left in the west the semblance of a golden sandbank, 
 like to the shore of some unknown country. Our view was conti- 
 nually wavering from one to the other of these magnificent displays. 
 Gradually the lustre of this double twilight was extinguished, thou- 
 sands of stars broke forth above our heads, as if to trace out the 
 route to our masts as they passed from one to another; the first 
 
42 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 watch for the night was set, the deck was cleared of whatever might 
 hinder the working of the ship, and the seamen came, one after 
 another, and said to the captain, ' May God be with us !' 
 
 I continued for some time walking the deck in silence, then I 
 went below, giving thanks to God in my heart for having permitted 
 me to see again that unknown aspect of His nature. My God ! my 
 God ! — to see thy workmanship under all its aspects, to admire thy 
 magnificence on the mountains and on the seas, to admire and bless 
 that holy name of thine which no language can express ! — this is the 
 whole of life ! Multiply thou our life, in order to multiply love and 
 admiration in our hearts ! Then do thou turn the page, and cause 
 us to read in another world the endless wonders of the book of thy 
 greatness and goodness ! 
 
 July 16, in the open seer — TVe have had all night and all day a 
 beautiful, though high sea. In the evening the wind freshened, the 
 waves began to form, and to roll heavily against the brig's cmarters ; 
 there was a bright moon, which gave out lengthened torrents of white 
 and undulating light in the large liquid valleys, hollowed out between 
 the great waves. These floating illuminations from the moon resemble 
 streams of running water, or cascades of melted snow, in the bed of 
 the green valleys of the Jura mountains or of Switzerland. The ves- 
 sel descends, and remounts heavily each of these profound ravines. 
 For the first time during this voyage we hear the complainings, 
 the groanings of the timber ; the crushed flanks of the brig, at the 
 shock of every fresh wave, utter a sound which can only be compared 
 to the last bellowings of a bull struck by the hatchet, and lying on 
 his side in the convulsions of mortal agony. This sound mingling 
 throughout the night with the roar of thousands of waves, the 
 gigantic boundings of the vessel, the creaking of the masts, the 
 whistling of the squalls, the showers of spray which they throw, and 
 which one hears raining with a hissing noise upon the deck, the 
 heavy and hurried footsteps of the seamen on duty, running to their 
 work at the few and short but firm words of the officer — all this 
 forms a union of significant and alarming sounds which shake more 
 deeply the human soul than the roar of cannon on the field of 
 battle. It is one of those scenes which one must have witnessed, in 
 order to know the dark side of a sailors life, and to measure his 
 own sensibility, moral and physical ! 
 
 The whole night passes thus without sleep. At daybreak the 
 wind falls a little, the wave is no longer crested with foam, every- 
 thing announces a fine day ; we perceive, through the coloured fogs 
 of the horizon, the long and lofty chains of the mountains of Sar- 
 dinia. The captain promises us a sea as calm and smooth as a lake 
 between that island and Sicily. We are running eight, and some- 
 times nine knots ; at every quarter of an hour the glittering shores 
 to which the wind is conveying us are sketched forth with more and 
 more clearness ; the bays open out, the headlands stretch forward, 
 the white rocks emerge to the surface, the houses and cultivated 
 fields begin to be distinguished on the flanks of the island. At noon, 
 
lL~~V Z 
 
44 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 on the bulwarks, or quietly smoke their pipes, viewing with indiffe- 
 rence the buildings and landscapes of the land. 
 
 July 17 —At anchor in this peaceful roadstead. AfteY a night's 
 delicious sleep, we breakfast on deck under shelter of a sail which 
 serves us for a tent ; the scorched but picturesque coast of Sardinia 
 stretches out before us. A boat, armed with two guns, puts off from 
 the island of St Antioch, and appears to stand for us. We soon dis- 
 tinguish her better ; she carries seamen and soldiers ; she is soon 
 within hail ; she interrogates us, and orders us to go ashore ; we con- 
 sult : I decide on accompanying the captain of the brig. We arm 
 ourselves with several muskets and pistols to make resistance, 
 should they be disposed to employ force to detain us. AVe shoved 
 off in the jolly-boat, and made sail. Xearing the little Sardinian 
 boat that preceded us, we landed on a flat beach at the head of the 
 bay. This beach borders a marshy and uncultivated plain. White 
 sand, large thistles, some tufts of aloes, here and there some clumps 
 of a shrub with a pale-gray bark, and a leaf resembling that of the 
 cedar; swarms of wild horses grazing at liberty on these heaths, 
 which come gallopping up to reconnoitre and smell us, and then 
 start away again neighing, like flocks of ravens; a mile from us, 
 gray and naked mountains, with only a few specks of stunted vege- 
 tation on their sides ; an African sky above their calcined summits ; 
 a vast silence over all these plains ; the same aspect of desolation 
 and solitude which is to be seen in all regions that have a bad atmo- 
 sphere, as in Komagna, in Calabria, or along the Pontine Marshes — 
 such is the scene : seven or eight men of flue physiognomy, with 
 elevated foreheads, bold and savage eyes, half-naked, and half- 
 clothed in rags of uniforms, armed with long carbines, and holding 
 reeds in their other hands to receive our letters, or to present to us 
 what they have to offer — such are the actors. I answered their 
 questions in wretched Neapolitan jwtois; I named to them some of 
 their countrymen with whom I had been on friendly terms in Italy 
 • luring my youth. These men, from having been insolent and impe- 
 rious, became polite and obliging. I bought a sheep from them, 
 which they quartered on the shore. AVe wrote — they took our 
 letters in a slit they had made in the end of a long reed ; they 
 struck a light, broke oft' some branches of the shrubs that cover 
 the coast, lighted a Are, and passed our letters, after soaking 
 them in sea-water, through the smoke of this fire, before touch- 
 ing them. They promised to us to fire a musket in the course of 
 the evening as a signal for us to come ashore again, when our other 
 supplies of vegetables and fresh waiter would be ready. Then, 
 taking out of their boat an immense basket of shell-fish (j'rutti 
 di mare), they offered them to us, without consenting to take any 
 payment. 
 
 AVe returned on board. Hours of leisure and of delightful con- 
 templation passed by me on the poop of the vessel at anchor, whilst 
 the tempest still resounds at the extremity of the two headlands 
 that cover us, and whilst we can perceive the spray of the main sea 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 4.-) 
 
 still lashing, to tlio height of thirty or forty feet, the golden flanks 
 of these headlands. 
 
 July 18. — Sailed from the Bay of Palraa with a smooth, mirror-like 
 sea ; a light westerly breeze, scarcely sufficient to dry up the night- 
 dew that glistens on the branches cut from the lentisk-tree, the only 
 verdure of those shores that have already become African. On 
 the open sea a still day, a sweet breeze that carries us six or seven 
 knots an hour ; a fine evening ; a sparkling night ; the sea is also 
 asleep. 
 
 July 19.— We awoke at twenty-five leagues' distance from the 
 coast of Africa. I read again the history of St Louis, to recall the 
 circumstances of his death on the coast of Tunis, near the Cape of 
 Carthage, which we shall see this evening or to-morrow. 
 
 I could not understand in my youth why certain nations inspired 
 me with an innate antipathy, so to speak, whilst others attracted 
 me, and led me back continually to their history by some involun- 
 tary allurement. I experienced, in regard to these vain shadows of 
 the past, these dead memoirs of nations, exactly what I experience, 
 with irresistible compulsion, for or against the physiognomies of the 
 individuals with whom I live or have connection. I love or I abhor, 
 in the physical meaning of the word ; at first sight, in the twinkling 
 of an eye, I have passed judgment on a man or woman for ever. 
 Reason, reflection, even violence, often tried by me against these 
 first impressions, are of no avail in the matter. When the coin has 
 received its impress from the die, it is in vain for you to turn it 
 over and over in your fingers ; it preserves it— so it is with my soul 
 — so it is with my mind. This is the peculiar attribute of beings 
 with whom instinct is prompt, powerful, instantaneous, inflexible. 
 We ask ourselves, What is instinct ? — and we recognise it to be 
 supreme reason, but still reason innate, reason not reasoned, reason 
 such as God made, and not such as man renders it. It strikes us 
 like the lightning, without the eye having the trouble to seek it. It 
 illumines everything with the first jet. Inspiration in all the arts, 
 as well as on the field of battle, is also this same instinct, this guessed 
 reason. Genius also is instinct, and not logic and labour. The more 
 one reflects, the more he must acknowledge that man possesses 
 nothing of great or beautiful that belongs to himself, or that comes 
 from his own power or will; but that whatever there is of sove- 
 reignly beautiful, comes immediately from nature and from God. 
 Christianity, which knows everything, understood this from its first 
 commencement. The early apostles felt in themselves this imme- 
 diate action of the Deity, and exclaimed from the very first, c Every 
 perfect gift cometh from God.' 
 
 Let us return to nations. I have never been able to love the 
 Romans ; I have never been able to take the slightest interest in 
 Carthage, in spite of her misfortunes and her glory. Hannibal has 
 never appeared to me more than an East India Company's general, 
 carrying on a mercantile campaign, a brilliant and heroic operation 
 of commerce on the plains of Thrasymene. That nation, ungrateful 
 
46 
 
 l.vmartine's 
 
 like all egotistical nations, rewarded him for it with exile and death ! 
 As for his death, it was pathetic ; it reconciles me to his triumphs ; 
 I have been affected by it ever since my childhood. There has 
 always been to my view, as well as to that of the whole human race, 
 a sublime and heroic harmony between sovereign glory, sovereign 
 genius, and sovereign misfortune. We have in this one of those 
 notes of destiny which never fails in its effect, never misses its sad 
 and voluptuous modulation in the human heart ! There is not, in 
 fact, any glory sympathised with, nor any virtue complete, without 
 ingratitude, persecution, and death. Christ was the divine example 
 of this truth ; and his life, as well as his doctrine, explains that mys- 
 terious enigma of the destiny of great men by the destiny of the 
 Divine Man ! 
 
 I discovered it afterwards ; the secret of my sympatlues or anti- 
 pathies for the memory of certain nations, is in the very nature of 
 the institutions and actions of those nations. AVith regard to nations 
 like the Phoenicians, Tyre, Sidon, Carthage — commercial societies 
 exploring the world for their profit, and measuring the greatness of 
 their enterprises only by the material and actual utility of the result 
 — I am like Dante ; I look, and I pass on. 
 
 ' Non ragionar di lor, ma guarda c passa ! ' 
 [Not speculating concerning them, I look and proceed.] 
 
 Let us speak no more of them. They laboured only for the pre- 
 sent ; succeeding ages have no call to occupy themselves about them. 
 Receperunt mercedem— [They have received their reward.] 
 
 But those who, little mindful of the present, which they feel 
 escaping from their grasp, have, from a sublime instinct of immor- 
 tality, an insatiable longing after the future, carried the national 
 thought beyond the present, and raised human sentiment above mere 
 ease, riches, and material utility ; those who have expended genera- 
 tions and centuries to leave on their route a fine and eternal track 
 of their passage ; those generous and disinterested nations who have 
 stirred up all the great and weighty ideas of the human mind, in 
 order to construct from them monuments of wisdom and of legisla- 
 tion, theogonies, arts, and systems ; those nations who have stirred 
 up, too, such masses of marble or granite, in order to construct from 
 them obelisks or pyramids, as a sublime defiance hurled by them 
 against time, a mute language, with which they will for ever speak 
 to great and generous souls ; those poet-nations, like the Egyptians, 
 the Jews, the Hindoos, the Greeks, who have idealised politics, and 
 given predominance in their national existence to the divine prin- 
 ciple — the soul, over the human principle — the useful ; those nations 
 I love, I venerate, I search out and adore their traces, their recol- 
 lections, their works, whether written, built, or sculptured: I live 
 with their life, I assist as a moved and partial spectator at the touch- 
 ing or heroic drama of their destiny, and I cross willingly the seas, 
 to go and muse for some days over their dust, and to pay to their 
 memory the homage of reminiscence from the future. Such nations 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 47 
 
 have well deserved of mankind, for they have elevated their thoughts 
 above this globe of dirt, beyond this fugitive existence. They felt 
 themselves formed for a loftier and more ample destiny ; and unable 
 as they were to give themselves that immortal life which is the day- 
 dream of every great and noble heart, they said to their works — > 
 Immortalise us, exist for us, speak of us to those who shall traverse 
 the desert, or who shall pass over the billows of the Ionian Sea, 
 before Cape Sigeum, or before the promontory of Sunium, where 
 Plato sang the strains of a wisdom which will still be the wisdom of 
 futurity. Such were my thoughts, while listening to the prow on 
 which I was seated, as it cleaved the waves of the African Sea, and 
 looking every minute athwart the rosy vapours of the horizon, to 
 see if I could not perceive the Cape of Carthage. 
 
 The breeze fell, the day passed away in gazing vainly from afar 
 on the foggy coast of Africa. In the evening a strong wind arose : 
 the vessel, bandied from one side to another, crushed down under 
 the force of the sails, that resemble the sea-bird's wings shattered by 
 the fatal lead, shook her sides with that terrible roaring that is 
 heard from a tumbling edifice, I spent the night on deck, with my 
 arm passed round a cable. From the whitish clouds that advance, 
 like some lofty mountain, towards the deep Bay of Tunis, flashes of 
 lightning are gleaming, and distant peals of thunder are heard. 
 Africa appears to me as I have always represented her to myself ; 
 her flanks torn by the fires of heaven, and her calcined summits 
 hidden under the clouds. In proportion as we approach the coast, 
 and as first the Cape of Byserte, then that of Carthage, issues from 
 obscurity, and seem advancing to meet us, all the great images, all 
 the fabulous or heroic names which have resounded on this shore, 
 also spring forth from my memory, and recall to me the poetical or 
 historical dramas of which these places were successively the theatre. 
 Virgil, like all the poets that wish to surpass truth, history, and 
 nature, has much rather injured than embellished the image of Dido. 
 The Dido of history, widow of Sicheus, and faithful to the manes of 
 her former spouse, causes her funeral pile to be prepared on the 
 promontory of Carthage, and ascends it, the sublime and voluntary 
 victim of a pure love, and of a faithfulness even unto death ! This 
 is somewhat finer, holier, and more pathetic than the cold gallantries 
 which the Roman poet allows her with her ridiculous and pious 
 iEneas, and her amorous despair, in which the reader cannot sym- 
 pathise. But the Anna soror, and the magnificent farewell, and 
 the immortal imprecation that follow, will ever plead a pardon for 
 Virgil. 
 
 The historical aspect of Carthage is still more poetical than the 
 poetry of Virgil. The heavenly death and the funeral of St Louis — 
 the blind Belisarius — Marius expiating among wild beasts on the 
 ruins of Carthage, himself a wild beast— the shrieks of Rome — the 
 lamentable day on which, like the scorpion surrounded by fire, that 
 pierces itself with its envenomed dart, Carthage, surrounded by 
 Scipio and Massinissa, herself sets fire to her edifices and her riches 
 
4S 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 — the wife of Asdrubal, sliut up with her cliildren in the temple of 
 Jupiter, reproaching her husband for not having known how to die, 
 and kindling herself the torch which is to consume her and her 
 children, and all that remains of her native country, in order to 
 leave only ashes to the Romans! — Cato of Utica, the two Scipios, 
 Hannibal — all these great names still rear themselves erect on the 
 forsaken promontory, like columns standing in front of a temple 
 overturned. The eye sees only a naked headland rising above a 
 deserted sea; a few reservoirs, empty, or filled with their own 
 rubbish ; a few aqueducts in ruins ; a few moles, ravaged by the 
 billows, and covered by the water ; a barbarian town close by, where 
 those very names are unknown, like men that live too great an age, 
 and become strangers in their own land ! But the past is sufficient 
 for a place in which it dazzles Avith such a lustre of recollections. 
 How know I even if I do not love it better alone, isolated in the 
 midst of its ruins, than profaned and polluted by the bustle and the 
 crowd of new generations ? It is with ruins as with tombs : amidst 
 the tumult of a great city, and the mire of our streets, they afflict 
 and sadden the view ; they are a stain on all that buzzing and agi- 
 tated scene of life ; but amidst solitude on the shores of the sea, on 
 a deserted cape, on a wild sandy shore, those stones, become yellow 
 by the lapse of ages, and shattered by the thunderbolt, cause us to 
 reflect, to think, to muse, or to weep. 
 
 Solitude and death, solitude and the past, which is the death of 
 things, are necessarily allied in human thought : their accord is a 
 mysterious harmony. I prefer the naked promontory of Carthage, 
 the melancholy Cape of Sunium, the naked and infested beach of 
 Prestum, for localising the scenes of ages gone by, to the temples, 
 the arches, the Coliseums of departed Rome, trodden under foot in 
 living Rome, with all the indifference of habit, or the profanation of 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 July 20. — At ten o'clock the wind gets milder ; we can ascend to 
 the deck ; and running seven knots an hour, we soon find ourselves 
 abreast of the detached island of Pantelleria, the ancient island of 
 Calypso, still delicious from its African vegetation, and the coolness 
 of its valleys and its waters. It was to this spot that the emperors 
 in succession exiled persons condemned for political offences. 
 
 It appears to us only a black cone rising from the sea, and clad, 
 to two-thirds from its summit, with a white fog driven upon it by 
 the night wind. No vessel can anchor near it ; it has only harbours 
 for the small boats which convey to it the exiles from Naples and 
 from Sicily, who languish for ten years, expiating some premature 
 dreams of liberty. 
 
 Unhappy the men who, in any department of thought, are ahead 
 of their age ! The age crushes them. This is our own fate, as 
 impartial, political, and rational Frenchmen. France is still a cen- 
 tury and a-half behind our ideas. She wishes, in everything, men 
 and ideas of sect and party : what signify to her patriotism and rea- 
 son I It is hatred, rancour, and alternate persecution, that in her 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 49 
 
 ignorance she requires ! She will have all these, until, wounded by 
 the deadly weapons which she is so determined to wield, she either 
 falls, her own victim, or casts those weapons far from her, to turn 
 to the only hope of all political amelioration — God, his law, and 
 reason, his law innate. 
 
 July 21.— On my awaking, the sea, after a stormy night, appears 
 to sport with the remains of yesterday's wind ; the foam covers it 
 still, like the half-dry Hakes of froth that stain the flanks of the 
 horse when fatigued by a long course, or like those which his bit 
 shakes forth when he stoops and lifts his head, impatient for a new 
 career. The waves run quick and irregularly, but are light, shallow, 
 and transparent ; this sea resembles a field of fine oats undulating to 
 the breezes of a morning in spring, after a night of rain. We see 
 the islands of Gazzo and Malta rising, at the distance of five or six 
 leagues, under the fogs of the horizon. 
 
 July 22: arrival at Malta. — As wc approach Malta, the low coast 
 elevates itself, and assumes a distinct form ; but its aspect is sad and 
 sterile : we soon perceive the fortifications and the gulfs formed by 
 the quays of the harbours. A swarm of little boats, each manned by 
 two rowers, put off from these gulfs, and pull rapidly to our vessel ; 
 the sea is heavy, and the wave plunges them sometimes into the 
 deep furrow that we are tracing in the water; they seem on the 
 point of being swajlowed up ; the wave raises them again, they run 
 in our wake, they skim gaily past our quarters ; they throw us small 
 ropes to tow us into the anchorage. 
 
 The pilots announce to us a quarantine of ten days, and conduct 
 us to our destined port under the lofty fortifications of the city of 
 Yaletta. The French consul, M. Miege, informs the governor, Sir 
 Frederick Ponsonby, of our arrival ; he assembles the council of 
 health, and reduces our quarantine to three days. 
 
 We obtain the indulgence of an evening excursion in a boat along 
 the canals that lengthen out the port of quarantine. It is Sunday. 
 The burning sun of the day has set at the bottom of a narrow and 
 peaceful creek of the gulf that is behind our ship's head ; the sea is 
 there smooth and brilliant, of a light leaden colour, exactly re- 
 sembling sheet-iron newly tinned. The heaven above is of an 
 orange tint, slightly inclining to rose. This colour fades, in propor- 
 tion as the sky approaches the zenith, retiring from the west ; to 
 the eastward it is of a pale gray blue, and no longer recalls the beau- 
 teous azure of the Bay of Naples — nor even the dark profound of the 
 firmament over the Alps of Savoy. The colour of the African sky 
 partakes of the burning atmosphere > and of the harsh severity of 
 that continent ; the reverberation of heat from these naked moun- 
 tains strikes the firmament with dryness and warmth, and the 
 inflamed dust of these deserts of arid sand seems to mingle with the 
 air that envelops them, and to tarnish the vault of heaven. Our 
 rowers convey us slowly to some toises from the shore. The low 
 and smooth sandy beach terminating some inches above the sea, is 
 covered for half a mile with a range of houses that tough one 
 
 VOL. i. p 
 
56 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 another, and seem to have approached as near as possible to the 
 •water, to enjoy its coolness, and listen to its murmuring. Here is 
 one of those houses and one of those scenes that we see repeated on 
 every threshold, terrace, and balcony. By multiplying this scene 
 and this view over five or six hundred similar houses, one will have 
 an exact memorial of this landscape, so unique to a European that 
 has not seen Seville, nor Cordova, nor Granada ; it is a memorial 
 that must be engraven in all its entireness, and Avith all its details of 
 manners, in order to recall it even once to memory, amid the dull 
 and sombre uniformity of our towns of the west. These memorials, 
 recovered in the memory, during our days and months of snow, 
 fog, and rain, are like a gleam of serene sky amidst a long tempest. 
 A little sun in the eye, a little love in the heart, a ray of faith or of 
 truth in the soul — 'tis all the same thing — I cannot live without these 
 three consolations of our terrestrial exile. My eyes are eastern, my 
 soul is love, and my mind is of that class that carry within them an 
 instinct of light, an unreasoned evidence which is not matter of 
 proof, but which never deceived, and ever consoles ! Here, then, is 
 the landscape : — 
 
 A light, golden, sweet, and serene, like that which beams from the 
 eyes and features of a young maiden before love has engraven one 
 wrinkle on her forehead, or cast one shade on her eyes. This light 
 diffused equally over the sea, the earth, and the heavens, strikes the 
 white and yellow stones of the houses, and causes all the designs of 
 the cornices, corners of the angles, balustrades of the terraces, and 
 carved work of the balconies, to be articulated fully and clearly on 
 the blue horizon, without that aerial tremulousness, that uncertain 
 and vapoury undulation, out of which our -western atmosphere has 
 derived a beauty for its arts, being unable to correct this vice of its 
 climate. This quality of the air, this white, yellow, golden colour of 
 the stone, this vigorousness of the contours, imparts to the meanest 
 edifice of the south a firmness and a neatness which revive and 
 gladden the sight. Every house has the air not of having been 
 built, stone on stone, with sand and mortar, but of liaving been 
 sculptured living and erect, out of the bright rock, and of being 
 planted on the earth, like a block sprung out of its bosom, and as 
 durable as the soil itself. Two large and elegant pilasters rise from 
 the two angles of the facade ; they ascend only to the height of a 
 storey and a-half ; there an elegant cornice, sculptured out of the 
 shining stone, crowns them, and itself serves as a base to a rich 
 and massive balustrade, which extends the whole length of the top, 
 and replaces those flat, irregular, pointed, and odd-looking roofs, 
 which disgrace all architecture, which break every line harmonising 
 with the horizon in those eccentric assemblages of houses of ours, 
 which we call cities, in Germany, England, and France. Between 
 these two large pilasters, which project several inches from the 
 facade, two openings only are designed by the architect — a door and 
 two windows. The door, which is lofty, wide, and arched, has not 
 its threshold on the street; it opens on au exterior flight of steps, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 51 
 
 which encroach seven or eight feet on the quay. This stair, sur- 
 rounded by a balustrade of sculptured stone, serves for an exterior 
 hall, as well as for an entrance to the house. Let us describe one of 
 these flights of steps — it will answer for them all. One or two men, 
 in white garments, with dark visages, and African eyes, having long 
 pipes in their hands, are carelessly lounging on a couch of reeds at 
 the side of the door : in front of them, leaning gracefully on the 
 balustrade, three young women, in different attitudes, are viewing 
 in silence our boat as it passes, or smiling among themselves at our 
 foreign aspect. A black gown reaching only half way down the leg, 
 a white corset, with wide, folded, and flowing sleeves, a head-dress 
 of black hair, and over the head and shoulders a half mantle of black 
 silk like the gown, covering half the face, one shoulder, and the arm 
 that holds the mantle : this mantle of light stuff, swelled out with 
 the breeze, assumes the figure of a small boat's sail, and, through 
 its capricious folds, now conceals, and now unveils, the mysterious 
 countenance that it envelops, and which seems to escape from it at 
 pleasure. Some are raising their heads gracefully to chat with 
 other young girls who are bending over the upper balcony, and 
 throwing at them pomegranates and oranges ; others are speaking 
 to young men with long moustaches, dark, and bushy hair, dressed 
 in short tight vests, white pantaloons, and red belts. Seated on the 
 parapet of the steps, two young abbes in black, with silver shoe- 
 buckles, are conversing familiarly, and playing with broad green 
 fans; while, at the foot of the last steps, a handsome mendicant 
 monk, with naked feet, his forehead pale, bald-white, and open, his 
 body enveloped in the heavy folds of his brown cloak, is reclining 
 like a statue of mendicity on the threshold of the rich and happy 
 man, and viewing with an eye of vacancy and indifference this spec- 
 tacle of happiness, ease, and enjoyment. On the upper storey are 
 seen on a large balcony, supported by beautiful cariatides,* and sur- 
 mounted by an Indian veranda adorned with curtains and fringes, 
 a family of English, those happy and firm-minded conquerors of 
 modern Malta. There, some Moorish nurses, with sparkling eyes, 
 and dark leaden complexions, are holding in their arms these beau- 
 teous children of Britain, whose flaxen curly tresses, and white and 
 rosy skin, resist the sun of Calcutta, as well as that of Malta and 
 Corfu. On seeing these children under the black mantle and burning 
 look of these half- African women, one might imagine them beautiful 
 white lambs suspended at the breasts of tigresses of the desert. On 
 the terrace there is another scene ; the English and Maltese share it 
 together. On one side you see some young maidens of the island 
 holding the guitar under the arm, and warbling a few notes of an old 
 national air, wild as the climate ; on the other a lovely young English- 
 woman, leaning in a melancholy mood on her elbow, contemplating 
 with indifference the scene of life which is passing before her eyes, 
 and turning over the pages of the immortal poets of her country. 
 
 * [Figures, generally human, so called from the natives of Caria having heen de- 
 graded to appear, as slaves, in this architectural attitude.] 
 
5a 
 
 l.ymartixe's 
 
 Add to this coup-cfoeil the Arab horses, ridden by English officers, 
 and prancing, -with their tails streaming, along the sands of the quay 
 — the Maltese carriages, a kind of sedan-chairs on two wheels, drawn 
 by a single Barbary horse, which the conductor follows on foot at 
 the gallop, having round his middle a red belt with long fringes, and 
 his forehead covered with the resillc, or the red cap of the Spanish 
 muleteer, hanging over as far down as the belt — the savage cries of 
 the naked children as they plunge into the sea, and swim alongside 
 our boat — the songs of the Greek or Sicilian mariners at anchor in 
 the neighbouring harbour, and responding in chorus from one ship's 
 deck to another — the monotonous and skipping notes of the guitar, 
 forming, as it Mere, a sweet humming bass of the evening atmo- 
 sphere to all these sharper sounds — and you will have some idea of 
 a quay at Empsida on a Sunday evening. 
 
 July 24. — Admitted to free pratique in the harbour of the city of 
 Yaletta; the governor, Sir Frederick Ponsonby, having returned 
 from his country residence to welcome us, received us at the Palace 
 of the Grand Master at two o'clock. "What a fine specimen of an 
 honest Englishman — probity is the physiognomy of such men's faces 
 — elevation, gravity, and nobleness, form the expression of the true 
 English nobleman. "We admired the palace : its magnificent and 
 dignified simplicity ; the beauty in its mass, and the absence of 
 unmeaning decorations both within and without ; the vast halls, long 
 galleries, severe paintings ; the wide, smooth, and sonorous staircase ; 
 halls of arms 200 feet in length, containing the armour, at every 
 period of history, of the Order of St John of Jerusalem ; a library of 
 40,000 volumes, in which avc were received by the director, the Abbe 
 Bollanti, a young Maltese ecclesiastic, quite resembling the Roman 
 abbes of the old school, with a mild, penetrating eye, a mouth 
 smiling and meditative, a pale and expressive forehead, his lan- 
 guage elegant and modulated, and his politeness simple, natural, and 
 delicate. "We conversed for a long while, for this is just the sort of 
 man most suitable for a long, full, and powerful confabulation. There 
 is in him, as in all those distinguished clergymen whom I have met 
 with in Italy, an air of sadness, indifference, and submissiveness, 
 that speaks of the noble and dignified resignation of departed power. 
 Educated amid the ruins, on the -very ruins, of a fallen monument, 
 they have contracted from them a habitual melancholy and careless- 
 ness about the present. ' How,' I said to him, ' can a man like you 
 tolerate the intellectual exile, and the seclusion in which you live in 
 this deserted palace, and amidst the dust of these books f 'It is 
 true,' he replied, * I live alone, and I live sorrowful ; the horizon of 
 this island is indeed limited ; the fame which I might make here by 
 my writings would not resound very far, and even that which other 
 men make elsewhere scarcely penetrates hither; but my soul per- 
 ceives, beyond this narrow spot, a horizon more free and vast, 
 whither my thoughts love to transport themselves. "We have a beau- 
 tiful sky over our heads, an atmosphere of grateful warmth around 
 us, a blue and spacious sea before our view— this suffices for the life 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 53 
 
 of the senses ; as to the life of the mind, that is nowhere more in- 
 tense than in the bosom of silence and of solitude. This life thus 
 remounts directly to the source from whence it emanates, to God, 
 without wandering astray, and becoming impaired by the contact of 
 earthly things, and by the cares of the world. When St Paul, on 
 his way to convey the fruitful word of Christianity to the nations, 
 was cast away at Malta, and stayed there three months, in order to 
 sow in that island the grain of mustard-seed, he did not complain of 
 his shipwreck and exile, which were availing to that island in an 
 accelerated acquaintance with the word, and with divine morality ; 
 ought I to complain — I who was born on those arid rocks — if the 
 Lord confines me here to preserve his Christian truth, in hearts 
 where so many truths are on the eve of extinction ! This kind of 
 life has its poetry too,' he added ; ' when I am at length freed from 
 my classifications and catalogues, perhaps I also shall indite that 
 poesy of solitude and prayer !' I left him with regret, and with an 
 earnest wish of again meeting him. 
 
 The Church of St John, the cathedral of the island, has quite the 
 character, quite the solemnity of appearance, which one would expect 
 from such a monument in such a place — grandeur, nobleness, rich- 
 ness. The keys of Rhodes, carried off by the knights after their 
 defeat, are suspended at the two sides of the altar, a symbol of 
 eternal regrets, or of hopes for ever frustrated. The dome is superb 
 — the whole of it painted by the Calabrese — a work worthy of 
 modern Rome in her finest era of painting. 
 
 One picture struck me remarkably in the Chapel of the Election ; 
 it is by Michael Angelo, of Caravaggio, whom the knights of that 
 time had invited to the island to paint the dome of St John. He 
 undertook the task, but the restlessness and irritability of his wild 
 disposition prevailed; he became afraid of a tedious amount of 
 labour, and departed. He left at Malta his masterpiece, the Decol- 
 lation of St John the Baptist. If our modern artists, who hunt for the 
 romantic in a system, instead of finding it in nature, were to view this 
 magnificent painting, they would find their pretended invention in- 
 vented before them. Here is the fruit as it grows on the tree, and 
 not the artificial fruit moulded in wax, and painted in false colours ; 
 picturesqueness of attitude, energy of design, profundity of senti- 
 ment, truth and dignity united, vigour of contrast, but still unity 
 and harmony, horror and beauty side by side — such is this painting. 
 It is one of the finest I have seen in my whole life. It is the 
 painting which the artists of the present school are in search of. 
 Here it is — it is found! Let them search for it no more. Thus 
 there is nothing new in nature, or in the arts. All that man is now 
 doing has been done — whatever he says has been said — whatever 
 he dreams has been dreamed. Every age is a plagiarist from an- 
 other age ; for all of us, such as we are, perishable and fugitive artists 
 or thinkers, copy in different ways a model, immutable and eternal, 
 Nature — that single though diversified thought of the Creator ! 
 
 July 25. — From the summit of the observatory which commands 
 
lamartine's 
 
 the palace of the Grand Master there is a panoramic view of the 
 towns, harbours, and country scenery of Malta ; the country naked, 
 formless, colourless, and arid, like the desert ; the town resembling 
 the shell of a turtle aground upon the rock — one would say it had 
 been carved out of one single block of the native rock ; scenes there 
 are also of the terraced roofs towards the approach of night, and of 
 women seated on those terraces. Thus did David see Bathsheba. 
 Nothing can be more graceful and seductive than these figures, 
 white or dark, like so many shadows, thus appearing by the rays 
 of the moon, on the roofs of this multitude of houses. It is only 
 there, or at church, or on their balconies, that the women are to 
 be seen ; their whole language is in their eyes ; their whole love is 
 a long mystery which words do not impair — a long drama is thus 
 ravelled and unravelled without discourse. This silence, these ap- 
 pearances at certain hours, those meetings in the same places, those 
 distant intimacies, those mute expressions, are perhaps the first and 
 most divine language of love, that sentiment superior to words, 
 which, like music, expresses in a language of signs what no direct 
 language can express. 
 
 Those views, those thoughts, bring back youth to the soul ; they 
 cause us to feel the only exhaustless charm which God has spread 
 over the earth, and to regret that the hours of life should be so 
 rapid and so motlied. Two sentiments alone would suffice for man, 
 lived he the age of rocks — the contemplation of God, and love. 
 Love and religion are the two ideas, or rather the one idea, of the 
 nations of the south — so they seek for nothing else, they have enough. 
 We pity them, whereas we ought to envy them ! AVhat is there in 
 common between our factitious passions, between the tumultuous 
 agitation of our vain thoughts, and those two sole true ideas that 
 occupy the life of these children of the sun, religion and love — the 
 one enchanting the present, the other enchanting the future I Thus 
 I have ever been struck, in spite of the prejudices to the contrary, 
 with the profound and rarely-troubled calm of the physiognomies 
 of the south, and with that mass of repose, serenity, and happiness, 
 diffused over the manners and countenances of that silent crowd, 
 who breathe, live, love, and sing, before your eyes — song, that over- 
 flowing of happiness and of sensations in a soul too full ? They sing 
 at Rome, at Naples, at Genoa, at Malta, in Sicily, in Greece, in Ionia, 
 on the shore, on the waves, on the roofs; nought is heard but the 
 slow recitation of the fisherman, the mariner, the shepherd, or the 
 tinkling murmur of the guitar during the serene nights. Tliis is 
 happiness, whatever may be said of it ! They are slaves, say you ! 
 "What do they know of it? — slavery or liberty— conventional happi- 
 ness or unhappiness ! Happiness and uuhappiness are closer to us. 
 What matters it to these peaceful groups who are inhaling the sea 
 breeze, or stretched out under the grateful rays of the sun of Sicily, 
 Malta, or the Bosphoms, whether the law be made to them by a 
 priest, a pacha, or a parliament? Does that change anything of 
 their relations with nature, the only ones that engage them ? No, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 55 
 
 undoubtedly ; every society, whether free or absolute, may be ana- 
 lysed always into servitudes more or less felt. We are slaves to the 
 variable and capricious laws that we form for ourselves ; they again 
 are so to the immutable law of that control which God exerts upon 
 them — all this, as to happiness or unhappiness, returns to the same 
 point ; but as to human dignity, and the progress of intelligence and 
 morality among mankind — no, no ! We must, however, examine 
 before pronouncing this no. Take at random a hundred men among 
 these slave nations, and a hundred men among our nations calling 
 themselves free, and cast the balance. Among which of them will 
 be found most or least morality and virtue . I know well, but I shud- 
 der to tell it. If any one should read this after me, he might sus- 
 pect me of partiality to despotism, or contempt towards liberty. He 
 would be mistaken. I love liberty as an effort difficult and ennobling 
 for humanity, as I love virtue for its merits and for its reward ; but 
 the question is about happiness, and I examine the matter philoso- 
 phically, and I say, like Montaigne, ' What do I know ? ' The fact 
 is, that our political questions, so all-important in our lyceums, our 
 coffee-rooms, and our clubs, are very small affairs when seen from 
 a distance, in the midst of the ocean, from the summit of the Alps, 
 or on the heights of philosophical or religious contemplation. Those 
 questions only interest a few individuals that have their daily food 
 and hours of leisure — the great mass have no concern but with 
 nature ; a good, beautiful, and divine religion, is the politics for the 
 use of the multitude. This principle of life is awanting in our 
 system — hence it is that we stumble, fall, and fall again : we do not 
 walk; the breath of life is awanting to us; we create formations, 
 and the soul enters not therein. Oh, God ! restore us your breath, 
 or we perish. 
 
 Malta, July 28, 29, and 30. — Detained at Malta by Julia's indis- 
 position. She is recovering, and we resolve on going to Smyrna, 
 touching at Athens. There I shall establish my wife and child ; and 
 I shall go alone across Asia Minor, and visit the other regions of 
 the East. We got under way, and were about to leave the harbour, 
 when a sail arrived from the Archipelago, which announced the 
 capture of several vessels by the Greek pirates, and the massacre 
 of the crews. M. Miege, the French consul, advised us to wait a few 
 days ; Captain Lyons, of the British frigate Madagascar, offered to 
 escort our brig as far as Napoli in the Morea, and even to take us 
 in tow if the brig's rate of sailing should be inferior to that of the 
 frigate. He accompanied this offer with such obliging courtesies as 
 enhanced its value : we accepted, and sailed on the morning of 
 Wednesday, the 1st of August. We were scarcely at sea, when the 
 captain, whose vessel shot rapidly ahead of ours, hove to, and waited 
 for us. He threw overboard a buoy with a hawser fast to it ; we 
 picked up the same, and followed, like a led courser, the floating 
 mass, that clove the waters without seeming to feel our weight. 
 
 I was not acquainted with Captain Lyons, who had commanded 
 for six years one of the ships of the British station in the Levant ; 
 
56 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 I was unknown to him even by name ; I had not met him in any 
 person's house at Malta, because he was then in quarantine ; and, 
 notwithstanding, here was an officer of another nation — of a nation 
 often rival and hostile — who, on the first signal from us, consented 
 to be delayed two or three days on his passage, to expose his vessel 
 and crew to a manoeuvre often very perilous (towing), to hear 
 perhaps his men murmuring around him about such condescension 
 to an unknown Frenchman ; and all this through one sole feeling 
 of noble-mindedness and sympathies for the anxieties of a wife and 
 the sufferings of a child. Here one sees the genuine English officer 
 in all his personal generosities, and man in all the dignity of his 
 character and mission. I shall never forget either the circumstance 
 or the individual. This officer, who came sometimes on board of 
 us to ascertain our state of comfort, and to repeat to us assurances 
 of the pleasure he felt in protecting us, appeared to me one of the 
 most loyal and open characters whom I ever met with. Nothing 
 about him reminded one of that pretended rudeness of a sailor ; but 
 the firmness of a man accustomed to struggle with the most terrible 
 of the elements, Mas admirably blended, in his still fine youthful 
 countenance, with mildness of temper, elevation of thought, and 
 gracefulness of disposition. 
 
 Though we arrived strangers at Malta, we did not behold without 
 regret its white walls sinking in the distance under the waters. 
 Those houses, which we looked upon with indifference a few days 
 before, had now a physiognomy and a language for us. AVe were 
 now acquainted with those who inhabited them, and the looks of 
 many a wellwisher were pursuing, from the height of their terraces, 
 the distant sails of our two vessels. 
 
 The English are a great moral and political people, but in general 
 they are not a sociable people. Concentrated in the sweet and 
 sacred privacy of the family fireside, when they do go out from it, 
 it is not pleasure, it is not the need of communicating their souls, 
 or of diffusing their sympathies ; it is custom, it is vanity that leads 
 them forth. Vanity is the soul of all English society. It is this 
 which constructs that form of society, so cold, measured, and full 
 of etiquette; it is this which has created those classifications of 
 ranks, titles, dignities, riches, by which alone men are there distin- 
 guished, and which have made a complete abstraction from the man, 
 to consider only the name, the dress, the social form. Are they 
 cliff erent in their colonies I I should believe so, after what we ex- 
 perienced at Malta. Scarcely had we arrived there, when we re- 
 ceived from all that compose that beautiful colony the most cordial 
 and disinterested marks of interest and goodwill. Our residence 
 there was but one brilliant and continued scene of hospitality. Sir 
 Frederick Ponsonby, and Lady Emily Ponsonby, his wife, a couple 
 formed to represent worthily everywhere, the one the virtuous and 
 noble simplicity of the great English nobles, and the other the sweet 
 and graceful modesty of the ladies of high rank in her country. The 
 family of Sir Frederick Hankey, Mr and Mrs Nugent, Mr Greig, Mr 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 57 
 
 Freyre, formerly ambassador to Spain, welcomed us less as travellers 
 than as friends. We saw them for eight days — we shall perhaps 
 never see them more : but we carry with us an impression of their 
 obliging cordiality that penetrates to the bottom of our hearts. 
 Malta was for us the colony of hospitality : whatever of chivalrous 
 and hospitable that recalls the memory of its ancient possessors 
 is found anew in those palaces, now occupied by a people worthy 
 of the high rank they hold in civilisation. One may or may not 
 love the English, but it is impossible not to esteem them. 
 
 The government of Malta is harsh and contracted ; it is not worthy 
 of the English, who have taught liberty to the world, to have in one of 
 their possessions two classes of men, the citizens and the freedmen. 
 The provincial government and the local parliaments would easily 
 associate themselves with the broad representation of the mother 
 country. The germs of liberty and of nationality, when respected 
 among conquered nations, become thenceforward germs of virtue, 
 strength, and dignity for the entire human race. The British flag 
 should float only over freemen. 
 
 August 1, midnight. — Though we sailed this morning with a heavy 
 sea, a dead calm surprised us about a dozen leagues at sea : it still 
 continues: no wind in the heaven, save some spent breezes, that 
 come from time to time, and ruffle the sails of the two vessels ; they 
 cause these great sails to send forth a sonorous palpitation, an ir- 
 regular flapping, like the convulsive flapping in the Avings of a dying 
 bird ; the sea is smooth and polished like the blade of a sabre ; not a 
 ruffle to be seen, but, at far intervals, large cylindrical undulations, 
 which slide under the vessel, and make her shudder as from an 
 earthquake. The whole mass of the masts, yards, rigging, and sails, 
 creak and tremble then as if under a heavy gale. We are not ad- 
 vancing one inch an hour ; the orange-peels that Julia throws over- 
 board float without change of place about the brig, and the helms- 
 man carelessly looks at the stars, without the tiller turning aside 
 liis listless hand. We have cast off the tow-rope which fastened us 
 to the English frigate, as the two vessels, no longer having steerage 
 way, ran the risk of striking each other in the dark. 
 
 We are now about five hundred paces distant from the frigate. 
 The lighted lamps gleam through the portholes of the officers' large 
 and handsome cabins that decorate her stern. A light, which the 
 eye might mistake for one of the two great luminaries of the firma- 
 ment, ascends, and remains stationary at the mizentopgallantmast- 
 head, to keep us in company during the night. Whilst our view 
 is fixed on this floating beacon-light that is to guide us, a delicious 
 music suddenly issues from the luminous quarters of the frigate, and 
 resounds under her cloud of canvas, as if under the sonorous vaults 
 of a cathedral. The harmonies are varied, and succeed each other 
 thus for several hours, and spread afar over that enchanted and 
 sleeping sea all the sounds we have listened to in the most deli- 
 cious hours of our life. All the melodious reminiscences of our 
 towns, of our theatres, of our rural airs, return and carry our 
 
58 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 thoughts toward periods that arc no more, toward beings now re- 
 moved from us by death or by lapse of time ! 
 
 To-morrow, or in a few hours perhaps, the terrible sounds of the 
 hurricane causing the masts to groan, the redoubled shocks of the 
 sea against the hollow flanks of the vessel, the signal-gun of distress, 
 the thunder, the convulsive voices of two elements at war, and of 
 man struggling against their combined fury, will take the place of 
 this serene and majestic music. 
 
 These thoughts arise in all our hearts, and a complete silence reigns 
 over the two decks. Every one recalls to himself some of these 
 notes, so significant, and engraven by a strong impression on his 
 memory, which he lias heard elsewhere in some happy or sombre 
 circumstance of the life of his heart : every one thinks more tenderly 
 on what he has left behind him. We become anxious at this defiance 
 which man appears to throw down to the tempest. Such moments 
 as these ought to be inscribed in our thoughts for ever ; they com- 
 prise in a few minutes more impressions, more colours, more life, 
 than whole years passed in the prosaic vicissitudes of common life. 
 The heart is then full, and seeks to overflow. Then it is that the 
 most ordinary man feels himself a poet in every fibre ; then it is that 
 the finite and the infinite enter through every pore; then it is that we 
 feel a wish to vent forth before God, or to reveal to but one sympa- 
 thetic heart, or to all mankind, in the language of minds, what is pass- 
 ing in our mind ; it is then that one might improvise songs worthy 
 of earth, and even of heaven. Ah ! if one had but a language ! But 
 there is no language, especially for us Frenchmen — no, there is no 
 language for philosophy, love, religion, or poetry ; mathematics are 
 the language of this nation ; her words are dry, precise, and colour- 
 less, like ciphers. Let us go to sleep. 
 
 Two o'clock of the morning — same date. — I could not sleep, I had 
 felt too much; I returned upon deck: let us describe the scene. 
 The moon had disappeared beneath the orange fog that veiled the 
 horizon. It was indeed night, but a night at sea — that is to say, on 
 a transparent element that reflected the feeblest gleam from the 
 Armament, and seemed to retain aluminous impression of day. The 
 night was not dark, but only pale and pearly, like the colour of a 
 mirror when the torch is withdrawn to a side, or placed behind it. 
 The air also seemed dead, or asleep on that supple couch of the 
 waves. Not a sound, not a breath, not even a sail flapping against 
 the yard — not a wreath of foam to murmur and trace the wake of 
 the brig. I viewed this mute spectacle of repose, voidness, silence, 
 and serenity. I inhaled that light and tepid air, in which the breast 
 can perceive neither heat, nor coolness, nor weight, and I said to 
 myself, This must be the air that is breathed in the land of souls, 
 in the regions of immortality, in that divine atmosphere where all 
 is immovable, voluptuous, perfect. 
 
 Another view of the heaven. I had forgot the English frigate ; I 
 was looking in the opposite direction ; she was a few cables' length 
 from us. I turned accidentally, and my eyes fell on that majestic 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 r>9 
 
 colossus, reposing immovable and immense, without the least vibra- 
 tion, as if on a pedestal of polished marble. 
 
 The dark and gigantic mass of her hull seemed to detach itself in 
 spectral darkness from the silvery base of the water, and was sketched 
 out on the blue field of sky, air, and sea ; not a sigh of life issued 
 from that majestic edifice ; nothing indicated either to the eye or ear 
 that it was animated with so much life and intellect, and peopled by 
 so many thinking and acting beings. One would have taken her for 
 one of those great victims of the tempest which the navigator meets 
 with terror, floating rudderless in the solitudes of the southern ocean, 
 a mortuary register without note or date, which the sea allows to float 
 a few days above the surface, before swallowing it up entirely. 
 
 Over the dark hull of the vessel the cloud of all her sails was 
 picturesquely grouped, and rose like a pyramid along her masts. 
 They ascended from storey to storey, from yard to yard, cut out in a 
 thousand fantastic forms, unfolded in wide and deep plies, like the 
 numerous high turrets of a Gothic castle grouped around the donjon ; 
 they had neither the movement nor the glancing golden colour of 
 sails seen at a distance on the waters in the day-time ; motionless, 
 dull, and tinged by the darkness, a slaty gray, one would have said 
 it was a covey of enormous bats, or of some unknown sea-birds, beat 
 down, and pressed closely against one another on a gigantic tree, 
 and suspended to its naked trunk, by moonlight, in a night of winter. 
 The shadow of this cloud of sails descended upon us from aloft, and 
 deprived us of half the horizon. Never did a stranger and more 
 colossal vision of the sea appear to the mind of Ossian in a dream. 
 All the poetry of the waves was there. The blue line of the horizon 
 was confounded with that of the sky ; all that was reposing on high 
 or below had the appearance of one single ethereal fluid, in which 
 we were swimming. All that expanse of water, without objects or 
 boundary, augmented the effect of this gigantic apparition of the 
 frigate on the waters, and brought the mind under the same illusion 
 as the eye. It seemed to me as though the frigate, the aerial pyramid 
 of her canvas, and ourselves, were all raised upwards together, and 
 conveyed along, like heavenly bodies in the liquid plains of ether, 
 bearing on nothing, and moving by an internal force on the azure 
 void of an universal firmament. 
 
 Several similar days and nights were passed in the open sea, with 
 a dead calm and a burning sky. Immense waves roll from the 
 Adriatic into the sea of Africa ; these are vast cylinders, slightly 
 channeled, and gilt in the morning and evening, like the columns of 
 the temples of Rome or Pgestum. 
 
 I passed the day-time on deck. I wrote some verses to M. de 
 Montherot, my brother-in-law : — 
 
 Friend, more than friend, brother in heart and soul, 
 Whose sad look haunts me still as on I roll; 
 Across so many waves, flung far a-lee, 
 Through floods of sky and air, I think of thee ! 
 I think of all the hours we two have spent, 
 Where asp and willow o'er the brook are bent— 
 
lamarttxe's 
 
 Of our oft lingering stops, our converse sweet, 
 In which thy verse with mine would often meet — 
 Thy verse of smiles and meteor-flashes horn, 
 Not from the lyre with tremulous ardour torn, 
 But which thy careless hand, from day to day, 
 Leaves to what wind of fancy sweeps thy way; 
 Like to those liquid pearls, wept by the dawn, 
 That steep in sparkling tints the waking lawn, 
 Which, undiffused, a stream would constitute, 
 But now sink noiseless on the passer's foot ; 
 Whose humble shower, raised by the sun, exhales" 
 At length in perfume on the drying gales ! 
 
 New days, new cares ; for every fruit its time. 
 
 Long ere my judgment had attained its prime, 
 
 While yet I sported round my mother's knee-, 
 
 A child whom toys could charm, or toys displease, 
 
 I copied boys, my equals, in their play, 
 
 I spoke their language, and I did as they ; 
 
 In early spring, when buds begin to sprout, 
 
 And sap from bark of trees seems sweating out, 
 
 I sought our village torrent's rumbling billow, 
 
 To cut fresh branches from the bending willow; 
 
 Then softening with my lips a twig, as yet 
 
 T'ndried, I from it pulled the bark unsplit; 
 
 1 blew into the wood, and soon a sound, 
 
 Plaintive and soft, filled all the air around; 
 
 For artful rules this sound was all unmeet — 
 
 An empty noise, a murmur vague and sweet, 
 
 Like to the voices of the wave and breeze, 
 
 Which bear no meaning, though the ear they please; 
 
 The prelude of a soul stirred in young years, 
 
 Which chants before the days of song, Aveeps ere the time of tears 
 
 Those times are past, and half my span is gone; 
 And pain and care have raised my spirit's tone. 
 These fragile reeds, fit toys for boyish days, 
 Could ill relieve this load that on me weighs. 
 Ic lieth not in mortal speech nor rhyme, 
 In trump of war, nor yet in organ chime, 
 To bear the outburst of my soul's full blast, 
 "Whose fire melts all its shock doth not o'ereast ! 
 To vent its breathings, it hath long ago 
 Renounced the phrases of the world below: 
 Their fragile symbols would be burst — 'twixt word 
 And word, lightning collisions would be stirred, 
 And youth, with shaking front, would wildly cry, 
 ' Let him speak softly, Lord ! or else we die!* 
 
 But thus the soul speaks to itself alone: 
 In that unspoken tongue, that mighty tone, 
 Which never hand of flesh hath placed cn scroll, 
 Doth spirit speak to spirit, soul to soul ! 
 Losing of common tongues all exercise, 
 On this the lonely soul for cheer relies. 
 Ever within me doth it murmur on, 
 Like to a noisy sea, that resteth none; 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 Its heavy blows, that on my temples ring, 
 Sound like the rustling of the tempest's wing, 
 Reverberate in me like a flood by night, 
 Each wave of which roars loudly in its flight, 
 Or the rebound of thunder on the hills, 
 Which all the plain with echoed voices fills, 
 Or brazen roarings of the wintry breeze, 
 Falling like Lebanon's masses on the seas, 
 Or like the mighty clash, when on a rock 
 The waves in mountains rise, or fall in smoke ; 
 Such are the tones, the voices, that might roll, 
 In music fit, the burthen off my soul ! 
 
 No more for me those verses, where the thought, 
 
 As from a sounding bow full trimly shot, 
 
 And on two rhyming words made to rebound, 
 
 Dances complacent at the whim of sound ! 
 
 My ear disdains this frigid trick of art ; 
 
 And if the past time's memories touch my heart ; 
 
 If, while the clear-skied East's mute wilds I view, 
 
 My visage e'er shall smiling turn to you; 
 
 If, thinking how my friends this morn will see, 
 
 My soul with theirs would intermingled be ; 
 
 In other tones my heart to them shall speak, 
 
 And in return their loved remembrance seek. 
 
 By prayer! — that language, winged, strong, and clear, 
 
 AVhich, in one sigh, embraces all held deal- — 
 
 Shows to the heart, and brings in sight of God, 
 
 A thousand loved ones, near and far abroad ; 
 
 Makes between all, through aids from virtue given, 
 
 A viewless commerce in the gifts of heaven ; 
 
 A boundless language, reaching to the sky, 
 
 The better heard, that it ascends so high: 
 
 Pure incense ! which an equal perfume leaves 
 
 With him who lights the flame, and who receives ! 
 
 Thus would my soul itself to thee unfold. 
 
 All common speech to me seems weak and cold ; 
 
 And would'st thou know whence springs this scornful mind, 
 
 Follow my bark, that flies before the wind ; 
 
 Come to those scenes where worlds have passed away, 
 
 And sands exult — where empires had their day — 
 
 Where heroes, sages, gods, entombed remain — 
 
 Come, and three nights, three views, will all explain ! 
 
 I now have left the land, whose endless noise, 
 Far, far at sea, still haunts one, and annoys ; 
 That Europe! sinking, splitting, struggling all, 
 Where every hour beholds some ruin fall ; 
 Where two great spirits, ever hot at war, 
 Crush throne and fane, and laws and morals mar, 
 Making, while levelling their parent soil, 
 Room for God's spirit, veiled from them the while. 
 My bark, urged onward by an unseen force, 
 Glanced gaily through the foam upon her course. 
 Twelve times the sun, like a recumbent god, 
 Has turned th' horizon for his night abode, 
 
G2 
 
 la:,iartine's 
 
 And has come bounding up in air again, 
 
 Like fiery eagle from the crested main ; 
 
 Our mast and sails now sleep — beneath our bow 
 
 Our anchor bites the sand— I am in Athens now ! 
 
 It is the hour, when this so restless place — 
 Beneath night's finger mute for some brief space- 
 Woke once to deeds, by turns of shame and pride, 
 Rolling its living floods like ocean's tide. 
 Driven by each wind to some ambitious end, 
 To faction some, and some to virtue bend ; 
 The forum Pericles, Themistocles the shore, 
 Arms sought the brave, the sage the Porch's door, 
 The Just to exile, and the Wise to death, 
 The mob to crime, despite remorse's scathe ! 
 A turbancd man now guards the Parthenon : 
 The morn is come — I walk, and ponder on. 
 
 From high Cytheron's top the day comes down, 
 
 And strikes of many a height the naked crown ; 
 
 From flank to base, from plain to sea, the ray 
 
 Passes, but tinges nothing by the way; 
 
 No cities in the distance, bright with fires ; 
 
 No smoke by morning's breath sent up in spires ; 
 
 No hamlets perched upon the sloping hill ; 
 
 No towers the vale — the seas no vessels fill ; 
 
 In passing o'er each lifeless height and plain, 
 
 The rays fall dead, and never rise again. 
 
 But one, the loftiest shot from morning's bow, 
 
 Bends from the gilded Parthenon on my brow, 
 
 Then, glancing sadly o'er the stones, time-scarred, 
 
 Where dozes o'er his pipe the Moslem guard, 
 
 Turns down, as if to weep its ruined grace, 
 
 And dies on Theseus' lofty temple-base ! 
 
 Two rays, disporting on two wrecks ! — this pair 
 
 Are all that shine and say, Athens is there ! 
 
 August 6 : at sea. — At noon we perceived, under the white clouds 
 of the horizon, the irregular tops of the mountains of Greece. The 
 sky was pale and gray, as on the Thames or on the Seine in the 
 month of October; a storm tore up to the westward the dark curtain 
 of fog that dragged on the water; the thunder burst forth, the light- 
 nings flashed, and a strong breeze from the south-east brought us the 
 coolness and moisture of our showery autumnal winds. 
 
 The hurricane drove us out of our course, and we found ourselves 
 quite close to the coast of Navarin ; we distinguished the two islets 
 that close the entrance of the harbour, and the fine mountain, with 
 two rounded peaks, that overlooks the town. It was here that the 
 cannon of Europe spoke, not long since, to resuscitated Greece. 
 Greece answered ill — emancipated from the Turks by the heroism of 
 her children, and the assistance of Europe, she is now (1832) a victim 
 to ravages from within; she has shed the blood of Capo d'Istria, who 
 had devoted his life to her cause. The assassination of one of her 
 first citizens is a bad commencement for an era of virtue and regene- 
 ration. It is distressing that the idea of a great crime should be one 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 C3 
 
 of the first to rise up at the sight of this land, where one comes to 
 look for images of patriotism and glory. 
 
 In proportion as the vessel approaches the Gulf of Modon, the 
 shores of the Peloponnesus project into view, and show a distinct 
 outline as they issue from the floating mist that envelops them. 
 These shores, of which travellers speak with contempt, appear to me, 
 on the contrary, well planned out by nature — grand sections of moun- 
 tain scenery, and graceful undulation of lines. I find a difficulty in 
 withdrawing my view from the scene, which, void as it appears, is 
 full of the past : memory can people every spot ! That dusky group 
 of hills, capes, and valleys, which the view embraces completely from 
 where we are, although like a little islet on the ocean, and but a point 
 in the chart, has produced, in itself alone, more splendour, glory, and 
 renown, more virtues and crimes, than entire continents have achieved. 
 This little heap of islands and mountains, from which there sprang 
 forth almost simultaneously Miltiades, Leonidas, Thrasybulus, Epami- 
 nondas, Demosthenes, Alcibiades, Pericles, Plato, Aristides, Socrates, 
 Phidias — this land, which devoured Xerxes' armies of 2,000,000 of 
 men, which sent out colonies to Byzantium, to Asia, and to Africa, 
 which created or restored the arts, whether manual or intellectual, 
 and advanced them in a century and a-half to that point of perfection 
 in which they become models, and can no longer be surpassed — that 
 land, whose history is our history, whose Olympus is still the heaven 
 of our imagination — that land, out of which philosophy and poetry 
 have taken their flight towards the other nations of the globe, and to 
 which they return incessantly, like children to their cradle — there it 
 is before me ! Each succeeding wave carries me nearer it — I touch 
 it. Its appearance affects me profoundly, much less, however, than 
 if all these reminiscences had not become faded in my thoughts, in 
 consequence of having been sifted over and over in my memory before 
 my thoughts could comprehend them. Greece is to me as a book 
 whose beauties are tarnished, because we have been made to read it 
 before we were qualified for its comprehension. 
 
 All is not, however, disenchanted. There still lingers in my heart 
 an echo that responds to these mighty names. Something holy, sweet, 
 and perfumed, ascends with these horizons into my soul. I thank 
 God for having seen, on my passage along this earth, that land of 
 doers of great things, as Epaminondas called his country. 
 
 During my whole youth I have desired to do what I am now doing, 
 to see what I am now seeing. A desire at length satisfied is a hap- 
 piness. I experience at the sight of these horizons, so much dreamt 
 of, what I have all my life experienced in the possession of what- 
 ever I have eagerly desired — a calm and contemplative pleasure, 
 which falls back upon itself— a repose of the mind and soul, which 
 pause for a moment, and say to themselves, ' Let us make a halt, and 
 enjoy:' but, at bottom, these happinesses of the mind and imagina- 
 tion are very cold. It is not the same with the happiness of the 
 soul : this exists nowhere but in love, human or divine, but always 
 in love. 
 
64 
 
 LAM A RUNE'S 
 
 Same date : ev en ing . — We are sailing delieiously, with a favourable 
 •wind, w hich carries ns between Cape Matapan and the island of Cerigo. 
 A Greek pirate brig approached us, while the frigate was some 
 leagues at sea in chase of a suspicious vessel. The brig was only a 
 cable's length from us ; we all ascended upon deck, and prepared 
 for action. Our guns were loaded, and the deck strewed with mus- 
 kets and pistols. The captain summoned the commander of the 
 Greek brig to retire. The latter, seeing twenty-five men weil armed 
 on our deck, decided on not venturing to board us. He stood away, 
 but returned almost close alongside of our vessel. "We were about 
 to give fire, when he again declined the affair, and withdrew, remain- 
 ing for a quarter of an hour within pistol-shot of us. He pretended 
 that he was, like ourselves, a merchant vessel returning to the 
 Archipelago. I observed his crew, and never did I see countenances 
 in which crime, murder, and pillage, were written in more hideous 
 characters. There were to be seen on board of the pirate fifteen or 
 twenty bandits, some in Albanese costume, others with tatters of 
 European dresses, seated, lying, or working the vessel. All were 
 armed with pistols and poniards, the handles of which glittered with 
 chased work of silver. There was a fire on deck, at which two aged 
 women were dressing fish. A young girl, of fifteen or sixteen, ap- 
 peared from time to time among these haridans— a celestial face, an 
 angelic apparition, in the midst of these infernal countenances. One 
 of the old women repulsed her several times to the lower deck, to 
 which she descended weeping. A dispute arose seemingly on this 
 subject between some of the crew. Two poniards were drawn and 
 brandished; the captain, who was leaning on the tiller, carelessly 
 smoking his pipe, threw himself between the two bandits, and turned 
 one over the deck : everything became quiet ; the young Greek 
 woman came up again, and wiping her eyes with the long tresses of 
 her beautiful hair, seated herself at the foot of the mainmast. One 
 of the old women knelt behind her, and combed the girl's long hair. 
 The wind freshened. The Greek pirate turned his head to Cerigo, 
 and in a twinkling, crowding all canvas, was soon only a white 
 spot on the horizon. We hove to, in order to wait for the frigate, 
 w ho fired a gun to warn us. In a few hours she rejoined us. The 
 Greek pirate, which she chased, had escaped, having entered one 
 of those inaccessible creeks of the coast where they alwavs take 
 refuge in a similar emergency. 
 
 Same day: eleven o'clock. — Whenever some powerful impression 
 agitates my soul, I feel the necessity of telling or w riting to some one 
 what I experience, of finding somewhere a joy of my joy, a rever- 
 beration of what has struck myself. An isolated sentiment is not 
 complete ; man was created double. 
 
 Alas! when I now look around me, there is already much of loveli- 
 ness. Julia and Marianne* comprise all in themselves alone: but 
 Julia is still so young, that I tell her only what is w ithin the reach of 
 her infancy. This is all the future : it will soon be all the present far 
 * Madame do Lamartine. 
 
TRAVELS IX THE EAST. 
 
 us. The person who would have most enjoyed my happiness at this 
 moment was my mother. In whatever happens to me of happiness 
 or sorrow, my thoughts turn involuntarily towards her. I think 
 I see her, hear her, speak to her, write to her. A being whom we 
 remember to such a degree is not absent ; an object that lives so 
 completely, so powerfully in ourselves, is not dead with regard to 
 us. I always impart to her, as during her lifetime, all my impres- 
 sions, which used to become so rapidly and entirely her own, which 
 became more embellished, coloured, and glowing in her radiant 
 imagination, an imagination which stood always at the age of seven- 
 teen: I seek for her in idea in the modest and pious solitude of 
 Milly, where she educated us, where she thought of us when the 
 vicissitudes of my youth separated us from each other. I see her 
 expecting, receiving, perusing, commenting on my letters, revelling 
 more than even myself in my ideas. Tain dream : she is there no 
 more ; she dwells in the world of realities : our fugitive dreams 
 are no longer anything to her : but her spirit is with us — it visits, 
 follows, and protects us: our conversation is iciik her in the eternal 
 regions. 
 
 I have thus lost, before the age of maturity, the greater number 
 of the beings whom I loved most, or who have most loved me 
 here below. My life of affection has become concentrated : my 
 heart has now only a few hearts to betake itself to for refuge ; my 
 memory has scarce on this earth aught but tombs to repose on. If 
 God were to level but two or three strokes more around me, I feel 
 that I should be entirely detached from myself: for I should con- 
 template myself no longer — I shotild love myself more in others; 
 and it is only thus that it is possible for me to love myself. 
 
 While very young, I loved myself in myself ; infancy is egotistical. 
 It was all well then, a: sixteen or eighteen years of age, when I did 
 not as yet know myself, when I knew life still less ; but now I have 
 lived too long, I have known too much to hold to that form of exist- 
 ence which is called the human ' I.' What is a man, great God .' 
 and what a pity to attach the least importance to what I feel, to what 
 I think, to what I write '. What place is it which I hold in existing 
 things ? What void shall I leave in the world ? — a void of a few days 
 in one or two hearts; one shadow less to the sun; my dog. who 
 will seek for me : some trees that I have loved, and that will be 
 astonished at no: seeing me return under their shade: that is all. 
 And then all this will pass away in its turn. We do not begin to 
 feel the emptiness of existence till the day comes when we are no 
 longer necessary to any one, till the hour when we can be no longer 
 cherished. The only reality here below, I have always felt, is love — 
 love under all its forms. 
 
 A ugust 7 : evening, six tfdodL: — The elevated coast of Laconia is 
 at a few cannon-shots' distance from us. We skirt i: wi:l: a 
 breeze : it slides away majestically before us. Leaning on the bul- 
 wark of the vessel, my looks seize, in order to recollect them, those 
 classic forms of the mountains of Greece ; they unroll themselves as 
 
GG 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 if they were waves of stone and earth ; they rise, sink, and group 
 themselves before me, like the clouds of the country of his soul 
 before the mind of Ossian. I spend one or two hours, making in 
 silence this review of the hills and of the sonorous names of this 
 departed country. The hills of Cromius, from which the Eurotas 
 derives its source, dart into the air their rounded summits ; the globe 
 of the sun descends upon them, and strikes them like domes of 
 gilded copper ; he inflames his cloudy couch around him ; the moun- 
 tain-tops become transparent, like the very air that envelops them, 
 and from which they can hardly be distinguished : one would swear 
 that he saw behind them the light of another sun already set, or the 
 immense reflection of some distant conflagration. 
 
 One of these mountains, among others, presented to our sight the 
 figure of a crescent reversed ; it seems to be hollowed out propor- 
 tionally in order to open out an aerial track for the disc of the sun, 
 which rolls there amid the golden dust of the vapour that ascends to 
 him. The nearer summits, which the sun has already passed, are 
 tinged with purplish violet, or with a pale lilac colour; they swim 
 in an atmosphere as rich as the painter's palette : still nearer us, 
 other hills, already covered with the shades of evening, appear 
 clothed with dark forests; finally, those which compose the fore- 
 ground, those which we seem to touch, and whose steeps are washed 
 by the sea-foam, are quite plunged in night; the eye only distin- 
 guishes among them a few creeks, which afford a refuge to the 
 numerous pirates of these shores, and a few advancing promontories, 
 which carry, like Xapoli di Malvasia, towns or fortresses on their 
 precipitous summits. These mountains, viewed thus from the deck 
 of a ship, at this hour when the night tapestries them with its thou- 
 sand illusions of colour, are perhaps the finest terrestrial forms that 
 my eyes have yet contemplated ; and then the ship floats so gently 
 inclined, like a movable balcony on the sea, which murmurs while 
 caressing her keel, the air is so mildly warm, and so perfumed, the 
 sails give out such pleasing sounds at each puff of the evening breeze 
 — almost all that I love is there, tranquil, happy, safe, looking and 
 enjoying with me. Julia and her mother are leaning near me on 
 the rigging. The countenance of the child beams at all the views 
 and names of places, at all the historical facts which her mother 
 relates to her regarding each ; her eyes float along with ours over 
 all those scenes, the marvellous dramas of which are already known 
 to her. There is genius in her look ; one sees there the deep, living, 
 warm, and rapid thoughts of a mind which is budding under the 
 ardent and loving soul of her mother ; she seems to enjoy as much 
 as we do, and especially because she sees us interested and happy — 
 for the soul of that child lives in ours ; a tear comes into her eyes if 
 she sees me sad and pensive ; her features are an instantaneous re- 
 flection of mine, and the smile of every joy of ours never has to wait 
 for a like smile from her lips. How beautiful she is thus ! 
 
 I have long seen, and under all their aspects, the mountains of 
 Rome and of Sabina ; those here surpass them in variety of grouping, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 67 
 
 in majesty of form, in dazzling splendour of tints ; their allineation 
 is endless — it would require a volume to describe what a picture 
 would tell at one glance ; but to be seen in all their imaginative 
 beauty, they must be thus perceived at the fall of day. Then they 
 are to be seen clad, as in their youth, with forests and green pas- 
 tures, and rural cottages, and flocks, and shepherds : the shades of 
 evening clothe them — they have no other wardrobe; just as the 
 history of the men who have rendered them illustrious requires the 
 clouds of the past and the prestige of distance to attach and seduce 
 our thoughts. Nothing ought to be seen in broad day by the light 
 of the present ; in this sad world of ours there is nothing completely 
 beautiful but what is ideal ; illusion in all things is an element of 
 the beautiful, except in virtue and in love. 
 
 Same date: eight o'clock at night. — The wind freshens; we are 
 sailing along with a beautiful sea before the openings of different 
 bays ; we approach Cape St Angelo, anciently Cape Malia : we shall 
 soon be abreast of it. 
 
 August 8: morning. — The wind has died away; we have passed 
 the night without making any progress, at a short distance from 
 Cape Malia. 
 
 Same date : noon. — The breeze is mild, and wafts us towards the 
 cape. The frigate, which has us in tow, hollows out ahead of us a 
 level and murmuring path, along which we glide in her wake, 
 amidst the wreaths of foam which her keel dashes up on its flight. 
 Captain Lyons, who knows the coast, wishes to let us enjoy the view 
 of the cape and the country by passing not more than a hundred 
 fathoms from the shore. 
 
 At the extremity of Cape St Angelo, or Malia, which advances 
 considerably into the sea, that narrow passage commences which 
 timid mariners avoid by leaving the island of Cerigo on their left. 
 This cape is the cape of tempests for Greek sailors. The pirates 
 alone show head to it, because they know they will not be followed 
 thither. The wind descends from this cape with such weight and 
 impetuosity on the sea, that it often hurls rolling stones from the 
 mountain upon the decks of vessels. 
 
 On the steep and inaccessible declivity of the rock that forms the 
 headland of the cape, sharpened by hurricanes, and by the lashing of 
 the spray, accident has suspended three rocks detached from the 
 summit, and arrested half way in their fall. There they remain, 
 like a nest of sea-fowl bending over the foaming abyss of the waters. 
 A quantity of reddish earth, also stopped in its fall by these three 
 unequal rocks, gives root to five or six stunted fig-trees, which them- 
 selves hang with their tortuous branches, and their large gray leaves, 
 over the roaring gulf that whirls at their feet. The eye cannot dis- 
 cern any footpath, any practicable declivity, by which this little 
 mound of vegetation could be reached. However, a small low dwell- 
 ing can be distinguished among the fig-trees — a house of a gray, 
 sombre appearance, like the rock which serves for its base, and with 
 which one confounds it on the first view. Over the flat roof of the 
 
08 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 house there rises a small open belfry, as over the door of convents 
 in Italy: a bell is suspended from it. To the right are to be seen 
 some ancient ruins of foundations of red bricks, in which there are 
 three open arcades leading to a little terrace that stretches in front 
 of the house. An eagle would have feared to build his eyrie in 
 such a place, without a single bush or trunk of a tree to shelter him 
 from the wind which roars continually, from the eternal noise of the 
 sea breaking, and of the spray licking incessantly the polished rock, 
 under a sky always burning. Well, a man has done what the bird 
 itself would scarcely have dared to do ; he has chosen this asylum. 
 He lives there : we perceived him : he is a hermit. "We doubled the 
 cape so closely, that we could distinguish his long white beard, his 
 staff, his chaplet, his hood of brown felt, like that of sailors in winter. 
 He went on his knees as we parsed, with his face turned towards the 
 sea, as if he were imploring the succour of Heaven for the unknown 
 strangers on this perilous passage. The wind, which issues furiously 
 from the mountain-gorges of Laconia, as soon as you double the rock 
 of the cape, began to resound in our sails, and make the two vessels 
 roll and stagger, covering the sea with foam as far as the eye could 
 reach. A new sea w r as opening before us. The hermit, in order to 
 follow us still farther with his eyes, ascended the crest of a rock, 
 and we distinguished him there, on his knees, and motionless, as 
 long as we were in sight of the cape. 
 
 What is this man ? He must have a soul trebly steeped in wo, 
 to have chosen this frightful abode; he must have a heart and 
 senses eager for strong and eternal emotions, to live in this vulture's 
 nest, alone, with the boundless horizon, the hurricane, and the roar 
 of the sea. His only spectacle is, from time to time, a passing ship, 
 the creaking of the masts, the tearing of the sails, the cannon of dis- 
 tress, the cries of sailors in their agony. 
 
 These three fig-trees, that little inaccessible field, this spectacle of 
 the convulsive struggle of the elements, these rough, severe, and me- 
 ditative impressions of the soul, formed one of the dreams of my child- 
 hood and youth. By an instinct which my knowledge of men has 
 since confirmed, I never placed happiness but in solitude — only at 
 that time I placed love there ; but now I shall place there love, God, 
 and thought : this desert suspended between the heaven and the sea, 
 shaken by the incessant shock of the winds and waves, would still 
 be one of the charms of my heart. It is the attitude of the bird of 
 the mountains, while yet touching with its foot the sharp summit 
 of the rock, and already flapping its wings to dart still higher into 
 the regions of light. There is no well-organized man who would not 
 become, in such an abode, either a saint or a great poet— perhaps 
 both. But what a violent shock of existence must have been re- 
 quired to inspire me with such thoughts and desires, and to drive 
 thither those other men whom I see there ! God knows. Whatever 
 be the case, he cannot be an ordinary man who has felt the plea- 
 sure and the necessity of hooking himself like the pendent bindweed 
 to the walls of such an abyss, and to remain hovering there during a 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 G9 
 
 whole lifetime, beside the tumult of the elements, the terrible music 
 of the tempest, alone with his own thoughts, in the presence of 
 nature and of God. 
 
 Same date. — At some leagues' distance from the cape, the sea be- 
 came finer again. Light Greek vessels, undecked, and crowded with 
 canvas, passed alongside of us in the deep valleys of the waves ; they 
 are full of women and children, who are going to Hydra with baskets 
 of melons and grapes. The least puff of wind makes them heel 
 over on the sea, so much as to bathe their sails in it. They have 
 nothing to protect them from the wave but a cloth a few feet high, 
 stretched along the side exposed to the water ; they are often con- 
 cealed from our view by the billow and the foam ; they rise again 
 like a cork floating on the water. What a life ! — it is that of almost 
 all the Greeks ; their element is the sea ; they disport there like the 
 child of our villages on our mountain heaths. The destiny of the 
 country is written by nature : it is the sea. 
 
 Same date. — Here are the distant summits of the island of Crete 
 rising on our right ; here is Ida covered with snows, appearing from 
 this distance like the topsails of a vessel. 
 
 We enter a vast bay, that of Argos ; we glide along with the wind 
 aft, and with the velocity of a flight of swallows ; the rocks, moun- 
 tains, and islands of the two shores fly like dark clouds from before 
 us. Night falls ; we already perceive the head of the bay, though 
 it is six leagues in extent ; the masts of three squadrons anchored 
 before Nauplia are sketched out like a winter forest on the back- 
 ground of the sky and the plain of Argos. The darkness becomes 
 soon complete ; fires are lighted on the mountain slopes, and in the 
 woods, where the Greek shepherds are tending their flocks ; the 
 ships are firing the evening gun. We see all the gunports of these 
 sixty vessels at anchor gleaming successively, like the streets of a 
 great town lighted by its reflectors. We enter this labyrinth of ships, 
 and we are about to anchor in the middle of the night close to a little 
 fort which protects the roadstead of Nauplia, in front of the town, 
 and under the guns of the castle of Palamides. 
 
 August 9. — I rise with the sun, to have at length the pleasure of 
 viewing close to me the Gulf of Argos, Argos, Nauplia, the present 
 capital of Greece. What a complete deception ! Nauplia is a 
 miserable village, built on the side of a long and narrow gulf, on a 
 margin of earth that has fallen down from the lofty mountains that 
 cover the whole of this coast : the houses have no foreign character ; 
 they are built in the style of the most ordinary dwellings in the 
 villages of France and Savoy. Most part of them are in ruins, and 
 the fragments of walls overturned by cannon in the last war are 
 still lying in the middle of the streets. Two or three new houses, 
 painted in rough colours, appear on the quay, and a few coffee-houses 
 and shops of wood project on piles into the sea ; these coffee-houses 
 and balconies on the water are crowded with some hundreds of 
 Greeks, in their gaudiest but dirtiest costume ; they are seated or 
 stretched out on planks or on the sand, forming a thousand pictu- 
 
70 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 resque groups. All their physiognomies are beautiful, but sad and 
 ferocious ; the weight of indolence oppresses their every attitude. 
 The laziness of the Neapolitans is mild, serene, and gay — it is the 
 nonchalance of happiness ; the laziness of the Greeks is heavy, 
 morose, and gloomy — it is a vice which is its own punishment. We 
 turn our eyes from Nauplia ; I admire the beautiful fortress of 
 Palamides, which ranges over the whole mountain by which the 
 town is commanded ; the battlemented walls resemble the indenta- 
 tions of a natural rock. 
 
 But where is Argos ? A vast plain, sterile, and naked, intersected 
 with marshes, extends in a circular form at the head of the gulf; it 
 is bounded on all sides by chains of gray mountains. At the end of 
 this plain, about two leagues in the interior, you perceive a conical 
 hill, which has a few fortified walls on its summit, and which pro- 
 tects with its shadow a village in ruins : that is Argos. Quite close 
 to this is the tomb of Agamemnon. But what are Agamemnon and 
 his empire to me? These historical and political legends have lost 
 the interest of youth and of truth. I should wish to see only a 
 valley of Arcadia ; I prefer a tree, a spring under the rock, a rose- 
 laurel on the bank of a river, under the fallen arch of a bridge 
 tapestried with bindweed, to the monument of one of those classical 
 kingdoms, which no longer recall anything to my mind save the 
 ennui they gave me in my infancy. 
 
 A ugust 10. — "We have passed two days at Xauplia. The state of 
 Julia's health again distresses me. I remain a few days more, to 
 wait till she is completely recovered. We are on shore, in the 
 chamber of a wretched inn, opposite a barrack of Greek troops. 
 The soldiers are all day stretched out under the shade of the frag- 
 ments of ruined walls ; their costumes are rich and picturesque ; 
 their features bear the impress of misery and despair, and of all 
 those fierce passions which civil war kindles and foments in those 
 savage souls. The most complete anarchy reigns at this moment 
 over all the Morea. Each day one faction triumphs over the other, 
 and we hear the musketry of the Klephtes, of the Colocotroni fac- 
 tion, who are fighting on the other side of the gulf against the troops 
 of the government. We are informed, by every courier that descends 
 from the mountains, of the burning of a town, the pillage of a valley, 
 or the massacre of a population, by one of the parties that are ravag- 
 ing their native country. One cannot go beyond the gates of Nauplia 
 without being exposed to musket shots. Prince Karadja had the 
 goodness to propose to me an escort of his palikars to go and visit 
 the tomb of Agamemnon ; and General Corbet, who commands the 
 French forces, politely offered to add to them a detachment of his 
 soldiers. I refused, because I did not wish, for the gratification of a 
 vain curiosity, to expose the lives of several men, for which I should 
 eternally reproach myself. 
 
 August 12. — I was this morning present at a meeting of the Greek 
 parliament. The hall is a hovel of wood ; the walls and roof are 
 formed of planks of fir badly joined. The deputies are seated on 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 71 
 
 raised benches around a floor of sand ; they speak from their places. 
 We sat down, to see them arrive, on a heap of stones at the door 
 of the hall. They came in succession on horseback, each accompa- 
 nied by an escort more or less numerous, according to the impor- 
 tance of the chief. Each deputy dismounted, and his palikars, 
 superbly armed, went and grouped themselves at some distance in 
 the little plain which surrounds the hall. This plain presented the 
 image of an encampment, or of a caravan. 
 
 The attitude of the deputies was haughty and martial ; they spoke 
 without confusion or interruption, in a tone of emotion, though at 
 the same time firm, measured, and harmonious. They were no 
 longer those ferocious figures that are so repulsive to the view in the 
 streets of Nauplia ; they were the chiefs of a heroic nation, who still 
 held in their hands the musket or the sabre with which they had 
 just been combating for its deliverance, and who were deliberating 
 together on the means of securing the triumph of their liberties. 
 
 One cannot imagine anything more simple, and at the same time 
 more imposing, than the spectacle of this armed nation thus de- 
 liberating amidst the ruins of their country, under a planked roof 
 raised in the open field, whilst the soldiers were polishing their 
 arms at the very door of this senate, and the horses neighing impa- 
 tiently to resume their path on the mountains ! There were to be 
 seen among those chiefs some heads admirable for beauty, intelli- 
 gence, and heroism : these were the mountaineers. The Greek 
 merchants of the islands were easily recognised by their more effe- 
 minate features, and by the wily expression of their physiognomies. 
 The commerce and indolence of their towns have removed all 
 nobility and vigour from their countenances, and stamped in their 
 stead the impress of that vulgar skill and cunning which charac- 
 terises them. 
 
 August 13. — There was a charming fete given on board his vessel 
 by Admiral Hotham, who commands the English station in the roads 
 of Nauplia. He made us visit his three-decker, the St Vincent, and 
 caused to be executed for us the imitation of a naval combat. A 
 vessel, manned with sixteen hundred men, and seen thus at the 
 moment of action, is the masterpiece of human intellect. 
 
 He is an excellent man, whose countenance and manners present 
 that rare union of the nobleness of the old warrior and the bene- 
 volent mildness of the philosopher, a disposition which pervades 
 generally the fine physiognomies of the English aristocracy. He 
 offered us one of his vessels of war to accompany us as far as 
 Smyrna. I declined, and claimed this favour from Admiral Hugon, 
 who commands the French squadron. He has been so good as give 
 us the brig Le Genie, commanded by Captain Cuneo d'Ornano : but 
 it will only escort us as far as Rhodes. 
 
 I dined with M. Rouen, French minister in Greece : I was myself 
 to have occupied that post under the restoration. He congratulated 
 me at not having obtained it. M. Rouen, who had passed at Nauplia 
 all the miserable days of Greek anarchy, was sighing for his deliver- 
 
72 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 ance. He consoled himself for the severity of his exile by giving a 
 welcome reception to his countrymen, and by representing, with 
 perfect grace and cordiality, the high position of France in a country 
 which one must love both in its past and in its future history. 
 
 August 15. — I wrote nothing; my soul was withered and melan- 
 choly, like the frightful country that surrounded me ; naked rocks, 
 ruddy or black soil, creeping and dusky shrubs, marshy plains, where 
 the frosty north wind, even in the month of August, blows over 
 harvests of reeds ; there is all. This land of Greece is now but the 
 winding-sheet of a people ; it resembles an old sepulchre robbed of 
 its bones, and the very stones of which are scattered and embrowned 
 by the lapse of ages. Where is the beauty of that Greece so much 
 vaunted I Where is her gilded and transparent sky I All is now 
 dull and cloudy, as in a ravine of Savoy or Auvcrgne in the last days 
 of autumn. The violence of the north wind, which swept along with 
 the roaring waves to the head of the bay where we were anchored, 
 prevented us from leaving. 
 
 August 18: at sea — at anchor off the gardens of Hydra. — At 
 length we started last night with a fine breeze at south-east ; we 
 were asleep in our hammocks. At seven o'clock we were out of the 
 gulf ; the sea was beautiful, and beat melodiously against the sides 
 of the vessel. We were now in the channel that extends between 
 the mainland and the islands of Hydra and Spezzia. 
 
 Towards noon we were driven towards the coast of the continent 
 opposite to Hydra. These terrible squalls, proceeding from all the 
 points of the compass, rendered the working of the ship perilous. 
 Our sails were torn to pieces ; there was a risk of our masts being 
 carried away; for three hours we struggled without remission 
 against furious hurricanes ; the sailors were exhausted with fatigue ; 
 the captain appeared anxious about the fate of the vessel : at last he 
 succeeded in gaining the shelter of a lofty shore, and an anchorage 
 well known to sailors, abreast of a charming hill called the Gardens 
 of Hydra. We cast anchor there at a mile from the coast, and not 
 far from the brig-of-war Le Genie, which had followed the same 
 route. We had a day's repose, though the sea was still agitated, and 
 squalls whistled through our rigging: we landed on the coast — it 
 was the prettiest spot we had yet visited in Greece ; lofty mountains 
 command the landscape ; they retain, besides, some strata of earth, 
 some patches of a pale green on their rounded flanks ; they slope 
 gently, and hide their feet in some forests of olives ; farther off, 
 they extend in moderate inclinations as far as the channel of Hydra, 
 which flows at their feet like a large river rather than a sea. There 
 the eye reposes on one or two country-houses, surrounded by gardens 
 and orchards, cultivated fields, groups of chestnut-trees and green 
 oaks, flocks, some Greek peasants cultivating the ground. We let 
 loose our dogs, and hunted all day on the mountain; we returned 
 with game. 
 
 The town of Hydra, which covers all the little island of that name, 
 was shining on the other side of the channel, white, resplendent, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 73 
 
 glittering like a rock newly cut. This island does not present an 
 inch of ground to the eye — all is stone ; the town covers the whole ; 
 the houses are arranged perpendicularly to one another, and were 
 the refuge of free commerce and of Greek opulence during the 
 domination of the Turks. One can estimate the increasing or de- 
 creasing civilisation of a nation by the situation of its towns and 
 villages : when security and independence augment, the towns de- 
 scend from the mountains to the plains ; when tyranny and anarchy 
 revive, they reascend the rocks, or take refuge on the reefs of the 
 ocean. During the middle ages, in Italy, on the Rhine, in France, 
 the towns were eagles' nests, on the peaks of inaccessible rocks. 
 
 August 18: at sea. — We weighed anchor at three o'clock in the 
 morning. A moderate wind allowed us to approach that point of 
 the continent which advances into the Sea of Athens; but when 
 there, a fresh tempest assailed us, still more violent than the former ; 
 we were in an instant separated from the two vessels that were 
 sailing in company with us. The sea became enormous ; we rolled 
 from one abyss into another, the yards dipping into the wave, and 
 the spray dashing over the deck. The captain persisted in doub- 
 ling the cape ; after several hours' ineffectual manoeuvring, he suc- 
 ceeded. We were now in the open sea ; but the wind was so power- 
 ful, that the brig made considerable leeway. We were obliged to- 
 stand for the mountains that were distinguishable on the other side- 
 of the Bay of Athens. We went six knots, amidst clouds of humid 
 dust, and under showers of spray, flying from the head and sides 
 of the vessel. Occasionally the horizon cleared up, and allowed us 
 a glimpse of Cape Colonna whitening out ahead of us. We ex- 
 pected to anchor in the evening at the foot of these columns, and 
 to salute the memory of the divine Plato, who was wont to come 
 and meditate two thousand years before us on this same promontory 
 of Sunium. I could not withdraw my view from the horizon, where 
 appear the mountains of Athens, from which the tempest is repell- 
 ing us. At length, towards sunset, the wind abated, and we made a 
 tack towards the islaud of iEgina. We got almost becalmed under 
 shelter of the island, and of the coast of the mainland, and we 
 entered at the fall of day another gulf, formed by the island and 
 the lovely shores of Corinth. The sea was like a mirror, and we 
 seemed to sail on a waveless river, whose imperceptible current 
 was carrying us to the anchorage. We cast anchor at the moment 
 when the night fell in an immense enchanted lake, enveloped with 
 sombre mountains, and when the rising moon was striking with its 
 silvery light the Acropolis of Corinth and the columns of the Temple 
 of iEgina. We were some hundreds of paces from the island, oppo- 
 site gardens shaded by beautiful plains. A few white houses shone 
 forth amidst the verdure. We enjoyed repose, and a tranquil supper 
 on deck, after a day of perils and fatigues. Such is the life of travel- 
 lers, and of man on the earth. 
 
 On our right, the island of iEgina, softening its dark and rapid 
 declivities, extends along a gulf into a tongue of land, strewed with 
 
74 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 a few cypresses, vines, and fig-trees, and terminated by the town. 
 The latter is less oddly situated than the few Greek towns we had as 
 yet seen ; the gymnasium, erected by Capo d'Istria, gleams in the 
 centre — its museum. I did not go there ; I am tired of museums, 
 those cemeteries of the arts ; fragments detached from their locality, 
 their destination, and from the whole of which they formed a part, 
 are dead — the dust of marble which has life no more. I went ashore 
 alone, and passed two delicious hours in a garden of cypresses and 
 orange-trees belonging to Gergio, Bey of Hydra. At ten o'clock I 
 returned to the vessel ; on descending the ladder, I found half of the 
 deck literally covered with heaps of water-melons, immense baskets 
 full of grapes of all forms and colours, some of which weighed from 
 three to four pounds, figs of Attica, and all the flowers that the sea- 
 son and the climate could furnish. They told me it was the governor 
 of iEgina, Nicolas Scuffo, who, having learned the evening before, 
 through my Greek pilot, of my passage through the gulf, had come 
 to pay me a visit with a boatful of this present from his estate ; he 
 recognised in my name that of a friend to Greece, and had brought 
 me the first pledge of that prosperity which so many generous hearts 
 have desired for that country ! He announced his intention of re- 
 turning in the evening. I requested a boat from Captain Cuneo 
 ■d'Ornano, and went to iEgina to carry my thanks to the governor : 
 I found him afloat, and we returned together on board our vessel. 
 He is a distinguished man, of very intellectual conversation. We 
 spoke of Greece, of her future condition, and her present crisis. I 
 saw with regret that the religious spirit is extinct in Greece ; the 
 ignorant clergy are despised ; the commercial spirit has not sufficient 
 virtue to resuscitate a people. I fear for that country ; at the first 
 European crisis it will decompose itself afresh. It is as in Italy; 
 men the most intelligent and courageous, brilliant individuals, but 
 no common bond of union — Greeks, but no nation. 
 
 Having sailed at noon of the ISth from iEgina, we saw the sun set 
 in the golden valley that is hollowed out on the Isthmus of Corinth, 
 between Acro-Corinthus and the mountains of Attica — it kindled up 
 all that quarter of the heaven ; and it Mas there that, for the first 
 time, we witnessed that splendour of the firmament which gives to 
 the East its charm and its glory. Salamis, the tomb of the fleet of 
 Xerxes, was a few paces ahead of us— a gray coast, dark soil, with no 
 other attraction but its name ; its naval battle, and the memory of 
 Themistocles, cause it to be saluted with respect by the mariner. 
 The mountains of Attica raise their black summits above Salamis; 
 and to the right, on one of the decreasing peaks of yEgina, the 
 temple of Jupiter Panhellcnicus, gilded by the last rays of day, 
 rises above this scene, one of the finest of an historical nature, and 
 casts its religious reminiscences over that record of places and times; 
 the religious thoughts of humanity mingle with, and consecrate the 
 whole; but the religion of the Greeks, a religion of the mind and the 
 imagination, and not of the heart, does not make on me the slightest 
 impression ; we know that these gods of the people were only the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 75 
 
 sportive creations of poetry and of art — gods feigned and dreamt 
 of. There was nothing grave, nothing real, nothing drawn from the 
 deep wells of nature, and of the human soul, before the age of 
 Socrates and Plato ! Then commenced the religion of reason ! 
 Then came Christianity, which had received from its divine Founder 
 the word and the key of human destiny ! The ages of barbarism, 
 which it had to traverse to arrive at us, have often impaired and 
 disfigured it ; but if it had fallen among Platos and Pythagorases, 
 what should we not have attained to, owing to it, by it, and 
 with it ! 
 
 A settled calm came on, and we floated six hours without motion 
 amid the transparent water and coloured vapours of the Sea of 
 Athens. The Acropolis and the Parthenon rise like an altar six 
 leagues in front of us, detached from Mount Penthilicus, Mount 
 Hymettus, and Mount Anchismus. In fact Athens is an altar to 
 the gods, the finest pedestal on which past ages could have placed 
 the statue of humanity ! At the present day, its aspect is sombre, 
 sad, dark, arid, desolate — a weight on the heart ; there is nothing 
 living, green, gracious, or animated ; we see there nature exhausted, 
 which God alone could vivify. Liberty will not suffice for this : to 
 the poet and the painter, it is written on these barren mountains, on 
 these capes whitened with crumbling temples, on these marshy or 
 pebbly heaths, which have no longer anything but sonorous names, 
 it is written — ' It is finished ! ' It is a land of apocalypse, that seems 
 struck by some divine malediction, by some great word of prophecy ; 
 a J erusalem of the nations, in which there is no longer even a tomb ! 
 Such is the idea of Athens and all the shores of Attica, of the 
 islands and the Peloponese. 
 
 Having arrived at the Piraeus at eight o'clock in the morning of 
 the 19th August, we came to an anchor. Horses were waiting for us 
 on the beach of the Piraeus : we mounted. I found an ass, on which 
 we placed a side-saddle for Julia ; and we started. For half a league, 
 the plain, although of a light, manageable, and fertile soil, is com- 
 pletely naked and uncultivated. The Turks burned during the war 
 a forest of olive-trees, which extended down to the sea ; some black 
 trunks still remain. We entered the wood of olives and fig-trees, 
 which encircle the advanced group of the hills of Athens as with a 
 verdant belt. We followed the foundations, still evident, of the long 
 wall built by Themistocles, which united the city to the Piraeus. A 
 few Turkish fountains, in the form of wells, surrounded with rustic 
 troughs of rough stone, are placed at intervals. Some Greek peasants 
 and a few Turkish soldiers were lying near the fountains, and giving 
 each other to drink. At length we passed under the lofty ramparts 
 and black rocks that serve as a pedestal to the Parthenon. The 
 Parthenon itself does not appear to us to increase in magnitude, but, 
 on the contrary, to dwindle the more as we approach it. The effect 
 of this edifice — the finest, by the judgment of all ages, that human 
 hands have erected on the earth — does not, when thus viewed, corre- 
 spond in anything to what one expects ; and the pompous language of 
 
70 
 
 LAMABTENTrS 
 
 travellers, artists, or poets, falls back sorrowfully on your heart when 
 you see that reality so remote from the descriptions. It is not gilded 
 as by the petrified rays of the Grecian sun ; it does not shoot up- 
 wards like an aerial island, carrying a divine monument ; it does not 
 shine from afar on the sea and land like a beacon-light, proclaiming-, 
 here is Athens! — here man has exhausted his genius, and hurled his 
 defiance to the future ! No, nothing of all this! Over your head 
 you see rising irregularly old blackish walls, covered with white 
 spots. These spots are marble, the fragments of the monuments 
 with which the Acropolis was crowned, before its restoration by 
 Phidias and Pericles. These walls, flanked at intervals by other 
 walls that sustain them, are crowned with a square Byzantine tower 
 and Venetian battlements. They surround a broad eminence, which 
 contained almost all the sacred monuments of the city of Theseus. 
 At the extremity of this eminence, on the side of the iEgean Sea, 
 there presents itself the Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, the virgin 
 that sprang from the brain of Jupiter. This temple, the columns of 
 which are blackish, is marked here and there with spots of a dazzling 
 whiteness ; these are the impressions of the Turkish cannon, or of 
 the hammers of the Iconoclasts. Its form is an oblong ; it appears 
 too low and too small for its monumental situation. It does not say 
 of itself, 'This is I; I am the Parthenon, I cannot be anything else I' 
 — you must ask this of your guide, and when he has answered you, 
 you are still in doubt. Farther off, at the foot of the Acropolis, you 
 pass through a dark low gateway, at which a few Turks in ragged 
 garb are seated, beside their rich and beautiful weapons, and you are 
 in Athens. The first monument worthy of regard is the temple of 
 Jupiter Olympius, the magnificent columns of which rise alone on a 
 naked and desert place, to the right of what was Athens, a worthy 
 portico of the city of ruins ! Some paces from this we entered the 
 city — that is to say, an inextricable labyrinth of narrow paths, strewed 
 with portions of fallen walls, of broken tiles, of stones and marble, 
 scattered pell-mell ; sometimes descending into the court of a ruined 
 house, sometimes clambering along the staircase, or even on the roof 
 of another. In these little, white, vulgar hovels, or ruins of ruins — 
 dirty and infected haunts — some families of Greeks are huddled 
 together, and hidden. Here and there, several women, with black 
 eyes, and the graceful Athenian mouth, came out, at the noise of 
 our horses' footsteps, to the threshold of the door, and gave us 
 the gracious salute of Attica, 1 "Welcome, gentlemen foreigners, to 
 Athens!' "We arrived, after a quarter of an hour's walk, amidst 
 the same scenes of devastation, and the same heaps of fallen walls 
 and roofs, at the modest dwelling of M. Gaspari, agent of the consu- 
 late of Greece at Athens. I had sent him in the morning the letter 
 that recommended me to his attentions. I had no need of it; 
 politeness is the disposition of almost all our agents towards a 
 stranger. M. Gaspari received us like unknown friends ; and while 
 he was sending his son to search for a residence to us in some house 
 still standing, one of his daughters, an Athenian girl, a fine and 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 77 
 
 graceful specimen of that beauty hereditary in the women of her 
 country, served up to us, with much eagerness and modesty, some 
 iced orange juice, in vessels of porous earth, of antique form. After 
 having refreshed ourselves a while in this humble asylum of simple 
 and cordial hospitality, so sweet to meet with under a burning sun, 
 several hundreds of miles from one's own country, at the close of a 
 day of storm, heat, and dust, M. Gaspari conducted us to the lower 
 part of the town, across the same ruins, to a neat, white house, quite 
 
 recently built, and where an Italian, M. , had established an 
 
 inn. A few rooms whitened with lime, and neatly furnished ; a 
 court refreshed by a spring, and by a little shade ; at the foot of the 
 staircase a fine lioness in white marble; abundance of fruits and 
 vegetables ; some honey of Hymettus, calumniated by M. de Cha- 
 teaubriand ; Greek servants, acquainted with Italian, attentive, and 
 intelligent— all this was doubly valuable to us, in midst of the deso- 
 lation and absolute nakedness of Athens. 
 
 One could not be more comfortable on a tour through Italy, Eng- 
 land, or Switzerland. May this inn maintain its ground, and prosper 
 for the consolation and welfare of travellers to come! But, alas! 
 for forty-eight days no stranger had crossed its threshold or dis- 
 turbed its silence ! 
 
 In the evening, M. Gropius obligingly came and put himself at 
 our disposal, to show us, and comment with us upon Athens. As 
 happy as M. de Chateaubriand had been formerly when conducted 
 through the nuns of Athens by M. Fauvel, we had in M. Gropius a 
 second Fauvel, who had become an Athenian thirty-two years 
 before, and built, like his master, a house for his old age amidst 
 these wrecks of a city where he had spent his youth, and which he 
 assists as much as he can to raise, for the hundredth time, out of 
 its poetical ashes. M. Gropius is consul for Austria in Greece, and 
 a man of intellect and learning, joining to the most profound and 
 correct knowledge of antiquity, that character of simple good-nature 
 and inoffensive grace which is the distinctive feature of the true and 
 worthy sons of learned Germany. When unjustly accused by Lord 
 Byron, in his sarcastic notes on Athens, M. Gropius did not return 
 injury for injury to the memory of the great poet : he was only 
 afflicted that his name should have been dragged by him through 
 edition after edition, and consigned to the rancour of fanatics igno- 
 rant of antiquity; but he did not choose to justify himself; and 
 when one is on the spot, a witness to the constant efforts made by 
 this distinguished man to restore some word to an inscription, some 
 strayed fragment to a statue, or a form and date to a monument, one 
 is sure, beforehand, that M. Gropius has never profaned what he 
 adores, nor made a vile commerce of the noblest and most disin- 
 terested of studies, the study of antiquities. 
 
 With such a man days are worth years for the ignorant traveller 
 like myself. I requested him to excuse me from all doubtful anti- 
 quities, conventional celebrities, and systematic beauties. I abhor 
 falsehood and effort in everything, but especially in admiration. I 
 
78 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 wish to see only what God or man has made beautiful — present, real, 
 palpable beauty, addressing itself to the eye and to the soul ; and not 
 the beauty of a locality or an epoch, historical, or critical beauty — I 
 leave that for the learned. To us poets, there must be beauty, evi- 
 dent and sensible : we are not creatures of abstraction, but men of 
 nature and instinct. Thus have I many a time traversed Rome; 
 thus have I visited seas and mountains ; thus have I read sages, his- 
 torians, and poets ; thus have I visited Athens ! 
 
 It was a pure and beautiful evening : the devouring sun was de- 
 scending, bathed in a violet vapour, on the black and narrow bar 
 which forms the Isthmus of Corinth, and was gilding with his last 
 luminous beams the battlements of the Acropolis, which present 
 their form, rounded like the crown of a tower, over the large and 
 undulating valley where sleeps in silence the shade of Athens. AVe 
 issued out by paths without name or track, having to clear at every 
 moment breaches of fallen garden walls, or of roofless houses, or of 
 ruins lying in heaps on the white dust of the soil of Attica. As we 
 descended towards the bottom of the deep and desert valley shaded 
 by the Temple of Theseus, the Pnyx, the Areopagus, and the Hill of 
 the Nymphs, we discovered a greater extent of the modern town 
 opening out on our left, resembling in everything what we had pre- 
 viously seen. A vast, confused, melancholy, disordered assemblage 
 of fallen huts, of pieces of walls still standing, roofs sunk in, gardens 
 and courts ravaged, mounds of stones heaped together, barring up 
 the way, and rolling under our feet ; the whole wore the colouring of 
 recent ruins, that dull, feeble, and discoloured gray, which lias not 
 even for the eye the sanctity of time elapsed, nor the gracefulness 
 of ruins. There was no vegetation, excepting three or four palm- 
 trees resembling Turkish minarets, that had remained upright over 
 the destroyed city; here and there a few houses of vulgar and 
 modern fashion, recently built by some Europeans, or by Greeks 
 from Constantinople. These were houses such as are seen in our 
 villages of France or England, roofs raised without any grace, nume- 
 rous and narrow windows, with an absence of terraces, architectural 
 lines, or decorations — residences for a lifetime, built in the expecta- 
 tion of a fresh destruction — but nothing of those palaces which a 
 civilised people build with confidence for themselves and generations 
 unborn. In the midst of all this chaos, there appear, though rarely, 
 some fragments of the Stadium, some blackish columns of the Arch 
 of Adrian, or of Lazora, the dome of the Tower of the Winds, or of 
 the Lantern of Diogenes, inviting, but not detaining, the view. In 
 front of us appeared, increasing and detaching itself from the gray 
 hill on which it is placed, the Temple of Theseus, isolated, exposed 
 on all sides, standing quite entire on its pedestal of rock. This 
 temple, after the Parthenon, is, according to scientific judges, the 
 finest that Greece has erected to her gods or her heroes. 
 
 On approaching, assured, from my reading, of the beauty of the 
 monument, I was astonished to feel myself cold and unmoved ; my 
 heart tried to be affected, my eyes endeavoured to admire ; but ia 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 79 
 
 vain ! I did not feel what one experiences at the sight of a fault- 
 less work — namely, a negative pleasure : was it then a real and 
 strong impression, a new, powerful, and involuntary pleasure ? No ! 
 This temple is too little ; it is a sublime toy of art ! It is not a 
 monument for gods, for men, for centuries. I had only one instant 
 of ecstacy ; this was when, seated at the western angle of the temple, 
 on the lowest steps, my view embraced, all at once, the magnificent 
 harmony of its forms, and the majestic elegance of its columns, to- 
 gether with the wide and more sombre space of its portico, and the 
 admirable bas-reliefs on its interior frieze of the combats between 
 the Centaurs and the Lapithse ; and underneath, through the openings 
 at the centre, the blue and resplendent sky, diffusing its serene and 
 mystic light on the cornices and salient figures of the bas-reliefs ; 
 they then appeared to live and move. Great artists alone, of all 
 descriptions, have this gift of life, alas, to their own cost ! In the 
 Parthenon there remain only two figures, Mars and Venus, half 
 crushed by two enormous fragments of the cornice which have fal- 
 len on their heads ; but these two figures are worth to me, in them- 
 selves alone, more than all I have seen of sculpture in my life ; they 
 live as never canvas nor marble lived. One suffers from the weight 
 that oppresses them ; you would wish to relieve their limbs, which 
 seem to bend and stiffen under this mass ; you feel that the chisel of 
 Phidias trembled and glowed in his hand when these sublime figures 
 were coming to life under his fingers. You feel — and this is no 
 illusion, but the truth, the painful truth ! — that the artist infused a 
 portion of his own individuality, his own blood, into the forms and 
 the veins of the beings whom he was creating, and that it is still a 
 part of his life that you see palpitating in these living figures, in 
 these limbs ready to move, on these lips ready to speak! 
 
 No ! the Temple of Theseus is not worthy of its renown ; it does 
 not live as a monument, it tells nothing of what it ought to tell ; it is 
 beauty, without doubt, but a beauty cold and dead, from which the 
 artist alone should shake off the windingsheet and wipe away the 
 dust ! As for me, I admired it, and I went away without any desire 
 of seeing it again. The fine stones of the colonnade of the Vatican, 
 the majestic and colossal shadows of St Peter's at Rome, have never 
 allowed me to depart without regret, without a hope of returning. 
 
 Higher up, after clambering up a black hill covered with thistles 
 and reddish pebbles, you arrive at the Pnyx, the scene of the stormy 
 assemblies of the people of Athens, and of the inconstant ovations of 
 their orators and favourites. Enormous blocks of black stone, some 
 of which are of twelve or thirteen feet cube, rest one above another, 
 and supported the terrace where the people used to meet. Higher 
 still, at the distance of about fifty paces, you perceive an enormous 
 square block on which steps have been cut, which served, doubtless, 
 for the orator to ascend to that tribune, which thus overlooked the 
 people, the town, and the sea. This has no trace of the elegance of 
 the people under Pericles ; it has a Roman character ; the recollec- 
 tions connected with it are noble. From this Demosthenes spoke, and 
 
so 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 excited or calmed that sea of people, more stormy than the iEgean, 
 which he could also hear roaring behind him. I sat down there, 
 alone and pensive, and remained till the night had nearly closed 
 in, reanimating, without an effort, all that history, the finest, most 
 ardent, and most fervid of all the histories of men who have wielded 
 the sword or the tongue. What an age for genius! And what 
 genius, greatness, wisdom, light, and even virtue (for not far from 
 this Socrates died) for that age ! The present day resembles it in 
 Europe, and especially in France, that vulgar Athens of modern 
 times ! But it is only the elect of France and of Europe that may 
 be called Athens — the mass is barbarous still. Suppose Demos- 
 thenes speaking his glowing, energetic, and elevated language to a 
 popular audience in one of our present cities ; who would compre- 
 hend him ? The inequality of education and enlightenment is the 
 grand obstacle to our complete modern civilisation. The people 
 are masters, but they are not capable of being so ; hence they de- 
 stroy everywhere, and raise up nowhere anything beautiful, durable, 
 or majestic ! All the Athenians comprehended Demosthenes, knew 
 their own language, and could judge regarding their own legislation 
 and arts. They were a nation of chosen men ; they had the passions 
 of a populace, but not their ignorance ; they committed crimes, but 
 not absurdities. It is so no longer ; hence democracy, though ne- 
 cessary in right, seems impossible in fact, among our great modern 
 populations. Time alone can render nations capable of governing 
 themselves. Their education is formed by their revolutions. 
 
 The destiny of an orator such as Demosthenes or Mirabeau, the 
 only two worthy of the name, is more seducing than that of the 
 philosopher or the poet; the orator partakes, at the same time, in 
 the glory of the author, and in the power of the masses on whom 
 and through whom he acts : he is the philosopher-king, if he is a 
 philosopher ; but his terrible weapon, the people, is broken in his 
 hands, wounds and kills himself ; and then, what he does and says, 
 what he stirs up in humanity, being transitory passions, principles, 
 and interests, all this is not durable, not eternal in its nature. The 
 poet, on the contrary — and by poet I mean whoever creates ideas 
 in bronze, in stone, in prose, in words, or in rhymes — the poet stirs 
 up only what is imperishable in nature and in the human heart : 
 ages pass away, languages are worn out, but he lives for ever all 
 entire, for ever as much himself, as great, as new, as powerful over 
 the soul of his readers: his destiny is less human, but more divine: 
 he is above the orator. 
 
 The beauty would be to unite both destinies : no man has done 
 so ; but there is, nevertheless, no incompatibility between action and 
 thought in a complete intellect. Action is the daughter of thought ; 
 but men, jealous of every pre-eminence, never grant two powers to 
 one same head. Nature is more liberal. They proscribe from the 
 domain of action him who excels in the domain of intellect and 
 speech ; they would not have Plato to make real laws, nor Socrates 
 to govern a borough. 
 
TRAVELS IB THE EAST. 
 
 I sent to request of the Turkish Bey, Youssouf Bey, commandant 
 of Attica, permission to ascend to the citadel with my friends, and 
 visit the Parthenon. He sent me a janissary to accompany me. 
 We set out on the 20th, at five o'clock in the morning, accompanied 
 by M. Gropius. Everything is silenced before the incomparable 
 impression of the Parthenon, that temple of temples built by Setinus, 
 ordered by Pericles, decorated by Phidias ; the unique and exclusive 
 model of the beautiful in the arts of architecture and sculpture — a 
 sort of divine revelation of ideal beauty received one day by that 
 people who were emphatically a nation of artists, and transmitted by 
 them to posterity in blocks of imperishable marble, and in sculptures 
 that will live for ever. This monument, such as it was, taken into 
 view as a whole its situation, its natural pedestal, its steps decorated 
 with unrivalled statues, its grand figures, its execution, perfect in 
 all the details, its material, its colour of petrified light — this monu- 
 ment has for ages crushed admiration, without satisfying it. "When 
 one sees of it what I have seen of it only, with its majestic fragments, 
 mutilated by the Venetian bombs, by the explosion of gunpowder 
 under Morosini, by the hammer of Theodore, by the cannons of the 
 Turks and Greeks, its columns lying in immense blocks on its pave- 
 ments, its fallen capitals, its triglyphs broken by the agents of Lord 
 Elgin, its statues carried away in English vessels — what remains 
 of it is sufficient to make me feel that it is the most perfect poem 
 written in stone on the face of the earth; but still I also feel that 
 it is too little ; the effect is wanting, or k is destroyed. I passed 
 delicious hours, reclined imder the shade of the Propyhea, with my 
 eyes fixed on the tottering pediment of the Parthenon; I feel the 
 whole spirit of antiquity in what it has produced most divine ; the 
 rest is not worth the language that describes it .' The aspect of 
 the Parthenon exhibits, more than history, the colossal grandeur 
 of a people. Pericles ought not to die ! What superhuman civili- 
 sation was that which found a great man to order, an architect to 
 conceive, a sculptor to decorate, statuaries to execute, workmen to 
 hew, a people to pay, and eyes to comprehend and admire such an 
 edifice I Where shall a like epoch and people be found again ! 
 Nothing announces it. As the human race gets older, it loses the 
 sap, the mood, the disinterestedness, necessary for the arts! The 
 Propylsea, the temple of Erechtheus, or that of the Cariatides, are 
 beside the Parthenon. They are themselves masterpieces, but 
 drowned in that masterpiece ; the souL struck with too violent a 
 shock at the sight of the first of these edifices, has no longer strength 
 to admire the others ; one has to look and go away, lamenting less 
 the devastation of this superhuman >vork of man, than the impossi- 
 bility of man ever equalling its sublimity and harmony. It is revela- 
 tions such as these that heaven does not give twice to the earth — it 
 is like the poem of Job, or the Song of Songs, like the poem of Homer, 
 or the music of Mozart. It is done, seen, and heard; then it is done, 
 seen, and heard no more, tiil the consummation of ages. Happy 
 the men through whom these diviue breathings pass ! they die, but 
 VOL. L F 
 
82 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 they have proved to man what man can be ; and God recalls them 
 to himself to celebrate Him elsewhere, and in a language more 
 powerful still ! I wandered the whole day, mute amidst these ruins, 
 and I returned with my eyes dazzled by figures and colours, and 
 my heart full of recollections and admiration. The Gothic style 
 is beautiful, but order and light are awanting to it — order and light, 
 those two principles of every eternal creation ! Adieu for ever to 
 the Gothic. 
 
 Of all books, the most difficult to make, in my opinion, is a trans- 
 lation. Now, to travel is to translate ; it is to translate to the eye, 
 thought, and soul of the reader, the places, colours, impressions, and 
 sentiments which nature or human monuments give to the traveller. 
 He must be able, at the same time, to look, to feel, and to express ; 
 and how to express ? — not with lines and colours like the painter — 
 a simple and easy matter ; not with sounds like the musician ; but 
 with words, with ideas, which contain neither sounds, nor lines, nor 
 colours. Such were the reflections which I made, seated on the 
 steps of the Parthenon, having before my view Athens and the olive 
 wood of the Piraeus, and the blue sea of iEgea, and over my head the 
 majestic shadows of the frieze of the temple of temples. I wished 
 to carry away for myself a living memorandum, a written memo- 
 randum of this moment of my life. I felt that this chaos of marble, 
 so sublime, so picturesque to my sight, would vanish from my 
 memory, and I wished to be able to find it again amid the common- 
 place of my future life. Let us write, then: it will not be the 
 Parthenon, but it will be at least a shade of that great shade that 
 hovers this day above me. 
 
 From the midst of the ruins, which were Athens, and which the 
 cannon of the Greeks and Turks have pulverised and scattered over 
 the whole valley, and over the two hills to which the city of Minerva 
 extended, a mountain rises precipitous on all sides. Enormous walls 
 surround it, built at their base with fragments of white marble, higher 
 up with the wreck of ancient friezes and columns, and terminated 
 in some places by Venetian battlements. This mountain resembles 
 an enormous pedestal, hewn out by the gods themselves for support- 
 ing their altars. Its summit, levelled to receive the floors of the 
 temples, is scarcely five hundred feet in length by two or three 
 hundred feet in breadth. It commands all the hills that formed the 
 ancient ground of Athens and the valleys of Penthilicus, and the 
 course of the Illissus, and the plain of the Piraaus, and the chain of 
 dales and peaks which curves and extends as far as Corinth, and 
 finally, the sea, strewed with the islands of Salamis and JEgina, where 
 shine on the summit the pediments of the Temple of Jupiter Pan- 
 hellenicus. This view is even at this day admirable, although all 
 these hills are naked, and reflect like polished brass the reverberated 
 rays of the sun of Attica. But what a spectacle must Tlato have 
 had from this spot under his view, when Athens, living and clothed 
 with her thousand inferior temples, murmured at his feet like an 
 overflowing hive ; when the great wall of the Piraeus traced to the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 83 
 
 very sea an avenue of stone and marble, full of movement, and where 
 the population of Athens were passing and repassing incessantly like 
 waves ; when the Piraeus itself, and the port of Phaleros, and the 
 sea of Athens, and the gulf of Corinth, were covered with forests of 
 masts or with glittering sails ; when the sides of all the mountains, 
 from those that hide Marathon as far as the Acropolis of Corinth, 
 an amphitheatre of forty leagues in a semicircle, were diversified 
 with forests, pastures, olives, and vines, and when the villages and 
 towns decorated on all sides this splendid belt of mountains ! 
 
 I see from here the thousand roads that descended from these 
 mountains, traced on the flanks of the Hymettus, through all the 
 sinuosities of the gorges and valleys, that all come, like beds of 
 torrents, to discharge themselves into Athens. I hear the noises 
 that rise from the town, the blows of the hammer from the workmen 
 in the marble quarries of Mount Penthilicus, the rolling of the blocks 
 which tumble along the slopes of its precipices, and all those sounds 
 that fill with life and bustle the approaches to a great capital. On 
 the side of the town I see ascending by the sacred way, cut out in 
 the very flank of the Acropolis, the religious population of Athens, 
 coming to implore Minerva, and to burn the incense to all their 
 domestic divinities, in the very place where I am now seated, and 
 where I breathe only the dust of the temples. 
 
 Let us rebuild the Parthenon ; that is easy, for it has lost only its 
 frieze and its interior compartments. The exterior walls chiselled 
 by Phidias, the columns, or the wrecks of the columns, are still there. 
 The Parthenon was entirely constructed of white marble, called 
 Penthilican marble, from the name of the neighbouring mountain 
 whence it was brought. It consisted of an oblong, surrounded by a 
 peristyle of forty-six columns of the Doric order. Each column is 
 6 feet in diameter at its base, and 34 feet in height. The columns 
 rest on the very pavement of the temple, and have no base. At 
 each extremity of the temple there exists, or did exist, a portico of 
 six columns. The total dimensions of the edifice were 228 feet in 
 length by 102 in breadth ; the height was 66 feet. It presented to 
 the eye only the majestic simplicity of its architectural lines. It 
 was a single idea in stone, one and intelligible at a look, like the 
 idea of the ancients. You had to approach it in order to contem- 
 plate the richness of the materials, and the inimitable perfection of 
 the ornaments and details. Pericles had been desirous to make it 
 as much an assemblage of all the masterpieces of genius and of 
 human workmanship, as a homage to the gods; or rather it was 
 Greek genius all entire, offering itself under this emblem, as itself a 
 homage to the Divinity. The names of all those who carved one stone, 
 Or modelled one statue of the Parthenon, have become immortal. 
 
 Let us forget the past, and let us now look around us, now that 
 centuries, and the war of barbarous religions, and ignorant nations, 
 have been trampling it under foot for more than 2000 years. 
 
 There are only wanting a few columns to the forest of white 
 columns : they have fallen, in entire and glittering blocks, on the 
 
S4 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 pavements, or on the neighbouring temples; some, like the great 
 oaks in the forest of Fontainebleau, have remained leaning on the 
 other columns ; others have slidden from the top of the parapet which 
 encircles the Acropolis, and lie, in enormous shattered blocks, one 
 above another, as do in a quarry those parings of the blocks which 
 the architect has rejected. Their flanks are gilt with that sunny 
 coating which the lapse of ages spreads over marble, their fractures 
 are as white as ivory freshly turned. They form, on this side of the 
 temple, a streaming chaos of marble, of all shapes and colours, 
 thrown or piled up in the most singular and most majestic disorder : 
 from a distance one might fancy he saw the foam of enormous waves 
 that were breaking and whitening on a headland beaten by the sea. 
 The eye cannot tear itself away from the view of them; we follow, 
 admire, and lament them, with that feeling which we should have 
 for beings who might have had, or who might still have, the sentiment 
 of existence. It is the most sublime effect of ruins that men have 
 ever been able to produce, because it is the ruin of what they ever 
 made most beautiful ! 
 
 If we enter under the peristyle and porticos, we might believe 
 ourselves to be still at the moment when the edifice was being 
 finished ; the interior walls are so well preserved, the face of the 
 marble so shining and polished, the columns so straight, the pre- 
 served parts of the edifice so wonderfully free from all damage, that 
 the whole seems to be springing forth from the hands of the work- 
 man ; only the heaven sparkling with light is the sole roof of the 
 Parthenon, and through the chasms in the faces of the walls the eye 
 plunges into the immense and voluminous landscape of Attica. The 
 whole soil around is strewed with fragments of sculpture, or with 
 morsels of architecture, which seem to wait for the hand that is to 
 raise them to their place in the monument that waits for them. The 
 feet strike incessantly against the masterpieces of the Greek chisel — 
 you pick them up, and then throw them down again, to pick up one 
 more curious ; you at length tire of this useless labour ; the whole 
 is but a mnsterpiece pulverised. Your footsteps print themselves 
 in a dust of marble : you at length view it with indifference, and 
 remain mute and insensible, overwhelmed in the contemplation of 
 the whole, and in the thousand thoughts that arise from each of these 
 fragments. These thoughts are of the very nature of the scene 
 where you breathe them; they are grave, like these ruins of times 
 passed away — like these majestic witnesses to the nothingness of 
 human nature ; but they are serene as the sky that is over our 
 heads, inundated with a pure and harmonious light, elevated like 
 that pedestal of the Acropolis which seems to hover on high over 
 the earth; resigned and religious like this monument erected to a 
 divine idea, which God has allowed to crumble before him, to make 
 way for ideas more divine ! I feel no sadness here; my soul is light, 
 though meditative; my thoughts embrace the order of the Divine 
 will and of human destinies ; she admires that it should have been 
 given to man to raise himself so high in the arts and in a material 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 85 
 
 civilisation; she conceives how God may have then broken that 
 admirable mould of an incomplete idea; how the unity of God, 
 recognised „at length by Socrates in these very places, may have 
 withdrawn the breath of life from all those religions which the imagi- 
 nation of the early ages gave birth to ; how these temples may have 
 fallen on their gods ; the idea of the only God is worth more than 
 these dwellings of marble, where only His shadow was worshipped. 
 That idea has no need of temples built by human hand; entire 
 nature is the temple where it worships. 
 
 In proportion as religions become spiritualised, the temples dis- 
 appear ; Christianity herself, which constructed the Gothic, to ani- 
 mate it with her breath, leaves her admirable cathedrals to fall 
 insensibly into ruins. The thousands of statues of her demigods 
 descend by degrees from their aerial niches around her cathedrals ; 
 she is transformed also, and her temples become more naked and 
 more simple as she divests herself more and more of the supersti- 
 tions of her ages of darkness, and resumes more the great principle 
 which she propagated on earth — the principle of the one only God, 
 proved by reason, and adored by virtue ! 
 
 VISIT TO THE PACHA. 
 
 On the evening of the 20th I went to thank Youssouf, the Bey 
 of Negropont and Athens. I entered a moorish-looking court; the 
 wide galleries of the two storeys Avere supported by little columns 
 of black marble. A waterless fountain was in the centre of the 
 court, and stables all around. I ascended a wooden staircase, on 
 the landing of which were ranged several spahis } and I was intro- 
 duced to the bey. At the extremity of a spacious and rich apart- 
 ment, decorated with wainscoting in little compartments painted 
 in flowers, in arabesque and in gold, in the corner of a large Indian- 
 cloth ottoman, the bey was seated in the Turkish fashion; his head 
 was under the hands of his hair-dresser, a fine young man dressed 
 in a very rich military costume, and having superb arms in his belt ; 
 eight or ten slaves, in different attitudes, were scattered about the 
 apartment. The bey desired my pardon to be asked for allowing 
 himself to be surprised at the moment of his toilet, and begged me 
 to be seated on the ottoman not far from him. I sat down, and the 
 conversation commenced. We spoke regarding the object of my 
 journey, the condition of Greece, the new boundaries assigned by the 
 conference at London, the negotiations concluded by Mr Stratford 
 Canning, all of them subjects about Avhich the bey appeared to be in 
 profound ignorance, and regarding which he interrogated me with 
 the liveliest interest. After a short while, a slave, carrying a long 
 pipe, the end of which was of yellow amber, and the tube covered 
 with plaited silk, approached me with measured steps and downcast 
 looks; when he had exactly calculated to himself the precise distance 
 of the point of the floor at which he should apply the pipe to my 
 mouth, he pointed it to the ground, and walking circularly, so as not 
 to derange it from its perpendicular, he came towards me by a half 
 
56 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 turn, and, bowing, delivered into my hands the amber extremity, 
 within reach of my lips. I bowed in my turn towards the pacha, 
 who returned my salute, and we commenced smoking. A white 
 Athenian greyhound, with yellow paws and tail, was sleeping at the 
 feet of the bey. I complimented him on the beauty of this animal, 
 and asked him if he was a sportsman. He answered in the negative, 
 but said that his son, who was then at Negropont, was passionately 
 fond of this exercise ; he added that he had seen me passing in the 
 streets of Athens with a greyhound, which was white also, but of a 
 smaller breed; that he thought it excessively beautiful, and that, 
 if I had several of the same kind, he would be overjoyed at possess- 
 ing one. I promised, on my return to my native country, to trans- 
 mit him one to Athens, in testimony of my remembrance and my 
 gratitude for his kind attentions. Another slave then brought the 
 coffee, in very small China cups, themselves contained in small net- 
 work of gilt-silver thread. 
 
 The expression of this Turk had that character which I have since 
 recognised in all the Mussulman countenances which I have had occa- 
 sion to see in Syria and Turkey — nobleness, mildness, and that calm 
 and serene resignation which these men derive from the doctrine of 
 predestination, and which true Christians acquire from faith in pro- 
 vidence. There is here the same adoration of the Divine will ; but 
 the one is pushed to absurdity and error, while the other is the sad 
 and true avowal of that universal and merciful wisdom which pre- 
 sides over the destiny of all that it has designed to create. If an 
 opinion, held from conviction, could be considered a virtue, fatalism, 
 or rather providentism, would be mine ! I believe in the ever-acting 
 and ever-present energy of the will of God — it is the evil in us that 
 alone opposes this Divine will in always producing good ! Whenever 
 our destiny is changed, or injured, or perverted, if we consider well, 
 we shall always recognise that it is through a will of our own, a 
 human will; that is to say, a corrupt and perverse one; if we would 
 allow the only ever-good will to act, we should be always good, and 
 always happy ourselves ! — evil would not exist ! These dogmas of the 
 Koran are but the Christian doctrine modified ; but that modification 
 has not been able to degenerate them. That worship of theirs is 
 full of virtues, and I love this people because they are a people 
 of prayer. 
 
 August 22. — I have suffered deep anxiety regarding my daughter's 
 health. I have had a sorrowful walk to the temple of Jupiter 
 Olympus and to the Stadia. I drank from the waters of the muddy 
 and infectious stream, which is the Illissus ! I scarcely found.enough 
 of water to dip my finger. Aridity, nakedness, and the tinge of iron- 
 dross, are spread over all that plain of Athens ! Oh ye plains of 
 Rome, ye gilded tombs of the Scipios, thou green and sombre foun- 
 tain of Egeria ! — what a difference ! And how the sky also surpasses 
 at Rome the-so-mueh- vaunted sky of Attica! 
 
 August 23. — We sailed in the evening. We enjoyed a beautiful 
 twilight under the olive groves of the Piraeus on going to sea. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 37 
 
 The brig of war, Le Genie, Captain Cuneo d'Ornano, was waiting 
 for us, and we got under way. A fine breeze from the northward 
 carried us in three hours abreast of the Cape of Sunium, whose yellow 
 columns we saw marking out on the horizon the ever-living trace of 
 the organ of Grecian wisdom, of that Plato whose disciple I would 
 have been if Christ had not spoken, nor lived, nor suffered, nor for- 
 given when expiring. 
 
 We passed a dreadful night in the midst of the Cyclades, but the 
 wind abated at break of day. We had had fine smooth sailing till 
 the evening. At night we encountered a furious squall between the 
 island of Amorgos and that of Stampalia. There was the doleful 
 groaning of the vessel, and the dull sound of the wave as it beat 
 against our stern. The roll of the vessel threw us now on one 
 billow, then on another. I spent the night in watching the child, 
 and walking on the deck. What a distressing night! How often 
 I shuddered on thinking that I had staked so many lives on a single 
 chance ! How happy I would have been if a celestial spirit had 
 transported Julia away to the peaceful retreat of Saint-Point ! My 
 own life, now half spent, has lost more than half its value to myself! 
 — but that life, which is mine also, which gleams in her beautiful 
 eyes, which beats in that young heart, is a hundred times dearer to 
 me than my own ! — it is for that life especially that I pray with 
 fervour the blast that sets the waves in commotion, to spare that 
 cradle which I have so imprudently trusted it to. It hears me ! — 
 the billows smoothen, the day appears, the islands fly behind us : 
 Rhodes shows itself on the right, in the foggy distance of the horizon 
 of Asia ; and the lofty peaks of the coast of Caramania, white as the 
 Alpine snow, rise resplendent above the floating clouds of night. 
 Here, then, is Asia! 
 
 The impression surpasses that from the horizons of Greece : 
 one feels a milder atmosphere ; the sea and the sky are tinged with 
 a calmer and paler blue ; nature defines herself in more majestic 
 masses ! I breathe, and feel my entrance into a wider and loftier 
 region ! Greece is small — it is tormented and despoiled — it is the 
 skeleton of a dwarf! — here is that of a giant! Dark forests stain 
 the sides of the mountains of Marmoriza, and one sees from afar 
 white torrents of foam falling into the profound ravines of Cara- 
 mania. 
 
 Rhodes springs up like a verdant nosegay from the bosom of the 
 waves; the light and graceful minarets of its white mosques rear 
 themselves above its forests of palms, carobs, sycamores, planes, and 
 fig-trees ; they attract from a distance the mariner's eye to those 
 delicious retreats of the Turkish cemeteries, where are to be seen, 
 every evening, Mussulmans stretched out on the turf that covers 
 the tomb of their friends, and quietly smoking and chatting, like 
 sentries waiting till they are relieved, like indolent men that love 
 to lie down in bed, and make an essay of sleep before the hour of 
 their last repose. At ten o'clock in the morning our brig was 
 suddenly surrounded by five or six Turkish frigates, under full sail, 
 
88 
 
 LAMA RUNE'S 
 
 that were cruising oft Rhodes. One of them approached within hail, 
 and interrogated us in French ; they saluted us politely, and we 
 soon came to an anchor in the roadstead of Rhodes, in the midst of 
 thirty-six men-of-war of the Capitan-Pacha, Halil Pacha. Two 
 French vessels of war — one a steamer, Le Sphinx, commanded by 
 Captain Sarlat, the other a corvette, U Action, commanded by 
 Captain Yaillant — were lying at anchor not far from us. The officers 
 came on board to ask us the news from Europe. In the evening 
 we delivered our thanks to M. d'Ornano, the commander of the 
 brig Le Genie: he proceeded on his return with the Action. We 
 were now to continue our voyage alone to Cyprus and Syria. 
 
 I passed two days at Rhodes in examining this first specimen we 
 had of a Turkish town— the Oriental character of the bazaars, or 
 Moorish shops, of carved wood — the street of the Knights, where 
 every house still preserves uninjured, over the door, the escutcheons 
 of the ancient families of France, Spain, Italy, and Germany. Rhodes 
 presents some fine remains of its antique fortifications ; the rich 
 Asiatic vegetation with which they are crowned and enveloped, 
 imparts to them more grace and beauty than those of Malta can 
 lay claim to — an Order that could allow itself to be expelled from 
 such a magnificent possession, received its death-blow ! Heaven 
 seems to have formed this island as an advanced post on Asia : a 
 European power that should be mistress of it, would hold at the 
 same time the key of the Archipelago, of Greece, Smyrna, the Dar- 
 danelles, and of the Egyptian and Syrian seas. I know not in the 
 world either a finer military maritime position, or a lovelier sky, or 
 a more smiling and fertile land. The Turks have impressed upon 
 them that character of inaction and indolence which they carry every- 
 where ! Everything here is in a state of inertia, and in what may 
 be called misery ; but this people, who create nothing, who renew 
 nothing, never break nor destroy anything either — they at least 
 allow nature to act freely around them — they respect trees even 
 in the very middle of the streets, and of the houses which they in- 
 habit ; water and shade, the lulling murmur and voluptuous coolness, 
 are their first, their only wants. Thus, as soon as you approach a 
 land possessed by Mohammedans, whether in Europe or in Asia, you 
 recognise from afar the rich and sombre verdure which covers it, 
 the trees for shade, the spouting fountains for lulling to repose, the 
 silence, and the mosques with their light minarets rising at every 
 step from the bosom of a religious soil — it is all that is necessary 
 to this people. They leave this soft and philosophic apathy only 
 to mount their desert coursers, the first servants of man, and fear- 
 lessly to rush upon death for their prophet and their God. The 
 dogma of fatalism has made them the bravest people on the earth, 
 and although existence may be to them both light and pleasant, 
 that promised by the Koran as the reward of a life given up for its 
 sake is the more prized, from their requiring but one weak effort to 
 throw themselves from this to the celestial world, which they see 
 before them redolent in beauty, repose, and love ! It is the religion 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 of heroes ! — but this religion grows faint in the faith of the Mussul- 
 man, and heroism is extinguished with the faith which is its principle, 
 so that as the people shall believe less either in a dogma or an idea, 
 they will die less willingly and less nobly. It is as in Europe ; why 
 die, if life avails more than death, if there is no immortal gain from 
 the sacrifice to duty ? Thus war will diminish and be abolished in 
 Europe, until some faith shall reanimate and move the heart of 
 man more highly than the base instinct of life. 
 
 The forms of women seated on the terraces by the light of the 
 moon are ravishing to behold. There is the eye of the Italian 
 women, but softer, more timid, expressing more of tenderness and 
 love ; there is the figure of the Grecian women, but more rounded, 
 more supple, with more gracious and winning motions. Their 
 forehead is large, white, and polished, like that of the most, 
 beautiful women of England or of Switzerland; but the regular, 
 straight, and high profile of the nose, give to the countenance more 
 majesty and nobleness. The Greek sculptors would have been yefc 
 more perfect, if they had taken their models of female figures from 
 Asia ! How sweet is it for the European, accustomed to the hard 
 features, the studied and contracted expression, of the women of 
 Europe, especially of drawing-room women, to behold countenances 
 as simple, pure, and smooth, as the marble broken from the quarry 
 — countenances which have but one expression, the repose of tender- 
 ness, and which the eye can scan as quickly and as easily as the 
 large type of some magnificent publication. 
 
 Society and civilisation are evidently enemies of physical beauty. 
 They multiply impressions and sentiments too much; and as the 
 features receive and involuntarily preserve their marks, they be- 
 come complicated, and, as it were, adulterated; they acquire a 
 certain confusion and uncertainty, which destroy their simplicity 
 and their charm ; they are like a tongue too full of words, which 
 is inarticulate because it is too rich. 
 
 August 27. — We set sail from Rhodes for Cyprus on a splendid 
 afternoon. I have my eyes turned upon Rhodes, which sinks at last 
 into the sea. I regret this beautiful island as an apparition one 
 wishes to recall ; I could have settled there, if it were less separated 
 from the moving world in which destiny and duty compel us to live ! 
 What delicious retreats on the sides of the high mountains, and on 
 the declivities, shaded by all the trees of Asia ! I was shown a 
 magnificent house belonging to the former pacha, surrounded by 
 three extensive and abundant gardens, bathed by numerous foun- 
 tains, and adorned with ravishing kiosks. They asked 16,000 
 piastres for the purchase; that is to say, 4000 francs (£165) — happi- 
 ness at a cheap rate ! 
 
 August 28. — The sea is beautiful, but dull, and no wind; immense 
 waves come from the west, rolling majestically on our stern, and 
 throwing us, during three days and nights, from one side to the other. 
 A motion without result is an insupportable martyrdom !— it is 
 rolling the cask of the infernal regions! On the fourth day we 
 
lamartine's 
 
 perceive the eastern point of Cyprus ; to run along the island takes 
 up a day ; we do not cast anchor in the road of Larnaca before the 
 morning of the sixth day. 
 
 M. Bottu, French consul at Cyprus, recognises the vessel in which 
 he knows we embarked. He sends on board one of the persons of 
 his consulship to invite us to his house, and receive a hospitality to 
 which we had no other right than his obliging and amiable dispo- 
 sition. I accept ; we disembark : excellent and cordial reception 
 from Monsieur and Madame Bottu; M. Perthier, and M. Guillois, 
 attaches of the consulate, greet us with the same forwardness to 
 oblige : we give and receive visits — receive as presents coffee, and 
 wine of Cyprus, sent by M. Mathei, one of the Cyprian magnates. 
 
 August 31. — We passed two days at Cyprus, enjoying the delights 
 of repose after a long voyage with the most unexpected and most 
 amiable attentions of hospitality. Such was the state of my mind at 
 Cyprus ; but that was all. This land, which had been pictured to me 
 as an oasis amongst the islands of the Mediterranean, bear's a com- 
 plete resemblance to all the cropped, dull, and naked islands of the 
 Archipelago ; it is the carcase of one of those enchanted isles where 
 antiquity placed the scene of its most poetical rites. It is true that, 
 in a hurry to arrive in Asia, I visited only with the eye the distant 
 and picturesque scenes of which this island, as they say, is so full : 
 on my return, I must make a month's stay, and traverse in detail the 
 mountains of Cyprus. 
 
 The island is fertile in all parts; oranges, olives, grapes, figs, 
 vines, cotton — all succeed, even the sugar-cane. This land of pro- 
 mise, this beautiful kingdom for a knight of the Crusades, or for a 
 companion of Bonaparte, formerly contained 2,000,000 of people; 
 there are now only 30,000 Greek inhabitants, and some Turks. No- 
 thing would be more easy than to seize upon this sovereignty ; an 
 adventurer would succeed without trouble, with a handful of soldiers, 
 and some millions of piastres ; it would be worth the trouble, if there 
 were a chance of preserving it; but Europe, which has so much 
 occasion for colonies, is opposed to making them ; the jealousy of the 
 powers would come to the assistance of the Turks, scatter discord in 
 the new conquest, and the victor would suffer the fate of King Theo- 
 dore. What a pity ! — it is a delightful dream, and a week may con- 
 vert it into reality ! 
 
 At sea: departure from the Isle of Cyprus, the Id of September. — 
 We hoisted sail yesterday at midnight. Our Cyprian friends, MM. 
 Bottu and Perthier, passed the evening with us on the deck of the 
 brig, and did not quit us till midnight. We are impressed with the 
 liveliest sentiments of gratitude for the truly amicable welcome 
 given us by M. and Madame Bottu. The traveller's fate is a singular 
 one ; he everywhere plants his affections, recollections, and regrets ; 
 he never quits a shore without indulging the desire, and the hope of 
 returning to it, to seek again those whom he did not know a few 
 days before. When he arrives, everything is indifferent to him on 
 the land he looks upon ; when he departs, he feels that there are 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 91 
 
 eyes and hearts which follow him from that shore which he sees re- 
 ceding from him. He himself fixes his look upon it ; he leaves there 
 a part of his own heart ; then the wind bears him to another horizon, 
 where the same scenes, the same impressions, are renewed for him. 
 To travel is to multiply, by arrival and departure, by greetings and 
 farewells, impressions which the events of a sedentary life give only 
 at rare intervals ; it is to experience a hundred times in a year a 
 little of what one finds in ordinary life from knowing, loving, and 
 losing beings cast in our route by Providence. Departing is, as it 
 were, to die, for we quit distant countries where fate does not con- 
 duct the traveller a second time. Travelling is summing up a long 
 life in a few years ; it is one of the strongest exercises a man can 
 give his heart and his mind. The philosopher, the politician, the 
 poet, should all have travelled much. Changing the moral horizon 
 is to change thought. 
 
 September 3. — We arise in the wide sea. We no longer behold 
 the white coasts of the island, or the rounded summit of Olympus. 
 The sea is calm as a vast lake ; a thick and silvery mist covers the 
 horizon on all sides. A feeble breeze, lazy and inconstant, comes 
 at intervals to exhaust itself in our large sails. The sun scorches 
 the planks of the deck, which we water to cool it. Every one is ex- 
 tended on the beams or the ropes, speechless, motionless, the fore- 
 head streaming with perspiration. The air fails for respiration ; it 
 is a veritable simoom on the sea. It appears as if we breathe in ad- 
 vance the oppressive and burning blast of the desert, from which we 
 are yet a hundred and fifty leagues. Thus the days are passed. We 
 have no power to speak, not even to read. I sometimes open the 
 Bible to seek what is related of Lebanon, the first height which must 
 soon strike our eyes. I read the history of Herod in Josephus. 
 
 September 4. — The same absence of wind ; the same burning sky. 
 The sea smokes with heat, and its dead waters are veiled by a mist 
 which no wind stirs. We follow, till out of sight, the slight ripple 
 which some expiring breeze causes on its surface ; we see a light 
 air slowly approaching the brig, giving a little colour to the sea ; it 
 imparts a momentary swelling to the large sails ; the vessel creaks, 
 and raises a little foam at its prow. Our breasts are expanded ; we 
 draw near the quarter from which the breeze has come. We feel 
 an air of coolness pass along our foreheads, and beneath the moist 
 curls of our hair ; and then all returns into stillness and the accus- 
 tomed stifling heat. The water we drink is tepid; no one has force 
 to eat. If this state were prolonged, man could not long survive. 
 Happily we have only six weeks of heat to fear ; it will be over by 
 the middle of October. 
 
 September 4, evening. — From five till eight o'clock a fresh breeze 
 out of the gulf of Alexandretta has pushed us on a few leagues. We 
 must be nearly one-half of the way between Cyprus and the coast 
 of Syria ; perhaps to-morrow, on rising, we shall have it in sight. 
 
 September 5. — I heard, on getting up, the slight murmur produced 
 by a vessel moving forward. I hasten on deck to see the coast ; but 
 
92 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 we can see nothing yet. The frequent currents of this sea may have 
 carried us far from our reckoning; we were perhaps on the low 
 shores of Iduime or of Egypt. "NVe are all becoming impatient. 
 
 Same date, ttco o'clock. — The captain of the brig has distinguished 
 the tops of Mount Lebanon. He calls me to show them ; I seek 
 them in vain through the heated mist where his finger points. I can 
 see nothing but the fog which the heat raises, and above, some 
 clouds of a dull white. He insists ; I look again, but in vain. All 
 the sailors show me Lebanon, laughing; the captain does not under- 
 stand how I do not see it like him. 'But where are you looking for 
 it?' said he to ine ; 'you are looking too far; here, nearer, above our 
 heads!' I raised my eyes towards the sky, and I perceived in 
 reality the white and gilded crest of Sannin, which stretched in the 
 firmament above us. The mist of the sea prevented me from seeing 
 its base and sides. Its head alone appeared, glorious and serene in 
 the blue of heaven. It conveyed one of the most magnificent and 
 delightful impressions I have felt in my long travels. There was the 
 land to which all my immediate thoughts tended, as a man and as a 
 traveller ; there was the sacred land, the land to which I was going 
 from such a distance to seek the recollections of primitive humanity; 
 and then it was the land also where I was about to bring to repose, 
 in a delicious climate, beneath the shade of oranges and palms, on 
 the edges of snow-torrents, on fresh and verdant hills, all that I held 
 dearest in the world — my wife and Julia. I did not doubt that a 
 year or two passed under this lovely sky would strengthen the 
 health of Julia, which for the last six months had sometimes given 
 me gloomy forebodings. I saluted these mountains of Asia as an 
 asylum where God led her to cure her ; a silent and profound joy 
 filled my heart; I could not draw my eyes from Lebanon. 
 
 "NVe dine under the awning stretched over the deck. The breeze 
 continues, and increases as the sun goes down. At every instant we 
 run to the prow to calculate the progress of the vessel by the noise 
 which it makes in cutting the sea ; the wind becomes at length more 
 brisk, the waves curl ; we make five knots an hour ; the sides of the 
 lofty mountains pierce the mist, and show themselves as airy capes 
 before us; we begin to distinguish the deep and black valleys which 
 open from the coasts ; the ravines grow whiter, the tops of the rocks 
 are clearly discerned; the first hills which rise from the sea are 
 rounding their forms; by degrees we think we recognise the villages 
 scattered on the declivities of the hills, and the great monasteries 
 which crown, like Gothic castles, the summits of the intermediate 
 mountains. Every object that our vision seizes creates heartfelt joy. 
 Everybody is on deck ; each makes his neighbour remark some- 
 thing that had previously escaped him : one sees the cedars of Le- 
 banon as a black spot on the sides of a mountain ; another, as a tower 
 on the top of the mountains of Tripoli ; some even think they can 
 distinguish the foam of the cascades as they fall down the precipices. 
 We wished to reach the shore so long dreamt of, so long desired, 
 before night ; we fear that at the moment of reaching it a fresh calm 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 93 
 
 may keep the vessel for days slumbering on the waves which are 
 become fatiguing, or that a contrary wind may spring up from the 
 coast, and drive us back upon the sea of Candia ; this sea of Syria, 
 an immense gulf surrounded by the lofty summits of Lebanon and 
 Taurus, is so perfidious to mariners : there is nothing but tempests, 
 calms, or currents ; the currents drive vessels very far from their 
 course, and there are no ports on the coast ; it is necessary to come 
 to anchor in dangerous roads, at a great distance from the shore ; an 
 almost constant surge disturbs these roads, and cuts the anchors ; we 
 shall not be tranquil and sure of having arrived until we are actually 
 on land. Whilst Ave are making all these reflections, and wavering 
 between hope and fear, night all at once falls — not, as in our climates, 
 with the slowness and measure of twilight — but like a curtain drawn 
 over the heavens and over the earth. All disappears, all is effaced 
 on the blackened sides of Lebanon, and we see nothing more than 
 the stars between which our masts are swinging. The wind falls 
 also, the sea sleeps, and we go down into our cabins in great uncer- 
 tainty for to-morrow. 
 
 I did not sleep ; my mind was too much agitated : I heard, 
 through the ill -joined planks which separated my chamber from 
 Julia's, the breathing of my sleeping child, and all my heart reposed 
 upon her. I thought that to-morrow, perhaps, I should sleep more 
 tranquilly, having my mind more at ease as to a life so dear, which 
 I repented of having thus hazarded upon the sea, which a tempest 
 might carry off in its bloom. I prayed God, in my thoughts, to par- 
 don me this act of imprudence, not to punish me for having confided 
 too much in Him, for having asked from Him more than I had any 
 right to do. I became reassured : I said to myself, There is a visible 
 angel who protects at once her destiny and that of us all. Heaven 
 will count her innocence and purity as a ransom ; it will carry us 
 forward, it will bring us back, on her account. She will have seen, 
 at the best age of life, at that age in which all the impressions incor- 
 porate themselves, so to speak, with vis, and become the very elements 
 of our existence, all that is beautiful in nature, in creation. The 
 recollections of her infancy will be the wonderful monuments, the 
 chief works of art, in Italy ; Athens and the Parthenon will be en- 
 graved in her memory like paternal spots ; the beautiful islands of 
 the Archipelago, Mount Taurus, the mountains of Lebanon, Jerusa- 
 lem, the Pyramids, the Desert, the tents of Arabia, the palm-trees of 
 Mesopotamia, will be the recitals of her advanced age. God has 
 given her loveliness, innocence, genius, and a heart moved by gene- 
 rous and sublime sentiments ; I shall have given her what I could 
 add to these celestial gifts — the sight of scenes the most marvellous, 
 the most filled with enchantment, on the earth. What a being she 
 will be at twenty years old ! All will have been happiness, piety, 
 love, and marvel in her life. Oh who will be worthy of completing 
 it by love ! I wept, and prayed with fervour and confidence, for I 
 can never entertain a powerful sentiment in the heart but it tends to 
 the Infinite, but it resolves itself into a hymn or an invocation to 
 
94 
 
 lamarttne's 
 
 Him who is the end of all our sentiments, to Him who produces and 
 absorbs them all — to God. 
 
 As I was about to fall asleep, I heard on deck some hurried steps, 
 as if preparing for a manoeuvre : I was astonished, for the silence 
 had been unbroken for some time, and the sea only made that slight 
 rippling noise which indicated the vessel moving onwards. Shortly, 
 I heard the sonorous rings of the anchor-chain heavily unrolled from 
 the capstan ; then I felt that sudden shock which makes the whole 
 ship vibrate, when the anchor has fallen upon a solid bottom, and 
 digs into the sand or sea-weed. I got up, and opened my narrow 
 window. We had arrived ; we were in the road before Beirout ; I 
 saw some lights scattered upon the distant shore ; I heard the bark- 
 ings of dogs on the plain. It was the first noise which had come to 
 me from the coast of Asia, and it rejoiced my heart. It was mid- 
 night. I returned thanks to God, and I sank into a deep and quiet 
 sleep : no person but myself had been aroused below deck. 
 
 September 6: nine o'clock in the 'morning. — We were before Beirout, 
 one of the best-peopled towns on the coast of Syria, the ancient 
 Berytus, made a Roman colony under Augustus, who gave it the 
 name of Felix Julia. The epithet of 4 Fortunate ' was bestowed upon 
 it on account of the fertility of its surrounding lands, of its incom- 
 parable climate, and of the magnificence of its situation. The town 
 occupies a delightful hilL which sweeps with a gentle declivity to the 
 sea ; some banks of earth or of rocks advance into the waves, and 
 support the Turkish fortifications, with an effect truly picturesque ; 
 the road is shut in by a tongue of land which defends it from the 
 eastern winds. The whole of this tongue of land, as well as the 
 neighbouring hills, are covered with the richest vegetation; mulberry- 
 trees for silkworms are planted all around, raised in rows one above 
 the other, upon artificial terraces ; carob-trees, with their dark ver- 
 dure and majestic dome; fig-trees, palms, oranges, pomegranates, and 
 a quantity of other trees and shrubs foreign to our climates, extend 
 on all parts of the shore near the sea the harmonious tints of their 
 foliage. At a greater distance, upon the acclivities of the mountains, 
 forests of olives strew the country with their gray and ashy leaves. 
 At about a league from the town, the high mountains of the chain of 
 Lebanon begin to rise ; they open their deep gorges where the eye 
 loses itself in the distant darkness ; they cast down their broad 
 torrents, which become rivers ; they stretch in different directions, 
 some towards Tyre and Sidon, others towards Tripoli and Latakia, 
 and their unequal summits, lost in the clouds, or whitened by the 
 refraction of the sun's rays, resemble our Alps covered with 
 eternal snows. 
 
 The quay of Beirout, which the waves wash without ceasing, and 
 sometimes cover with foam, was filled with a crowd of Arabs, in all 
 the splendour of their striking costumes, and of their arms. We per- 
 ceived a movement as active as on the quays of our large maritime 
 towns. Several European vessels were at anchor near us in the 
 road ; and the chaloupes, bearing merchandise from Damascus and 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 95 
 
 Bagdad, came and went between the shore and the ships incessantly. 
 The houses of the town arose in confused groups, the roofs of the 
 lower serving as terraces for the upper ones. These houses with 
 flat roofs, and some of them with turretted balustrades, the bars of 
 painted wood which closed the windows hermetically with the veil 
 of Eastern jealousy, the tops of palm-trees, which appeared to spring 
 from the stones, and showed themselves even under the roofs, as if 
 to carry a little verdure to the eyes of the females, prisoners in the 
 harems — all this captivated us, and announced the East. We heard 
 the sharp cry of the Arabs of the Desert who were disputing upon 
 the quay, and the harsh and doleful groans of the camels, as they 
 made them bend their knees to receive their loads. Occupied with 
 this spectacle, so new and captivating to our eyes, we did not think 
 of disembarking into our new country. The flag of France, however, 
 floated on the top of a mast on one of the most elevated houses in 
 the town, and appeared to invite us to go and repose ourselves after 
 our long and painful voyage under its protection. 
 
 But there were too many of us, and we had too much luggage 
 to risk the disembarkation before reconnoitring the country and 
 choosing a house, if we could procure one. I left my wife, Julia, and 
 two of my companions, in the brig, and I caused the boat to be 
 lowered, to go on shore and make inquiries. In a few minutes I 
 reached the sand through the smooth and silvery water, and some 
 Arabs with naked legs carried me in their arms to the bottom of a 
 gloomy and steep street which led to the French consulate. The 
 consul, M. Guys, for whom I had letters, and whom I had already 
 seen at Marseilles, was not arrived. I found in his place M. Jorelle, 
 the acting member of the consulate, and French dragoman in 
 Syria, a young man whose pleasing and amiable countenance be- 
 spoke our good opinion, and whose kindness during our long stay 
 in Syria justified this first impression. He offered us a part of 
 the consular house as a first asylum, and promised to have in- 
 quiries made in the environs of the town for a house where we 
 could establish our household. In a few hours the boats of several 
 vessels, and the porters of Beirout, under the guardianship of the 
 consular janissaries, had effected the landing of our party and of 
 our baggage .of all description ; and before night we were all on 
 shore, temporarily lodged and rendered comfortable by the care and 
 attentions of M. and Madame Jorelle. That is a delightful moment 
 in which, after a long and stormy passage, when just arrived in an 
 unknown land, you cast your eyes from a perfumed and smiling 
 terrace upon the element which you have at last quitted for a long 
 time, upon the ship which has brought you through the tempests, 
 and which is yet heaving in the billows, upon the shady and quiet 
 country which surrounds you — upon all those scenes in life on shore 
 which seem so sweet when you have been long a stranger to them. 
 "We enjoyed this contemplation all the evening. Madame Jorelle, a 
 young and charming woman, born at Aleppo, had preserved the rich, 
 and noble costume of the Arab females ; the turban, the embroidered 
 
lamartine's 
 
 vest, the dagger in the girdle : we never ceased for a moment ad- 
 miring this magnificent costume, which so much heightened her 
 truly Oriental beauty. 
 
 When night was come, we were served with a supper in the 
 European fashion, in a kiosk, the large latticed windows of which 
 opened on the port, and in which the refreshing breeze of evening 
 played rouud the lights. I opened a case of French wine, which I 
 added to this hospitable entertainment, and we thus passed our first 
 evening in conversation upon the two countries, that which we 
 -quitted, and that which we came to visit : an inquiry respecting 
 Prance was answered by a question upon Asia, Julia played with 
 •the long tresses of some Arab women, or of some black slaves who 
 <3ame to wait upon us ; she admired the costumes so new to her ; 
 and her mother wove into tresses the long curls of her fair hair, in 
 imitation of those of the Beirout ladies, or converted her shawl into 
 a turban for the head. I have seen nothing more ravishing amongst 
 all the female faces which are engraved in my memory than the 
 -countenance of Julia thus dressed in the turban of Aleppo, with the 
 band of carved gold, from which hung strings of pearls and chains 
 of gold sequins, and her long hair flowing over her shoulders ; 
 joined to the surprised look she cast on her mother and me, and her 
 smiles, which seemed to say,' See how handsome I am in this attire ! ' 
 
 After having spoken a hundred times of our country, and repeated 
 all the names of places and of persons which a common recollection 
 brought to our minds — after we had exchanged all the information 
 which could mutually interest us — we talked of poetry : Madame 
 Jorelle begged me to let her hear some pieces of French poetry, and 
 translated herself some fragments of the poetry of Aleppo. I told 
 her that nature was always more perfectly poetical than poets, and 
 that she herself at that moment, at that hour, in so beautiful a spot, 
 in that strange costume, with that Eastern pipe in her hand, and the 
 poniard with a diamond hilt at her waist, was a more beautiful 
 subject for the Muse than all those which we surveyed by thought 
 alone. And as she answered me that it would be very agreeable to 
 have a memorial of our journey to send to her father at Aleppo, in 
 •some verses made for her, I retired for a moment, and I brought back 
 some lines suitable to the place where they were written, and the 
 feeling of gratitude which inspired me : — 
 
 Child of the East, and dost thou ask a ■wreath of song from me ? 
 Thou, nursed where desert-winds pour forth their music wild and free ! 
 JFlower of Aleppo's gardens ! thou, upon whose opening bloom 
 The bulbul * might have loved to chant and languish in perfume ! 
 
 IVho to the balsam-tree brings back the sweets that from it flow ? 
 Or would rcfix its beauteous fruits upon the orange-bough ? 
 "Who seeks t<> lend new lustre to the Oriental morn ? 
 Or would w ith added stars of gold night's glittering sky adorn ? 
 
 No, this is not a place for verse ! Hut if thou lovcst well 
 All that which casts o'er poesy its most enchanting spell, 
 
 * [Tho bulbul is the Eastern name fur the nightingale ] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 07 
 
 Look on the waters of this pool, * and there thyself beh old- 
 Compared with loveliness like thine, all verse is weak and cold ! 
 
 When, placed in the kiosk at night beside the lattice-bars, 
 
 Through which creeps in the ocean-breeze, the light of moon and stars, 
 
 Thou sittest on a mat to which Palmyra lent its gifts, 
 
 And whence the Moka's bitter fumes arise in heated drifts ; 
 
 When to those half-closed lips of thine thy beauteous fingers raise 
 Thy pipe of jasmine-wood, on which the golden frettings blaze, 
 And, drinking in the rose's sweet perfume the while, thy mouth 
 Makes murmurings in the water-cell, as of the breezy south ; f 
 When the winged mists, which hover and embrace thee round and round 
 With odorous vapours, have their chain about thy senses wound, 
 And visions, far-off dreams of love, and days of youthful glee, 
 Float round us in the fragrant air exhaled in mists from thee ; 
 
 When thou describ'st the Arab steed, the spurner of the sands, 
 Subjected to the foaming bit beneath thy childlike hands — 
 Thy slanting glance so lustrous bright, meanwhile, as to outvie 
 The soft yet burning brilliancy of his triumphant eye ; 
 
 When, tapering lika the handle of the polished vase, thine aria 
 
 Upon thy bended elbow props thy brow of many a charm, 
 
 And when a chance reflection of the evening lamp displays 
 
 Thy jewelled poniard's hilt and sheath, all bright with diamond rays— 
 
 Then is there nought in all the sounds that language can employ, 
 Nought in the dreaming brow of those who know the poet's joy, 
 Nought in the soft sighs of a soul from stain and blemish free, 
 Nought half so fresh and redolent of poesy as thee ! 
 
 I have o'erpast the happy time, in which life's flower of bloom, 
 Love, young love, opens up the heart, and fills it with perfume, 
 And admiration in my soul, though touched unto the core, 
 Has nought for beauty but a ray that carries warmth no more ! 
 
 Alone in this impassioned heart the harp is now adored : 
 Yet how would I, in younger years, my verses forth have poured, 
 For one of those most fragrant wreaths of light and cloudy air, 
 Which now thy lip sends up to float, unheeded, here and there. 
 
 Or how should I have joyed to trace that most enchanting mould, 
 Of which a viewless hand now forms an outline dim and cold, 
 As night's soft rays, caressing with their light that form of thine. 
 Sketch on the wall its shadowy grace amid the sweet moonshine ! 
 
 We could not tear ourselves from this first scene of Arab life. At 
 length we went, for the first time these three months, to repose in 
 beds, and to sleep without fear of the waves. An impetuous wind 
 roared upon the sea, shook the walls of the lofty terrace under which 
 we slept, and made us feel, with a more delicious sensation, the 
 benefits of a tranquil abode after so many joltings. I thought that 
 Julia and my wife were at length for a long time beyond the reach 
 of danger, and I cast in my mind the means of preparing for them 
 
 * [The pool or fountain in the court of an Oriental dwelling.] 
 
 f [The circumstance of a lady wearing a poniard, and of her smoking from a pipe 
 which contains perfumed water in a bowl or cell for cooling the fumes, will not 
 surprise those acquainted with Eastern manners.] 
 
 vol. r. 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 an agreeable and safe residence, whilst I pursued the course of my 
 journey into those places which I visited in the sequel. 
 
 September 7. — I have arisen with the sun. I have opened the 
 shutter of cedar-wood, the sole barrier of the chamber in which we 
 sleep in this beautiful climate. I have cast my first look upon the 
 sea, and upon the glittering line of coast which stretches from 
 Beirout as far as Cape Batroun, half way to Tripolis. 
 
 Never has a view of mountains made such an impression upon 
 me. Lebanon has a character which I have not seen either in the 
 Alps or Mount Taurus ; it is the mingling of the imposing sublimity 
 of the outlines and the summits, with the gracefulness of the details 
 and the variety of tints — it is a mountain solemn as its name — it is 
 the Alps under the sky of Asia, plunging their aerial crests into the 
 deep serenity of an eternal splendour. It appears that the sun 
 reposes for ever upon the gilded angles of these summits; the 
 dazzling whiteness with which it impresses them is confounded with 
 that of the snows, which remain to the middle of summer upon the 
 highest tops. The chain develops itself before the eye for a length 
 of at least sixty leagues, from the Cape of Saide, the ancient Sidon, 
 to the environs of Latakia, where it begins to decline, in order to 
 leave Mount Taurus to cast its roots into the plain of Alexandretta. 
 
 Sometimes the chain of Lebanon rises almost perpendicularly from 
 the sea, with villages and large monasteries suspended upon their 
 precipices ; sometimes it retires from the shore, forming immense 
 gulfs, and leaving verdant spots or ridges of sand between it and the 
 waves. Vessels frequent these gulfs, and go to anchor in the nume- 
 rous roads with which the coast is indented. The sea is there of the 
 bluest and most sombre hue ; and although it is always billowy, the 
 waves, which are broad and high, rolled in vast circles upon the sands, 
 and reflect the mountains as in a stainless mirror. These waves 
 produce a dull, murmur at once harmonious and confused, which 
 mounts to the vines and the carob-trees, and fills the fields with life 
 and stirring sound. To my left the coast of Beirout was low ; it was 
 a continuity of little tongues of land crowned with verdure, and only 
 preserved from the overflowing of the sea by a line of rocks and 
 sand, covered for the most part with ancient ruins. Farther on, 
 hillocks of red sand, like that of the Egyptian deserts, jutted out into 
 a promontory, and served as a beacon to mariners ; on the summit 
 of this promontory the broad tops of a forest of Italian pines were 
 visible, and the eye, glancing between their scattered trunks, fell 
 upon the sides of another chain of Lebanon, and even upon the 
 advanced sandbank upon which Tyre (now Sour) was built. 
 
 When I turned to the land side, I saw the high minarets of the 
 mosques, like isolated columns, mounting into the undulating azure 
 of the morning ; the fortresses which command the town, and from 
 the crevices of their walls, a multitude of climbing plants, wild figs, 
 and wallflowers springing ; the round battlements of the fortifi- 
 cations ; the level sweep of the mulberry-trees in the fields ; here 
 and there the flat roofs and white Avails of country-houses, or of the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 99 
 
 huts of the Syrian peasants; and beyond, the green banks of the 
 Beirout hills, covered with picturesque edifices of every description 
 — Greek convents, Maronite convents, mosques, and santons, and 
 clothed with foliage and tillage, like the most fertile hills of Gren- 
 oble or of Chambery. Then there was always Mount Lebanon, 
 taking a thousand curves and bends, grouped in gigantic masses, 
 and casting its heavy shadow, or making its snows glitter, over 
 all the scenes of this landscape. 
 
 Same date. — I have passed the whole day in traversing the envi- 
 rons of Beirout, and seeking for a place of rest to establish my 
 family. I have hired five houses, which compose a group, and I shall 
 unite them by wooden staircases, galleries, and doors. Each house 
 here is formed only of a subterranean apartment, serving as a 
 kitchen, and of one chamber, in which the whole family, howsoever 
 numerous, sleep. In such a climate, the real habitation is the roof 
 turned into a terrace. It is there the women and the children pass 
 the days, and frequently the nights. In front of the houses, between 
 the trunks of mulberry or olive-trees, the Arab makes a fireplace 
 with three stones, and his wife prepares his food there. They cast a 
 straw mat over a stick which stretches from the wall to the branches 
 of the tree. Beneath this shade the household economy is all 
 carried on. The women and the girls are squatted there the whole 
 day, occupied in combing their long hair, and putting it into tresses, 
 in washing their veils, in weaving silk, in feeding their chickens, 
 or in playing and chatting amongst themselves, like the girls on a 
 Sunday morning in our villages of the south of France when they 
 collect at the doors of their dwellings. 
 
 Same date, evening. — The whole day has been occupied in unload- 
 ing the brig, and carrying from the town to our country-house the 
 luggage of our caravan. Each of us will have a chamber. A large 
 grove of mulberries and oranges extends around the five united 
 houses, and affords a few paces for promenade, and a little shade to 
 breathe in, before the door of each. I have purchased Egyptian 
 mats, and Damascus carpets, to serve us for beds and divans. I 
 have found the Arab carpenters very active and intelligent ; they 
 are already at work upon the doors and windows, and we shall go 
 this evening to sleep in our new abode. 
 
 September 8. — Nothing can be more delicious than our arising 
 after the first night passed in our house. We have had breakfast 
 brought upon the largest of our terraces, and we have looked over 
 our environs. 
 
 The house is ten minutes' walk from the town. We arrive by 
 pathways shaded with immense aloes, which hang their prickly fruit 
 upon the heads of those passing under. We go by the side of some 
 antique arches, and an enormous square tower built by the emir of 
 the Druzes, Fakardin, which serves at present as an observatory for 
 the sentinels of Ibrahim Pacha's army, and whence they command 
 the whole country. We afterwards glide between the trunks of 
 mulberries, and come to a group of low houses concealed in the 
 
100 
 
 LA MA RUNE'S 
 
 trees, and flanked on both sides by citrons and oranges. Thaw 
 houses are irregular, and the middle one rises like a square tower 
 or pyramid above the others. The roofs of all these little houses 
 communicate by means of some wooden steps, and thus form a 
 whole sufficiently commodious for persons who have just passed 
 so many days beneath the deck of a merchant vessel. 
 
 A few hundred paces from us the sea advances into the land, and 
 seen from here, above the green tops of the citron and aloe-trees, it 
 resembles a beautiful inland lake, or a large river of which only a 
 portion is observable. Some Arab barks are at anchor, and arc 
 gently moved by the insensible undulation. If we ascend the upper 
 terrace, this beautiful lake is expanded into an immense gulf, closed 
 on one side by the Moorish castle of Beirout, and on the other by 
 the high dark walls of the mountain-chain which extends towards 
 Tripolis. But in front of us the landscape is more extensive. It 
 commences by sweeping over a plain of fields in admirable cultiva- 
 tion, studded with trees which entirely conceal the soil, and here and 
 there with houses similar to our own, raising their roofs like so many 
 white sails on a sea of green ; it contracts afterwards into a long 
 and agreeable hill, on the summit of which a Greek convent shows 
 its whitened walls and its blue cupolas ; some pine-trees rise above 
 the veiy cupolas of the convent. Down the hill are terraces 
 sustained by stone walls, on which grow olives and mulberries. 
 The sea washes the lowest of the terraces, and then retiring, gives 
 place to a second plain more distant, through which a river meanders 
 amongst a wood of green oaks, and falls into the gulf, which is ren- 
 dered yellow by its muddy waters. This plain is not terminated 
 until it reaches the sides of the mountains. These mountains do not 
 rise with a single spring ; they begin by enormous hills resembling 
 immense blocks, some rounded, others square ; a slight vegetation 
 covers the tops of these hills, and each of them bears either a monas- 
 tery or a village, which reflects the glare of the sun, and attracts the 
 eye. The sides of the hills shine like gold ; they arc composed of 
 yellow freestone shivered by earthquakes, each particle of which 
 reflects and darts out light. Above these first small mountains, the 
 steps of Lebanon grow broader; there arc table-lands of one and 
 two leagues, uneven, broken, cut into ravines, deep beds of torrents, 
 and dark gorges where the eye loses itself. After these table-lands, 
 the high mountains show themselves almost perpendicularly; yet we 
 see the black spots of the cedars and the firs which crown them, 
 and some inaccessible convents, some unknown villages, which 
 appear to hang upon their precipices. At the top of the most 
 pointed of this second chain, some trees, which seemed gigantic, are 
 visible, like straggling hairs upon a bald forehead. We distinguish 
 their unequal heights, which are like the battlements on a citadel. 
 
 Behind this second chain, the real Lebanon at length arises; it is 
 not possible to distinguish whether his sides are abrupt or sloping, 
 whether they are naked or covered with vegetation : the distance is 
 too great. The flanks arc confounded in the transparency of the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 101 
 
 atmosphere with the air itself, of which they seem to be a part ; we 
 see only the ambient refraction of the sun's rays which obscures 
 them, and their reddened crests, which are confounded with the 
 purple clouds of the morning, hovering like unapproachable islands 
 in the billows of the sky. 
 
 If our eyes descend from this sublime horizon of mountains, they 
 ■find a restingplace only on the majestic groups of palm-trees, 
 planted here and there in the country, near the houses of the Arabs, 
 on the green undulating tops of the larch-pines scattered in small 
 knots upon the plains or the hills, on the nopal hedges, or other 
 thick plants, the heavy leaves of which fall down, as if for decora- 
 tion, upon the little walls which sustain the terraces. These walls 
 themselves are so covered with lichens in flower, ivy, wild figs, and 
 bulbous plants, flowering in every variety of tint, that we cannot 
 perceive the stones of which the walls arc built ; they are ram- 
 parts only of verdure and flowers. In fine, near to us, just be- 
 neath our eyes, are two or three houses similar to our own, and 
 half- hidden by the orange -trees in flower and in fruit, which 
 present to us those animated and picturesque scenes which are 
 the life of every landscape. Arabs, seated upon mats, smoke upon 
 the roofs of the houses. Some women lean on the windows to 
 look at us, and conceal themselves when they perceive that we 
 see them. Under our A*ery terrace two Arab families, fathers, 
 brothers, women and children, take their repast by the shade 
 of a small plane-tree upon the threshold of their houses ; and at 
 ■some paces from them, under another tree, two young Syrian girls 
 of incomparable beauty dress themselves in the open air, and cover 
 their hair with white and red flowers. There is one of them whose 
 hair is so long and bushy, that it completely envelops her, as the 
 branches of a weeping-willow close around the trunk on all sides : 
 Ave can only perceive her beautiful forehead, and her eyes radiant 
 with simple gaiety, piercing for a moment this natural veil, as she 
 shakes aside the waving hair. She appears to enjoy our admi- 
 ration ; I throw to her a handful of ghazis, small pieces of gold, of 
 which the Syrians make necklaces and bracelets, by stringing them 
 on a slip of silk. She joins her hands, and carries them to her 
 head to thank me, and retires into the low chamber to show them 
 to her mother and sister. 
 
 September 12.— Habib-Barbara, a Syrian Greek established at 
 I3eirout, and whose house is near ours, serves us as dragoman — that 
 is, interpreter. Attached in this quality during twenty years to the 
 different consulates of France, he speaks French and Italian ; he is 
 one of the most obliging and intelligent men whom I have met in 
 my travels : without his assistance, and that of M. Jorelle, we should 
 have had infinite difficulty in completing our establishment in Syria; 
 lie procures us domestics, both Greek and Arab. I buy at first six 
 Arab horses of the half-blood, and I keep them, like the people of 
 the country, in the open air in a field before the house, the legs 
 fettered by rings of iron fastened to a stake in the earth. I cause a 
 
102 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 tent to be prepared beside the horses, for the sais, or Arab grooms. 
 These men appear quiet and intelligent ; as to the animals, in two 
 days they knew us and scented us like dogs. Habib-Barbara pre- 
 sents us to his wife, and to his daughter, who is to be married in a 
 few days ; he invites us to the wedding i curious to observe a Syrian 
 marriage, we accept, and Julia prepares her presents for the bride. 
 I give her a small gold watch, of which I have laid in a store for 
 occurrences of this nature ; she adds to it a small chain of pearls. 
 We get on horseback to reconnoitre the environs of Beirout ; 
 Madame Jorelle mounts a superb Arab horse, caparisoned in blue 
 velvet plated with silver, a breast-piece of embossed silver cut in 
 garlands, and clanging on the chest of the beautiful animal. M. 
 Jorelle sells me one of his horses for my wife; I get Arab saddles 
 and bridles made for fourteen horses. 
 
 About half a league from the town on the east, the Emir Fakardin 
 had planted a forest of spreading pines, upon a sandy ridge which 
 extends between the sea and the plain of Bagdad, a pretty Arab 
 village at the foot of Lebanon. The emir had planted this magnifi- 
 cent forest, it is said, in order to oppose a rampart to the invasion of 
 the immense hillocks of red sand which rise at a little distance, and 
 threaten to overwhelm Beirout and its rich plantations. The forest 
 has become superb : the trunks of the trees are sixty and eighty feet 
 high, and their wide immovable branches stretch from one to another, 
 covering an immense space with their shade; the sand creeps be- 
 tween the trunks, and forms the pleasantest soil for the hoofs of the 
 horses. The rest of the ground is covered with a light downy turf, 
 sprinkled with flowers of the most dazzling red ; the roots of wild 
 hyacinth are so large, that they are not crushed beneath the iron of 
 the horses' shoes. Through the columns of trunks we see on one 
 side the white and reddish downs of sand which hide the sea, on the 
 other the plain of Bagdad, and the course of the river into this plain, 
 and a corner of the gulf, looking like a small lake, so much is it 
 lessened by the horizon of land, and the twelve or fifteen Arab vil- 
 lages upon the last slopes of Lebanon, which form the curtain of this 
 scene. The light is so clear, and the air so pure, that we distin- 
 guish at several leagues' elevation the forms of the trees upon the 
 mountains, and the larn-c eagles who float on the ethereal ocean 
 without moving their wings. This wood of pines is certainly the 
 most magnificent of all the spots I have seen in my life. The sky, 
 the mountains, the snows, the blue horizon of the sea, the red and 
 lurid aspect of the desert ; the meandering course of the river, the 
 isolated tops of the cypress-trees, the clusters of palms in the fields, 
 the delightful appearance of the huts, covered with oranges and 
 vines overhanging the roofs ; the austere aspect of the elevated 
 Maronite monasteries, casting alternate shade and light on the 
 chiselled rocks of Lebanon ; the caravans of camels loaded with mer- 
 chandise passing in silence amongst the trees ; flocks of poor Jews 
 mounted on asses, holding two children on each arm ; women enve- 
 loped in white veils on horseback, marching to the sound of the fife 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 103 
 
 and the tambour, surrounded by a crowd of children, dressed in red 
 stuffs embroidered with gold, and dancing before their horses ; some 
 Arab horsemen throwing the djerid around us, upon horses whose 
 manes literally sweep the sand ; some groups of Turks seated before 
 a cafe built in the foliage, and smoking their pipes, or performing 
 their devotions ; a little farther, the sandy desert hills without end, 
 which are tinged with the golden rays of the evening sun, and from 
 which the wind raises clouds of heated dust ; and, in fine, the dull 
 murmur of the sea, which mingles with the musical rustling of the 
 wind amongst the branches of the pines, and with the song of 
 myriads of unknown birds — all this offers to the eye and the thought 
 of the wanderer a blending of objects the most sublime and beau- 
 tiful, and at the same time the most melancholy, which have ever 
 excited my mind : it is the site of my dreams ; I will return to it 
 every day. 
 
 September 16. — We had passed all these days in the pleasant occu- 
 pation of making a general knowledge of men, manners, places, and 
 in the amusing details of an establishment, in the bosom of a country 
 so entirely new. Our five houses have become, by the assistance of 
 our friends and Arab workmen, a sort of Italian villa, like those we 
 have inhabited with such delight on the mountains of Lucca, or the 
 coasts of Leghorn, in former times. Each of us has his apartment; 
 and a saloon, having a terrace ornamented with flowers, is the centre 
 of reunion. We have arranged divans there ; we have placed on 
 the tables our ship-library; my wife and Julia have painted the 
 walls in fresco, have piled on a cedar table their books, and all those 
 little objects of women which in London and Paris adorn tables of 
 marble and mahogany; it is there that we assemble in the burning- 
 hours of the day, for in the evening our saloon is held in the open 
 air, on the terrace itself ; it is there we receive the visits of all the 
 Europeans whom the commerce with Damascus, of which Beirout 
 is the seaport, fixes in this fine country. The Egyptian governor of 
 Ibrahim Pacha has come to offer us, with a graciousness and cor- 
 diality more than European, his protection and his services for our 
 sojourn, and for the journeys that we wish to venture upon. He has 
 dined with me to-day ; he is a man who would not disgrace any 
 society. An old soldier of the pacha of Egypt, he has for his master, 
 and especially for Ibrahim, that blind devotion and confidence in 
 fortune which I recollect to have formerly witnessed in the generals 
 of the emperor ; but the Turkish attachment has something in it 
 more touching and more noble, because it belongs to a religious 
 sentiment, and not a personal feeling. Ibrahim Pacha is destiny, is 
 Allah, to his officers : Napoleon was but glory and ambition to 
 his. He drank champaigne with pleasure, and submitted to all our 
 usages, as if lie had never known any other. Pipes and coffee, 
 taken at several intervals, filled up the afternoon. I have given 
 him a letter for Ibrahim Pacha, a letter in which I announced to 
 him the arrival of a European traveller in the country subject to his 
 arms, and ask from him the protection which is to be expected from 
 
104 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 a man who combats for the cause of European civilisation. Ibrahim 
 passed a short while ago with his army ; he is at present beside 
 Horns, a large town in the desert between Aleppo and Damascus ; 
 lie has left few troops in Syria ; the principal towns, such as Beirout, 
 Saide, Jaffa, Acre, Tripolis, are occupied by agreement with Ibrahim 
 by the soldiers of the Emir Bcschir, or great prince of the Druzes, 
 who reigns in Lebanon. This chieftain has not resisted Ibrahim ; 
 he abandoned the cause of the Turks, in appearance at least, after 
 the taking of St Jean d'Acre by Ibrahim, and he now mixes his 
 troops witli those of the pacha. The Emir Beschir, if Ibrahim 
 should be defeated at Honis, could block his retreat, and destroy the 
 remnant of the Egyptians. This skilful and Avarlike prince has 
 reigned for forty years over the mountains of Lebanon. He has cast 
 into one people the Druzes, the Metualis, the Maronites, the Syrians, 
 and the Arabs, who live under his sway. He has sons as warlike as 
 himself, whom he sends to govern the towns which Ibrahim intrusts 
 to him ; one of his sons is encamped a quarter of a mile from here, 
 in the plain which reaches to Lebanon, with 500 or 600 Arab horse- 
 men. We must see him ; he has sent to compliment us. 
 
 An Arab related to me to-day the entry of Ibrahim into the 
 town of Beirout. At some distance from the gate, as he passed along 
 a deep road, the sides of which arc covered with thick roots and 
 interwoven plants, an enormous serpent issued from the bushes, and, 
 crawling on the sand, slowly advanced under the feet of Ibrahim's 
 horse ; the horse, being alarmed, began to prance, and some slaves, 
 who followed the pacha on foot, threw themselves forward to kill 
 the serpent ; but Ibrahim stopped them with a gesture, and draw- 
 ing his sword, cut off the head of the reptile before him, and crushed 
 the body below his horse's feet. The crowd uttered a cry of admi- 
 ration, and Ibrahim, with a smile on his lips, continued his route, 
 enchanted at this circumstance, as it is an assured augur of victory 
 amongst the Arabs. This people sec no accident in life, no natural 
 phenomenon, without attaching to it a moral and prophetic sense. Is 
 it a confused reminiscence of that first more perfect tongue which 
 mankind formerly understood, a language in which all nature was 
 explained by nature ! Is it a vivacity of imagination, which seeks 
 to find relations amongst things which it is not permitted to man to 
 comprehend ? I do not know, but I lean to the first interpretation ; 
 humanity has no instincts without motives, end, and cause ; the 
 instinct for divination has tormented every age and every people, 
 especially the people of the primitive ages. Divination, then, either 
 must or might have existed ; but it is a language of which man lost 
 the key when leaving that superior state, that Eden of which all 
 nations have a confused tradition. Then, doubtless, nature spoke 
 more loudly and clearly to his spirit ; man conceived the hidden 
 relation of all natural events, and their connection could conduct 
 him to the perception of truths, or of future circumstances ; for the 
 present is always the generating and infallible germ of the future ; 
 it requires only to be seen and to be comprehended. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 105 
 
 September 17— Still the same life. The day is passed in giving 
 and receiving visits of Arabs and Franks, and in traversing the deli- 
 cious environs of our retreat. We have found equally obliging dis- 
 positions amongst all the European consuls of Syria, whom the war 
 has concentrated at Beirout. The consul of Sardinia, M. Bianco, the 
 Austrian consul, M. Laurella, and the English consuls, MM. Farren 
 and Abost, have put us in communication with all the Arabs who 
 can assist us in our projects of travelling into the interior. It is 
 impossible to meet greater welcome and hospitality. Some of these 
 gentlemen have lived many years in Syria, and have relations with 
 the Arab families of Damascus, Aleppo, and Jerusalem, who have 
 again similar relations with the principal sheiks of the Arabs of the 
 deserts which we have to travel over. W e thus form in advance 
 a chain of recommendations, and relations of hospitality, upon the 
 different routes which may lead us to Bagdad. 
 
 M. Jorelle has procured me an excellent dragoman, or interpreter, 
 in the person of M. Mazoyer, a young Frenchman by origin, but who, 
 born and bred in Syria, is very well versed in the learned languages, 
 and in the different dialects of the regions which we have to tra- 
 verse. He is installed from to-day with me, and I hand over to him 
 the government of all the Arab part of my household. This Arab 
 portion is composed of an Aleppo cook, named Aboulias ; of a young 
 Syrian of the country, named Elias, who, having already been in the 
 service of the consuls, understands a little Italian and French ; of a 
 young Syrian girl also speaking French, and who will serve to inter- 
 pret for the women ; in fine, of five or six Greek, Arab, or Syrian 
 grooms, from different parts of Syria, destined to take charge of our 
 horses, to fix the tents, and to serve us an escort in travelling. 
 
 The history of our Arab cook is too singular not to preserve : — 
 He was a young and intelligent Christian ; he had established at 
 Aleppo a small commerce in stuffs of the country, which he went 
 himself to sell, mounted on an ass, amongst the tribes of wandering 
 Arabs, who come in the winter to encamp in the plains about 
 Antioch. His commerce prospered ; but his quality of infidel giving 
 him some anxiety, he thought it best to associate himself with a 
 Moslem Arab of Aleppo. The trade only went on the better, and at 
 the end of some years Aboulias found himself one of the most emi- 
 nent merchants of the country. But he was enamoured of a young 
 Grseco-Syrian girl, and they would not give her to him except on 
 condition of quitting Aleppo, and of establishing himself in the 
 neighbourhood of Saide, where the family of his young mistress 
 resided. He required to realise his fortune ; a quarrel ensued 
 between the two partners about the partition of the wealth acquired 
 in common. The Mohammedan Arab prepared a snare for the poor 
 Aboulias ; he posted concealed witnesses, who, in a dispute with his 
 associate, heard him blaspheme Mohammed — a mortal crime for an 
 infidel. Aboulias was dragged before the pacha, and condemned to 
 be hanged. The sentence was put in execution ; but the cord hav- 
 ing broken, the unfortunate man fell to the foot of the gibbet, and 
 
106 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 was left for dead on the place of execution. However, the rela- 
 tions of his bride having obtained from the pacha permission to bury 
 his body with the forms of their religion, carried it into their house, 
 and perceiving that Aboulias gave signs of life, they resuscitated 
 him, concealed him in a cave for some days, and interred an empty 
 coffin, to avoid exciting the suspicion of the Turks. But they had 
 got an idea of the deceit ; and Aboulias was again arrested at the 
 moment he was escaping in the night from the gates of the town. 
 Conducted to the pacha, he related to him how his life had been 
 saved without any fault of his. The pacha, according to a text of 
 the Koran, which was favourable to the accused, gave him the alter- 
 native either of being hanged a second time, or of becoming a Turk. 
 Aboulias preferred the latter, and for some time practised Islamism. 
 When his adventure was forgotten, and his conversion certified, he 
 found means to escape from Aleppo, and to embark for the isle of 
 Cyprus, where he made himself once more a Christian. He espoused 
 the woman whom he loved, obtained the protection of the French, 
 and was enabled to reappear with impunity in Syria, where he con- 
 tinued his trade as a packman amongst the Druzes, Maronites, 
 and Arabs. Such is the man whom we now required to travel in 
 these countries. His talent as a cook consists in making a fire in 
 the open air with prickly plants, or the dried dung of camels ; in 
 suspending a brass kettle upon two cross-sticks ; and in boiling rice 
 and chickens, or morsels of lamb, in the kettle. He also heats 
 round flints in the fire, and when they are almost red, he spreads 
 upon them a paste of barley meal which he has kneaded, and this 
 forms our bread. 
 
 September 19. — To-day my wife and Julia have been invited, by the 
 wife and daughter of a neighbouring Arab chief, to pass the day in 
 the bath ; it is the amusement of the women of the East amongst 
 themselves. A bath is announced fifteen days beforehand, as a ball 
 in Europe. The following is the description of this festival, as given 
 us by my wife in the evening:— The bath-rooms are in a public 
 place, to which the approach of men is prohibited every day up to 
 a certain hour, in order to keep them exclusively for the women, 
 and the whole day when the bath is required for a bride, as was the 
 case on the present occasion. The rooms are feebly lighted, 
 through small domes of painted glass. They are paved with 
 marble, in compartments of different colours, worked with great 
 art. The walls are also covered with marble in mosaic, or adorned 
 with mouldings or Moorish pillars. The rooms are graduated as 
 to heat ; the first of the temperature of the outer air, the second 
 lukewarm, the others successively hotter, until the last, where the 
 steam, from water nearly boiling, rises from basins, and fills the 
 air with its stifling heat. In general, there is not a hollow bath 
 in the centre of the room ; there are only spouts always flowing, 
 which pour on the marble floor about half an inch of water. This 
 water escapes by channels, and is incessantly renewed. "What is 
 called the bath in the East is not a complete immersion, but a 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 107 
 
 succession of sprinklings more or less hot, and the pressing of 
 vapour on the skin. 
 
 Two hundred ladies of the town and the neighbourhood were in- 
 vited this day to the bath, and in the number several young Euro- 
 pean females ; each arrived enveloped in the immense cloak of 
 white linen, which entirely covers the superb costume of the women 
 when they leave home. They were all accompanied by their black 
 slaves or free servants : as they arrived, they formed into groups, 
 and seated themselves on the mats and cushions prepared in the 
 first vestibule; their attendants removed the cloak which encom- 
 passed them, and they appeared in all the rich and picturesque mag- 
 nificence of their clothes and jewels. These costumes are greatly 
 varied in the colour of the stuffs, and the number and splendour of 
 the jewels, but they are uniform in the shape of the garments. These 
 garments consist of pantaloons with large folds of streaked satin, 
 bound at the waist by a tissue of red silk, and closed round the 
 ankle by a band of gold or silver ; a loose robe, worked in gold, open 
 in front, and tied under the breast, which it leaves uncovered ; the 
 sleeves are tight from the shoulder, and hang loose from the elbow 
 to the wrist ; beneath is a chemise of silken gauze passing over the 
 bosom. Above their robe they wear a vest of scarlet velvet, lined 
 with ermine or marten, embroidered with gold at all the seams, and 
 the sleeves open. The hair is parted at the crown of the head ; one 
 part falls down over the neck, the rest is twisted into tresses with 
 black silk resembling the hair, and descends to the feet. Little 
 wreaths of gold or silver hang at the extremity of these tresses, and 
 by their weight draw them down the full length of the figure ; on 
 their heads small strings of pearls, of golden sequins, and of natural 
 flowers, are scattered, the whole mixed together with incredible 
 profusion. It seems as if the contents of a casket had been thrown 
 at hazard upon the brilliant hair, so redolent is it in jewels and 
 flowers. This barbaric luxury has the most picturesque effect upon 
 young girls of fifteen to twenty years of age. On the top of the head 
 some women wear a cap of carved gold, in the form of an inverted 
 cup ; from the middle of this cap a string of gold, with a row of 
 pearls, hangs pendant down the back. The legs are unadorned, 
 and the feet are covered with yellow slippers, which they drag as 
 they walk. The arms are crowded with bracelets of gold, silver, 
 and pearls ; the breast with several necklaces, which shield the 
 uncovered bosom with chains of gold or pearls. 
 
 When all the ladies were collected, a barbarous music was heard ; 
 women whose bodies were clothed in a simple red gauze, uttered 
 sharp and doleful cries, and played on the fife and tambourine. This 
 concert never ceased throughout the day, and imparted to a scene of 
 pleasure and rejoicing a character of uproar and frenzy perfectly 
 savage. When the bride appeared, accompanied by her mother and 
 her young friends, attired in a costume so magnificent, that her hair, 
 neck, arms, and bosom were entirely concealed under a floating veil 
 of garlands, gold, and pearls, the bathing-women seized her, and took 
 
10S 
 
 LAMARTIXE S 
 
 off, piece by piece, all her garments. During this process the othe- 
 females were undressed by their slaves, and the different ceremonies 
 of the bath commenced. They passed from one saloon to another, 
 always to the sound of the same music, and always with the most 
 absurd ceremonies and words. They took the vapour-bath ; then the 
 water bath ; then they had thrown over them perfumed soap water. 
 At length the sports began, and all the ladies, with various gestures 
 and cries, gambolled like a troop of schoolboys taken to bathe in a 
 stream, splashing each other, plunging their heads into the water, 
 and throwing it upon their bodies ; and the music struck up with an 
 increased roar every time that any of these infantine tricks excited 
 the noisy laughter of the young Arab girls. At length they left the 
 bath ; the slaves and servants twisted afresh the damp hair of their 
 mistresses, arranged again the necklaces and bracelets, put on the 
 silken robes and velvet vests, stretched the cushions on the mats in 
 the rooms where they had dried the floors, and drew from baskets 
 and silk coverings the provisions brought for the collation. They 
 consisted of pastry and sweetmeats of all kinds, in which the Turks 
 and Arabs excel ; sherbet, orange-flowers, and all the iced drinks of 
 which the Orientals make use at every moment of the day. Pipes 
 and hookahs were brought for the elder females ; a cloud of odo- 
 riferous smoke filled and obscured the atmosphere; coffee, served 
 in little cups, enclosed in small open vases of gold or silver thread, 
 never ceased circulating, and conversation became animated. Then 
 followed the dancing-girls, who executed, to the sounds of the same 
 music, the Egyptian dances and the monotonous evolutions of 
 Arabia. The whole day was thus passed, and it was not till the fall 
 of night that this cortege of women reconducted the young affianced 
 bride to the house of her mother. This ceremony of the bath 
 tisuaily takes place a few days before marriage. 
 
 September 20. — Our establishment being complete, I occupy ray- 
 self with organising my caravan for the journey into the interior of 
 •Syria and Palestine. I have bought fourteen Arab horses, seme from 
 Lebanon, others from Aleppo and the desert ; I have caused bridles 
 and saddles to be made in the fashion of the country, richly orna- 
 mented with silken fringe and thread of gold and silver. The re- 
 spect of the Arabs is in proportion to the luxury displayed ; it is 
 necessary to dazzle them, to strike their imagination, and to betray 
 no distrust in travelling amongst their tribes. I have got our arms 
 put in order, and I have bought some very beautiful ones to arm our 
 oanmi. These carvas are Turks, who are substituted for the janis- 
 saries which the Porte formerly granted to ambassadors or travellers 
 Avhoni it wished to protect ; they are at the same time soldiers and 
 magistrates ; they answer very nearly to the gendarmes of the states 
 of Europe. Each consul has one or two attached to his person; 
 they travel on horseback with them ; they announce them in the 
 towns which they have to visit.; they go to apprise the sheik, pacha, 
 or governor ; they get emptied and put in order the house which it 
 pleases them to select in the town or village; they protect, by their 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 109 
 
 presence and authority, every caravan to which they are attached ; 
 they are clad in costumes more or less splendid, according to the 
 wealth or importance of the person who employs them. The am- 
 bassadors or consuls are the only persons who have a right to them ; 
 but, owing to the exertions of M. Jorelle, and the kindness of the 
 Egyptian governor of Beirout, I am granted several. I shall leave 
 some of them at the house for the service of my wife and Julia, and 
 for their security when they leave home ; and I take the youngest, 
 the most intelligent and brave, to march at the head of our detach- 
 ment. These men are quiet, serviceable, attentive, and require 
 scarcely anything but fine arms, fine horses, and glittering cos- 
 tumes ; they live, like all my other Arabs, on cakes of barley-meal 
 and fruits ; they sleep in the open air, under the mulberries in the 
 garden, or in a tent which I have had erected near the place where 
 the horses are kept. M. Bianco, the Sardinian consul, whom we 
 see every day like a friend of several years' standing, facilitates 
 all those internal arrangements which will tend to the security of 
 my wife and child during my absence, and which will contribute 
 also to our own safety in travelling. I buy tents, and he lends me 
 the best of his own. 
 
 September 22. — The stifling heats of September delay our departure 
 for some time. We pass the days in exchanging visits with our 
 Greek, Arab, and Maronitc neighbours, and in forming relations 
 which may render our stay agreeable. We could find in no part of 
 Europe more kindness and cordiality than they evince towards us 
 here ; these people are accustomed only to see Europeans arrive in 
 their country who are absorbed in commerce, and who enter into 
 such connections as are likely to be advantageous to themselves 
 merely ; they do not understand at first that any one can come to 
 live and journey amongst them simply to know them, and to admire 
 their beautiful country and their ruined monuments. They begin 
 by suspecting the intentions of a traveller; and as traditions lead 
 them to believe that treasures are concealed in all the ruins, 
 they think that we have the power of drawing forth these treasures, 
 and that such is the object of our expenses and fatigues. But when 
 once they can be convinced that we do not travel with this inten- 
 tion, that we come solely to admire the works of God in the most 
 beautiful countries of the world, to study manners, to see and love 
 mankind— when, further, we offer them presents, without demanding 
 in exchange anything but their friendship — when we have with us, 
 as we have, a physician and a medicine -chest, and we distribute 
 amongst them, without fee, prescriptions, and medicines — when 
 they see that the stranger who arrives amongst them is an 
 object of regard and attention to the other Franks, that he has a 
 beautiful vessel with him, which bears him at his pleasure from one 
 port to another, and who refuses to load himself with any article of 
 commerce, their imagination is struck with an idea of power, great- 
 ness, and disinterestedness, which overthrows all their systems, and 
 they pass at once from distrust to admiration, from admiration to de- 
 
110 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 votedness. Such is their disposition for us. Our court is for ever filled 
 with the Arahs of the mountains, Maronite monks, sheiks of the 
 Druzes, with women, children, and invalids, who come from fifteen to 
 twenty leagues to see us, to ask for our advice, and offer us hospitality, 
 if we wish to pass through their territories : almost all are preceded 
 by some presents of the wines or fruits of the country. We receive 
 them with kindness, make them take coffee, smoke the pipe, and 
 drink iced sherbet; I give them,. in return for their presents, the 
 fabrics of Europe, some arms, a watch, little jewels of small value, 
 of which I have brought a great quantity ; they return enchanted at 
 our welcome, and spread far and wide the reputation of the Emir 
 Franf/i, for it is thus that they have named me — the Prince of the 
 Franks. I have no other designation in all the environs of Beirout, 
 and in the town itself ; and as uhis estimation may be of the greatest 
 utility to us in our adventurous career in these countries, M. Jorelle 
 and the European consuls have had the kindness not to undeceive 
 them, and to allow the humble poet to pass for a potent man. 
 
 It is not possible to imagine the rapidity with which news circu- 
 lates from mouth to mouth in Arabia ; it is known already at Da- 
 mascus, Aleppo, Latakia, Saide, and Jerusalem, that a stranger is 
 arrived in Syria, and is about to travel through those countries. In 
 a country where there is little movement in affairs and minds, the 
 most petty circumstance of an unusual nature becomes all at once 
 the topic of every conversation ; it circulates with the rapidity of 
 speech from one tribe to the other ; the lively and exalted imagi- 
 nation of the Arabs exaggerates everything, and in fifteen days a 
 renown is gained at a hundred leagues' distance. This disposition 
 of the country, of which Lady Hester Stanhope formerly expe- 
 rienced the effect in circumstances nearly similar to mine, is too 
 favourable for us to be complained of. We let them do and say 
 what they like, and I accept, without contradiction, the imaginary 
 titles, riches, and virtues with which the Arab imagination has en- 
 dowed me, to lay them humbly down hereafter, when returning 
 again into the just proportions of my native mediocrity. 
 
 September 27 : Fakardin's Tower. — We have passed all the day at 
 the nuptials of the young Syrian-Greek girl. The ceremony com- 
 menced by a long procession of Greek, Arab, and Syrian women, who 
 came, some on horseback, others on foot, through the roads of aloes 
 and mulberries, to assist the bride during this fatiguing day. For 
 several days and nights a certain number of these women has never 
 left Habib's house, nor ceased to utter shrill and prolonged cries, 
 songs, and groans, similar to those shouts which the reapers and 
 haymakers make on the coasts of France during the harvests. 
 These clamours, lamentations, tears, and rejoicings, must prevent 
 the bride from getting any sleep for several nights before the mar- 
 riage. The old and young men of the family of the husband make 
 as many on their side, and permit him scarcely any repose for 
 eight days beforehand. 
 
 Introduced into the gardens of Habib's house, the females were 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 Ill 
 
 made to enter into the interior of the divan, to pay their compli- 
 ments to the young girl, to admire her dress, and to see the cere- 
 monies. As for us, we were left in the court, or called into an outer 
 room. There a table was laid out in the European manner, covered 
 with a multitude of dried fruits, honey, and sugar-cakes, liquors, and 
 sherbet; and during the evening they renewed these refreshments, 
 as the numerous visitors exhausted them. I succeeded in being 
 admitted as an exception into the divan of the women, at the 
 moment when the Greek archbishop was bestowing the nuptial bene- 
 diction. The young girl was standing up by the side of the bride- 
 groom, covered from head to foot with a veil of red gauze, em- 
 broidered with gold. The priest lifted up the veil for a moment, and 
 the young man for the first time got a glimpse of her to whom he 
 was uniting his fate ; she was extremely pretty. The paleness which 
 fatigue and emotion spread upon her cheeks was rendered yet more 
 striking by the reflection of the red veil, and the countless ornaments 
 of gold, silver, pearls, and diamonds with which she was covered, 
 and by the long tresses of her jet-black hair which fell around her 
 person. This, joined to her eyelashes painted black, as well as her 
 eyebrows, and the margins of her eyes, her hands, with the tips of 
 her fingers and nails, stained red with henna, and marked with 
 Moorish designs, all gave to her ravishing beauty a character of 
 novelty and solemnity with which we were singularly struck. Her 
 husband had scarcely time to see her. He appeared exhausted, and 
 fainting under the infliction of the vigils and fatigues with which 
 these ridiculous customs extinguish even the force of love. The 
 prelate took from the hands of one of his priests a chaplet of natural 
 flowers, placed it on the head of the young girl, took it off, put it on 
 the hair of the youth, again took it off, to set it on the veil of the 
 bride, and thus passed it several times from one head to the other. 
 Then he put, in the same alternate manner, rings on the fingers of 
 both. They afterwards broke the same piece of bread, they drank 
 the consecrated wine in the same cup. After which they removed 
 the bride into the apartments where women alone could follow her, 
 in order to change her dress. The father and friends of the bride- 
 groom led him into the garden, and made him sit down at the foot of 
 a tree, surrounded by all the males of his family. The musicians 
 and dancers then arrived, and continued till the setting of the sun 
 their barbarous symphonies, their piercing cries, and their contor- 
 tions, around the young man, who had sunk into sleep at the foot 
 of the tree, resisting all the efforts of his friends to awaken him. 
 At night they conducted him alone, and in procession, to his father's 
 house. It is not until after eight days that a newly-married husband 
 is permitted to take his wife, and conduct her to his own house. 
 
 The women, who filled the house of Habib with their exclamations, 
 also issued forth a little later. Nothing was more picturesque than 
 this prodigious procession of women and young girls, in their strange 
 and splendid costumes, covered with glittering stones, surrounded by 
 their servants and their slaves, bearing torches of resinous pine to 
 
112 
 
 lamabtike's 
 
 lighten the road, and extending thus their luminous train through 
 the long and narrow paths, shaded by aloes and oranges, to the 
 borders of the sea, sometimes in a profound silence, sometimes utter- 
 ing piercing cries which resounded over the waves, or beneath the 
 large plantains at the foot of Lebanon. We returned to our house, 
 close to the country residence of Habib, where we continued to hear 
 the noise of the women of the family conversing ; we mounted upon 
 our terraces, and followed with our eyes for a long time the wander- 
 ing lights, which danced on all sides through the trees in the plain. 
 
 September 29. — There is a report of the defeat of Ibrahim. If the 
 Egyptian army suffers a reverse, the vengeance of the Turks, 
 oppressed at present by the Christians of Lebanon, is to be feared, 
 and excesses will take place in isolated spots such as ours. I have 
 determined to hire a house, by way of precaution, in the town. I 
 have found one this morning which can lodge us all ; it is composed, 
 like all Arabian palaces, of a small dark corridor, which opens on 
 the street by an elliptical doorway : this corridor conducts to an 
 inner court, paved with marble, and surrounded with divans or open 
 rooms. In the summer they throw an awning over this court, and 
 the Arabs there receive visits. A cascade of water flows and mur- 
 murs in the middle of the court ; when there is no running stream, 
 there is at least a closed well in one of the corners. From this 
 court we pass into several large apartments, likewise paved in 
 mosaic or with flags of marble, and adorned to the height of the 
 ceiling either with marble sculptured in niches, in pilasters, or in 
 small fountains, or with a wainscoting of yellow cedar, admirably 
 carved. The first part of these divans is lower by a step thrfn the 
 second half, and this second half is separated by a balustrade of 
 elegantly-worked wood. The slaves and attendants keep in the first 
 division, standing with the cup of coffee, sherbet, or pipe, in their 
 hands : the masters are seated on the carpets, supported by cushions, 
 in the second. Generally, at the bottom of the room, is a small 
 wooden staircase, concealed in the wainscot, which leads to a sort of 
 high gallery, which fills the far-end of the apartment. This gallery 
 opens on one side upon the street, with little windows, furnished 
 with bars ; and on the side of the room it is also hidden by wooden 
 lattices, in the manufacture of which the carpenters of the country 
 expend all their art in design and workmanship. These galleries 
 are very narrow, and can only contain a sofa, covered with a 
 mattress and silk cushions : the rich Turks or Arabs retire there for 
 the night ; the others are contented witli cushions laid on the floor, 
 and sleep upon them in their clothes, without any other covering 
 than the heavy and beautiful furs in which they are habitually clad. 
 There are five or six similar rooms in my town-house on the first 
 floor, and as many on the second, besides a great number of small 
 chambers detached, for the European domestics. The janissaries, 
 the sals, and the Arab servants, will sleep at the street-door, or in 
 the corridor, or in the court ; they never trouble themselves to find 
 these people with a room or a bed. The lower classes here have no 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 113 
 
 Other bed than the earth or a straw mat ; the loveliness of the cli- 
 mate is a sufficient provider, and we ourselves find that there is not 
 under heaven a more delightful canopy than the starry firmament, 
 where the light sea-breezes waft their freshness and provoke to 
 sleep : there is little or no dew, and it is sufficient to cover the eyes 
 with a silk kerchief, to sleep in this manner without inconvenience. 
 
 This house is intended only as a refuge for my wife and child, 
 in case of Ibrahim Pacha's retreat : I have contented myself with 
 taking the keys, and we shall not occupy it unless the rest of the 
 country becomes uninhabitable. Under the guardianship of the 
 European consuls, in a town surrounded with walls, and close to a 
 harbour where vessels of all nations are perpetually at anchor, there 
 cannot be any imminent peril for travellers. I have taken the town- 
 house for a year, at 1000 piastres— that is to say, about 300 francs 
 (£12, 10s.) ; the five conjoined houses in the country cost me only 
 3000 piastres — in all, 1300 francs (£45, lis. 8d.) per annum, to have 
 six houses ; of which one alone — that in the town— would cost 4000 
 or 5000 francs in Europe. 
 
 Upon a tongue of land to the left of the town there is one of the 
 most delicious abodes that a man could desire on the earth. It 
 belongs to a rich Turkish merchant, to whom I have made proposals 
 for letting it to me. He has declined giving it me on hire, but has 
 offered to sell it to me for 30,000 piastres, or about 10,000 francs 
 (£416, 13s. 4d). It is built in the midst of a very large garden, 
 planted with cedars, oranges, vines, and figs, and irrigated by a 
 fountain of clear spring water : the sea encompasses it on two sides, 
 and the foam dashes at the foot of the walls : the beautiful road 
 of Beirout extends before you, with its ships riding at anchor, and 
 you can hear the wliistling of the wind in their rigging. The road 
 is closed by an old Moorish castle, which juts into the sea, and is 
 connected by bridges to beautiful green banks. The elevated turrets 
 of the castle fall in a sombre shade upon the snows of Sannin, and 
 the sentinels of Ibrahim are seen in their intervals pacing about, 
 and looking at the sea. 
 
 This house is far more beautiful than the one which I have just 
 hired. All the walls are covered with marble, elaborately sculptured, 
 or with wainscotings of cedar, of the richest workmanship. Inex- 
 haustible waterspouts murmur in the midst of the rooms on the 
 ground-floor ; and projecting grated balconies, running round the 
 upper storeys, permit the women to pass day and night in the open 
 air, without being seen, and to feast their eyes with the wonderful 
 spectacle of the sea, the mountains, and the animated scenes of the 
 harbour. The Turk received me with great civility ; lavished upon 
 me sherbet, pipes, and coffee, and conducted me himself into all the 
 rooms of his house. He sent, beforehand, a black eunuch to request 
 his women to retire into a pavilion of the garden ; but when we 
 came to their apartments, or harem, the order was not yet executed, 
 and we perceived five or six young women, some fifteen or sixteen 
 years old at the most, the others from twenty to thirty, in the beauti- 
 
 VOL. i. H 
 
114 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 ful and graceful costume of the Arab women, and in all the disorder 
 
 of their household toilet, who arose with precipitation from their 
 mats and divans, and took to flight in their bare legs and feet, here 
 throwing their veils hastily over their faces, there snatching little 
 children to their breasts, with all the bashfulness and confusion 
 natural to so complete a surprise. They glided into a dark passage, 
 and the eunuch placed himself at the door. The Arab merchant 
 appeared in no degree embarrassed or annoyed at the circumstance, 
 and we visited all the secret recesses of the harem, as we might have 
 done in a European house. 
 
 VISIT TO LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 
 
 Lady Hester Stanhope, the niece of Mr Pitt, after the death of her 
 uncle, left England, and travelled through Europe. Young, beautiful, 
 and rich, she was welcomed everywhere with the cordiality and re- 
 spect which her rank, fortune, wit, and beauty were calculated to 
 secure her ; but she constantly refused to unite her lot to that of her 
 most worthy suitors, and after some years passed in the chief capitals 
 of Europe, she embarked with a numerous suite for Constantinople. 
 The motives of this expatriation have never been known ; some have 
 attributed it to the death of a young English general, killed at that 
 period in Spain, and whom a never-ending sorrow for his fate brought 
 perpetually to the mind of Lady Hester; others to the pure love of 
 adventure, which the enterprising and courageous character of this 
 young lady seemed to evince. Whatever it was, she departed. She 
 passed some years at Constantinople, and at length embarked 
 for Syria in an English vessel, which also bore the greater part 
 of her treasures, and immense sums in jewels, and presents of all 
 kinds. 
 
 A tempest assailed the ship in the Gulf of Macri, upon the coast 
 of Caramania, opposite the Isle of Rhodes. It struck upon a rock 
 some miles from the shore. The vessel was shattered to pieces in a 
 few seconds, and the treasures of Lady Stanhope were buried in the 
 waves. She herself escaped death with difficulty, and was borne, on 
 a remnant of the wreck, to a small desert island, where she passed 
 twenty-four hours without food or assistance. At last some fisher- 
 men of Marmoriza, who were searching for the spoils of the ship- 
 wreck, discovered her, and conducted her to Rhodes, where she made 
 herself known to the English consul. This deplorable disaster did 
 not diminish her courage. She went to Malta, and thence to Eng- 
 land. She collected the residue of her fortune ; she sold, at a sacri- 
 fice, part of her lands, embarked her riches, and presents adapted to 
 the countries she purposed visiting, a second time on board a vessel, 
 and put to sea. The voyage was fortunate, and she landed at Latakia, 
 the ancient Laodicca, upon the coast of Syria, between Tripolis and 
 Alexandretta. She established herself in the environs, learnt Arabic, 
 surrounded herself with all the persons who could facilitate her 
 intercourse with the Arab, Druze, and Maronite populations of the 
 country, and prepared, as I was then doing myself, for travels of dis- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 covery into the least-accessible parts of Arabia, Mesopotamia, and 
 the Desert. 
 
 When she had rendered herself familiar with the language, cos- 
 tume, manners, and usages of the country, she organised a nume- 
 rous caravan, loaded camels with rich presents for the Arabs, and 
 traversed all the districts of Syria. She sojourned at Jerusalem, 
 Damascus, Aleppo, Koms, Balbek, and Palmyra. It was in this last 
 station that the numerous tribes of wandering Arabs, who had 
 facilitated her approach to these ruins, collected around her tent to 
 the number of forty or fifty thousand, and, enraptured with her 
 beauty, grace, and magnificence, proclaimed her Queen of Palmyra, 
 and delivered to her patents, by which it was stipulated that every 
 European protected by her might come in full security to visit the 
 Desert and the ruins of Balbek and Palmyra, provided that he en- 
 gaged to pay a tribute of one thousand piastres. This treaty still 
 exists, and would be faithfully executed by the Arabs, if positive 
 proof were given of the protection of Lady Stanhope. 
 
 On her return from Palmyra, she was, however, about to be carried 
 off by a numerous tribe of other Arabs, who were at enmity with 
 those of Palmyra. She was apprised in time by one of her people, 
 and owed her safety, and that of her caravan, to a forced march at 
 night, and to the swiftness of her horses, which cleared an incredible 
 extent of desert in twenty-four hours. She returned to Damascus, 
 where she resided some months, under the protection of the Turkish 
 pacha, to whom the Porte had especially recommended her. 
 
 After a wandering life in all the countries of the East, Lady Hester 
 Stanhope settled at last in an almost inaccessible solitude upon one 
 of the mountains of Lebanon, near Saide, the ancient Sidon. The 
 pacha of Acre, Abdallah-Pacha, who entertained for her a profound 
 respect, and an absolute devotion, ceded to her the ruins of a convent, 
 and the village of Digioun, peopled by the Druzes. She built there 
 several houses, surrounded by an outer wall, like our fortifications of 
 the middle ages. She formed a charming garden by artificial means, 
 in the manner of the Turks — a garden of flowers and fruits, vine- 
 yards, kiosks enriched with arabesque sculpture and paintings ; water 
 flowing in marble channels, water spouting in the midst of the kiosks, 
 avenues of oranges, figs, and citrons. There Lady Stanhope lived 
 several years in a luxury altogether Oriental, accompanied by a 
 great number of European or Arab dragomans, by a numerous 
 suite of women and black slaves, and maintaining amicable and 
 even political relations with the Porte, Abdallah-Pacha, the Emir 
 Beschir, sovereign of Lebanon, and, above all, with the Arab sheiks 
 of the deserts of Syria and Bagdad. 
 
 Her fortune, still considerable, was diminished by the derange- 
 ment her affairs suffered from her absence, and she found herself 
 reduced to thirty or forty thousand francs of income, which was, 
 however, sufficient in this country for the establishment she is 
 obliged to keep up. But the persons who had accompanied her 
 from Europe died or removed ; the friendship of the Arabs, which 
 
116 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 it is necessary to sustain by unceasing presents and imposing illu- 
 sions, cooled, the intercourse became less frequent, and Lady Hester 
 fell into the complete isolation in which I found her ; but in this 
 state the heroic cast of her character was displayed by all the energy 
 and constancy of courage. She never thought of retracing her steps : 
 the world and the past caused her no regret; she flinched not under 
 abandonment, misfortune, or the prospect of an old age amidst obli- 
 vion. She remained alone where she is yet, without books, journals, 
 letters from Europe, friends, or even servants attached to her per- 
 son, surrounded only by some negresses and black children, and a 
 few Arab peasants to cultivate her garden, to take care of the horses, 
 and to protect her personal safety. It is generally believed in the 
 country, and my communications with her induce me likewise to 
 believe, that the supernatural vigour of her mind and resolution is 
 sustained not only by her strength of character, but also by exalted 
 religious ideas, in which the mysticism of Europe is mingled with 
 certain Oriental superstitions, and especially with the ravings of 
 astrology. Whatever it may be, Lady Stanhope has a great renown 
 in the East, and excites the astonishment of Europe. Finding my- 
 self so near her, I desired to see her ; her choice of solitude and 
 meditation had so much apparent sympathy with my own inclina- 
 tions, that I felt glad in the idea of ascertaining in what we coin- 
 cided. But nothing is more difficult for a European than to gain 
 admission to her; she refuses any communication with English 
 travellers, with women, or with the members of her own family. 1 
 had therefore little hope of being introduced to her, and I had no 
 letter of recommendation ; knowing, however, that she preserved 
 some distant relations with the Arabs of Palestine and Mesopo- 
 tamia, and that a protection from her hand, addressed to theso 
 tribes, might be of the very greatest utility to me in my future 
 travels, I resolved to send her, by an Arab, the following letter: — 
 
 * My Lady — A traveller like yourself, a stranger like you, in the 
 East, and an imitator of you in my search after the contemplation 
 of its territories, its ruins, and the great works of God, I have just 
 arrived in Syria, with my family. I should reckon that day amongst 
 the most interesting of my journey on which I should become 
 acquainted with a woman who is herself one of the wonders of this 
 East which I come to visit. 
 
 ' If you will do me the favour of receiving me, be pleased to name 
 the day which will be convenient to you, and let me know if I must 
 come alone, or if I may bring with me some of the friends who 
 accompany me, and who will attach no less value than myself to the 
 honour of being presented to you. 
 
 ' Let not this request, my lady, in any degree constrain you, from 
 politeness, to grant me what is offensive to your habits of complete 
 seclusion. I understand too well myself the value of liberty, and the 
 charm of solitude, not to appreciate your refusal, and to respect its 
 motives. — Accept,* kc. 
 
 I had not long to wait for an answer: the 30th, at three o'clock in 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 117 
 
 the afternoon, the equerry of Lady Stanhope, who is at the same time 
 her physician, arrived at my house with orders to accompany me to 
 Digioun, the residence of this extraordinary woman. 
 
 We started at four o'clock. I was accompanied by Doctor Leo- 
 nardi, M. de Parseval, a domestic, and a guide. We were all on horse- 
 back. I passed through, about half an hour from Beirout, a wood of 
 magnificent firs, originally planted by the Emir Fakardin upon an 
 elevated promontory, the view from which extends to the right over 
 the stormy sea of Syria, and to the left over the magnificent valley of 
 Lebanon — an admirable landscape, in which the choicest of western 
 vegetation, the vine, fig-tree, mulberry, and pyramidal poplar, are 
 united with the lofty columns of eastern palms, the broad leaves of 
 which shake in the wind like bunches of feathers. A few paces be- 
 yond, we enter into a sort of desert of red sand, raised into immense 
 moving masses like the waves of the ocean. There was a brisk wind 
 this evening, and it ploughed up the sand, raised it aloft, and scooped 
 out hollows, as it makes the breakers of the sea lash and roar. This 
 spectacle was new and sad, as an insight into the true and vast desert 
 which I was soon to enter upon. No mark of men or animals was 
 visible on this turbulent scene ; we were guided only by the bellowing, 
 of the waves on the one side, and by the transparent ridges of Lebanon 
 on the other. We soon recovered a sort of road or path, strewed 
 with enormous angular blocks of stone. This road, which follows the 
 sea even into Egypt, conducted us to a ruined house, the remnant of 
 an old fortified tower, where we passed the gloomy hours of the night, 
 stretched upon a mat of rushes, and covered up with our mantles. 
 As soon as the moon had risen, we got on horseback again. It was 
 one of those nights in which the sky is resplendent with stars, in 
 which the most perfect serenity appears to reign in those vast ethe- 
 real regions we contemplate from below, but in which nature imme- 
 diately around us seems to groan and torture herself into violent 
 convulsions. The desolate aspect of the coast for some leagues added 
 to this painful impression. We had left behind us, with the twilight, 
 the beautiful shady slopes, the verdant valleys of Lebanon. Savage 
 hills, strewed from top to bottom with black, white, and gray stones, 
 the relics of earthquakes, arose close beside us ; to our left and to 
 our right the sea, agitated since the morning by a growling tempest, 
 rolled its heavy and threatening waves, which we saw as they came 
 from afar, by the shadow which they cast before them, and broke 
 upon the beach with the noise of thunder, throwing their thick and 
 bubbling froth upon the ridge of damp sand we were travelling on, 
 bathing each time the feet of our horses, and threatening to drag us 
 back with it. A moon as brilliant as a winter sun shed sufficient 
 b>ht upon the sea to discover to us its fury, and not sufficient clear- 
 ness upon our route to satisfy our eyes as to the perils of the road. 
 A glimmering light shortly broke on the top of the mountains of 
 Lebanon, with the white or sombre fog of morning, and spread over 
 all this scene a false and pale tint which was neither day nor night, 
 which had neither the splendour of the one nor the serenity of the 
 
118 
 
 LAMAKTINE'S 
 
 other; an hour painful to the eye and to the thought, a contest of 
 two opposing principles of which nature often presents the afflicting 
 image, and which we more often find in our own hearts. 
 
 At seven in the morning, under a sun already oppressive, we quit- 
 ted Saide, the ancient Sidon, which sits upon the waves as a glorious 
 memento of a past dominion, and we climbed the slaty, naked, and 
 broken hills, which, rising insensibly from stage to stage, led us to 
 the solitude that we sought in vain to forestall with our eyes. Each 
 peak, as we cleared it, disclosed to us one more elevated, which we 
 had to wind round or climb up; the mountains were linked with 
 mountains, like the rings of a chain, leaving between them only deep 
 ravines, dry, scorched, and scattered with blocks of grayish rock. 
 These mountains are completely bare of vegetation and of soil : they 
 are the skeletons of hills which the waters and the winds have 
 gnawed for ages. It was not there that I expected to find the resi- 
 dence of a female who had visited the world, and who had had the 
 universe to select from. At length, from the top of one of these 
 rocks, my eyes fell upon a deeper and broader valley, closed in on all 
 sides by mountains more majestic, but not less sterile. In the middle 
 of this valley, the hill of Digioun, like the base of a large tower, 
 took root, and mounting in circular layers of rock, grew attenuated 
 as it approached the summit, and formed an esplanade of some 
 hundred fathoms broad, covered with a beautiful lively green vege- 
 tation. A white wall, flanked by a kiosk at one of its angles, en- 
 circled this verdant spot. This was the abode of Lady Hester. We 
 reached it at mid-day. The house is not what we call by the same 
 name in Europe, it is not even what is called a house in Asia ; it is a 
 confused and strange aggregation of ten or twelve little houses, each 
 containing but one or two chambers on the ground-floor, without 
 windows, and separated from one another by small courts or gardens 
 — an assemblage very similar in aspect to those poor convents which 
 we meet with in Italy or Spain upon high mountains, belonging to 
 the mendicant orders. According to her custom, Lady Stanhope was 
 not to be seen until three or four o'clock in the afternoon. We were 
 each conducted into a sort of narrow cell, dark, and without furni- 
 ture. We were served with breakfast, and we threw ourselves on a 
 divan, whilst waiting for the rising of the invisible hostess of this 
 romantic habitation. I fell asleep. At three o'clock they came and 
 knocked at my door, to announce to me that she expected me. I 
 passed through a court, a garden, an open kiosk with hangings of 
 jessamine, then two or three gloomy corridors, and I was introduced 
 by a little negro child, six or eight years old, into the cabinet of 
 Lady Hester. 
 
 So profound an obscurity reigned, that I had great difficulty in dis- 
 tinguishing the noble, grave, mild, and majestic features of the white 
 form which, in Oriental costume, rose from the divan, and came for- 
 ward stretching out her hand. Lady Hester appears to be fifty years 
 old; she has those features which years cannot alter. The freshness, 
 colour, and grace of youth are gone ; but when the beauty is in the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 119 
 
 figure itself, in the cliasteness of the outlines, in the dignity, majesty, 
 and expression of a male or female face, it changes at the different 
 epochs of life, but it does not pass away. Such is the beauty of Lady 
 Stanhope. She had upon her head a white turban, on her forehead 
 a little fillet of purple wool falling on each side of the head upon the 
 shoulders. A long shawl of yellow cashmere, and an immense Turk- 
 ish robe of white silk, with hanging sleeves, covered her person in 
 simple and majestic folds, and it was only in the opening which this 
 first tunic left upon her breast, that a second robe of Persian flowered 
 stuff, reaching to the neck, and fastened by a clasp of pearls, could be 
 perceived. Yellow Turkish boots, embroidered with silk, completed 
 this beautiful Oriental costume, which she wore with the freedom and 
 gracefulness of a person who has never worn any other since her 
 infancy. 
 
 ' You have come a long way to see a hermit,' she said to me ; 'you 
 are welcome ; I receive few strangers, scarcely one or two in a year; 
 but your letter pleased me, and I desired to know a person who 
 loved, like me, God, nature, and solitude. Something, besides, told 
 me that our stars were friendly, and that we should agree well to- 
 gether. I see with pleasure that my presentiment has not deceived 
 me ; and your features which I now see, and the very noise of your 
 steps whilst you were traversing the corridor, have sufficiently in- 
 formed me respecting you to prevent my repenting of having resolved 
 to see you. Let us sit down and converse. We are already friends.' 
 'How !' said I to her; 'do you honour so quickly with the name of 
 friend, my lady, a man whose name and life are completely unknown 
 to you ? You are ignorant who I am.' ' True,' replied she ; ' I know 
 neither who you are according to the world, nor what you have done 
 whilst living amongst men; but I know already what you are before 
 God. Do not take me for a fool, as the world often calls me ; but I 
 cannot resist the inclination to speak to you with an open heart. 
 There is a science, lost at present in your Europe, a science which 
 was born in the East, where it has never perished, and where it yet 
 survives. I possess it. I read in the stars. We are all children of 
 some one of those celestial fires which preside at our birth, and whose 
 fortunate or malignant influence is written in our eyes, on our fore- 
 heads, in our features, in the lines of our hand, in the form of our 
 foot, in our gesture, and in our gait. I have only seen you a few 
 minutes, and yet I know you as if I had lived an age with you. Do 
 you wish that I open to you yourself? Do you wish that I predict 
 your destiny?' 'Pray avoid doing so, my lady,' answered I, smiling: 
 'I do not deny what I am ignorant of; I will not affirm, that invisible 
 and invisible nature in which everything is held, everything en- 
 chained, beings of an inferior order, like man, may not be under the 
 influence of superior beings, like stars or angels; but I have no need 
 of their revelation to know myself — corruption, infirmity, and wo I 
 And as to the secrets of my future destiny, I should consider it a pro- 
 fanation on the Divinity, who conceals them from me, if I sought them 
 from a creature. In regard to the future, I believe only in God, free- 
 
120 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 will, and virtue' 'Never mind,' said she to me, 'believe what you 
 please ; as to me, I see evidently that you are born under the influ- 
 ence of very happy, potent, and benevolent stars, which have endow ed 
 you with analogous qualities, and which conduct you to an end which 
 f could, if you pleased, indicate to you from this moment. It is God 
 who leads you here to enlighten your mind ; you are oue of those 
 desirable and good-intentioned men, of whom there is a great want 
 as instruments for the wonderful works which are soon to be accom- 
 plished amongst men. Do you believe the reign of the Messiah 
 come?' 4 1 was born a Christian,' said I to her; 'it is for you to 
 answer.' 'A Christian!' retorted she with a slight sign of dissatis- 
 faction ; ' I also am a Christian ; but he whom you call Christ, has he 
 not said, " I speak to you in parables, but he who shall come after me 
 will speak in the spirit and in truth." Now it is this one whom we 
 are waiting for ! This is the Messiah who is not yet come, who is 
 not far off, whom we will see with our eyes, and for the coming of 
 whom all is prepared in the world! What will you answer? And 
 how will you deny or twist the very words of your Gospel which I 
 .have just cited to you ? What are your motives for believing in 
 Christ?' 'Excuse me, my lady,' I interrupted, ' from entering with 
 you into such a discussion ; I do not enter into it with myself. Man 
 lias two lights : the one which illumines the understanding, which is 
 subject to discussion and doubt, and which often leads only to error 
 and mistake ; the other which actuates the heart, and never deceives, 
 for it is at once evidence and conviction ; and for us miserable mor- 
 tals, truth itself is but a conviction. God alone possesses truth other- 
 wise, and as truth ; we possess it only as faith ! I believe in Christ, 
 because he has brought to the earth the most holy, fruitful, and divine 
 doctrine which has ever beamed upon human intelligence. A doc- 
 trine so heavenly cannot be the fruit of a lie and a cheat. Christ has 
 spoken as reason speaks. His doctrines are known by their morality, 
 as a tree by its fruits. The fruits of Christianity (I speak of its fruits 
 to come, much more than of those which are already gathered and 
 corrupted) are infinite, perfect, and divine ; therefore its author is 
 that divine Word which he described himself. Such are the reasons 
 for which I am a Christian, such is the whole of my religious contro- 
 versy with myself ; with others I have none ; we can prove to man 
 only what he already believes.' 
 
 * But,' resumed she, ' do you find the social, political, and religious 
 world well constituted ? And do you not think that all the world 
 feels the want, the necessity, of a Revealcr, of a Redeemer, of the 
 Messiah whom we expect, and whom our desires have already pointed 
 out?' 
 
 ' Oh, as to that, 1 said I, ' it is another question. No one regrets 
 and laments more than myself the universal suffering of nature, of 
 men, and of society. No one acknowledges more distinctly the enor- 
 mous social, political, and religious abuses. No one more desires and 
 hopes for an alleviator of those intolerable evils of humanity. No 
 one can be more convinced that this alleviator must be divine! If 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 121 
 
 you call that expecting a Messiah, I expect him like you — and, far- 
 ther than you, I sigh for his early appearance; like you, and farther 
 than you, I perceive in the wavering creeds of man, in the tumult of 
 his ideas, in the emptiness of his heart, in the depravity of his social 
 state, in the incessant totterings of his political institutions, all the 
 symptoms of an overthrow, and consequently of a near and impending 
 renovation. I believe that God always shows himself at the precise 
 moment in which everything that is human avails nothing, in which 
 man confesses that he is helpless. The world is now so. I believe, 
 therefore, in a Messiah near to our own epoch ; but in this Messiah 
 I do not see the Christ, who has nothing more in wisdom, in virtue, 
 and in truth, to give us ; I see him who Christ announced was to come 
 after him — that Holy Spirit ever urging, ever assisting man, always 
 revealing to him, according to time and occasion, what he ought to- 
 do and know. It matters little whether this Holy Spirit is incarnate 
 in a man, or in a doctrine, in deed or in idea — it is the same; man, 
 or doctrine, deed, or idea, I believe in it, I place my hopes upon it,, 
 and I expect it, and, more than you, I invoke it ! You thus see that 
 we can understand each other, and that our stars are not so far 
 asunder as this conversation has led you to think.' 
 
 She smiled ; her eyes, occasionally obscured by a little discontent 
 during the confession of my Christian system of belief, were lighted 
 up with a tenderness of expression, and a brilliancy almost super- 
 natural. ' Believe what you will,' said she to me ; ' you are still one 
 of those men whom I was looking for, whom Providence sends to me,, 
 and who have an important part to play in the work which is pre- 
 paring. You will soon return to Europe ; Europe is done ; France 
 alone has a grand mission yet to accomplish ; you will participate in 
 it ; I do not at present know how, but I can tell you this evening, if 
 you desire it, when I have consulted your stars. I do not yet know 
 the names of all ; I see more than three ; I distinguish four, perhaps 
 five, and, who knows, more yet ? One of them is certainly Mercury,, 
 who gives clearness and emphasis to the intellect and to the power 
 of expression ; you ought to be a poet — that is evident from your 
 eyes and the higher part of your face ; lower, you are under the em- 
 pire of quite distinct, almost opposing stars, in which there is an in- 
 fluence of energy and action. There is the sun also,' continued she 
 with a start, ' in the leaning of your head, and in the manner you 
 throw it on your left shoulder. You may thank God : there are few 
 men who are born under more than one star, few whose star is happy,, 
 still fewer whose star, when favourable, is not counterbalanced by 
 the malignant influence of an opposing star. You, on the contrary, 
 have several, and all are in harmony to serve you, and to act in con- 
 cert for your advantage. What is your name ?' I told it to her. * I 
 had never heard of it !' she exclaimed in the accent of truth. 
 
 ' See, my lady, what glory is ! I have composed some verses in 
 my life which have made my name be re-echoed a million of times 
 in the literary circles of Europe ; but this echo is too weak to 
 traverse your sea and mountains, and here I am quite a new man, 
 
122 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 a man completely unknown, with a name never pronounced! I 
 am only the more flattered by the kindness you have showered 
 upon me ; I owe it only to you and myself.' 4 Yes,' said she, ' poet 
 or not, I esteem you, and I place hopes in you ; we shall see each 
 other again, be assured ! You will return to the West, but you will 
 not be long in returning to the East ; it is your country.' • It is at 
 least,' said 1, 1 the country of my imagination.' ' Do not laugh,' she 
 resumed, * it is your actual country — it is the country of your fathers. 
 I am now certain of it ; look at your foot ! ' * I see there,' said I, 
 'nothing but the dust of your roads which covers it, and which would 
 make me blush in a saloon of old Europe.' 1 That's nothing,' con- 
 tinued she ; * it is not that. Look at your foot. I had not myself 
 taken notice of it before. See; the instep is very high, and between 
 your heel and toes, when your foot is on the ground, there is a suffi- 
 cient elevation to let water pass without wetting you. It is the 
 Arab's foot ; it is the foot of the East ; you are a son of these 
 climates, and we draw near the day on which we shall each return 
 to the land of our fathers. We shall see each other again.' 
 
 A black slave now entered, and prostrating herself before her, 
 bowing her forehead to the ground, and placing her hands upon her 
 head, spoke to her some words in Arabic. ' Go,' said she to me ; 
 ' dinner is served ; be quick and return : I am going to concern 
 myself about you, and to see more distinctly through the confusion 
 of my ideas as to your person and your future. As for me, I never 
 eat with any one ; I live too abstemiously ; bread and some fruits, 
 as I feel hungry, are sufficient ; I cannot put a guest upon my diet.' 
 
 I was conducted beneath a bower of jessamine and laurel-rose at 
 the gate of the garden. The table was set for M. de Parseval and 
 me ; we dined with great despatch ; but she did not even wait for 
 our rising from table, but sent Leonardi to tell me she was waiting 
 for me. I hastened to her; I found her smoking a long Eastern 
 pipe ; she ordered one to be brought to me. I was already accus- 
 tomed to see the most elegant and beautiful women smoking in the 
 East; I no longer felt anything shocking in the graceful and careless 
 attitude, nor in the odoriferous smoke escaping in light curls from 
 the lips of a handsome woman, and interrupting the conversation 
 without stifling it. We conversed a long time, and always on 
 the favourite subject, the sole and mysterious theme of this extra- 
 ordinary woman, the modern enchantress, recalling the famous 
 magicians of antiquity — the Circe of the deserts. It appea red to 
 me that the religious doctrines of Lady Hester were a clever though 
 confused mixture of the different religions in the midst of which she 
 had condemned herself to live: mysterious as the Druzes, whose 
 mystic secret she, of all the world, perhaps alone knew; resigned 
 as the Moslem, and like him a fatalist; with the Jew, expecting 
 the Messiah ; and with the Christian, professing the worship of 
 Christ, and the practice of his charity and morality. Add to this, 
 the fantastic colouring and supernatural dreams of an imagination 
 tinctured with Oriental extravagance, and heated by solitude and 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 123 
 
 meditation, the impressions perhaps of the Arabic astrologers, and 
 you will have an idea of this compound of the sublime and ridiculous, 
 which it is more convenient to stigmatise as madness, than to analyse 
 and comprehend. No ; this woman is not mad. Madness, which 
 displays itself in the eyes, so as never to be mistaken, is not ex- 
 pressed in her mild and straight look ; madness, which is always 
 betrayed in conversation by the interruptions it gives to the chain 
 of discourse by sudden, disordered, and eccentric bursts, is not per- 
 ceptible in the elevated, mystic, and obscure, though sustained, con- 
 nected, and powerful conversation of Lady Hester. If I were called 
 upon to decide, I should rather say it was the voluntary and studied 
 madness of one who knows what she is about, and who has her own 
 reasons for appearing insane. The sway, founded on admiration 
 which her genius has exercised, and still exercises, over the Arab 
 population which surrounds her mountains, proves sufficiently that 
 this affected madness is but a means. To the men of this land of 
 prodigies, to these men of rocks and deserts, whose imagination is 
 more vivid and wreathed in mist than the horizon of their sands or 
 seas, the words of Mohammed or Lady Stanhope are necessary ! They 
 require the knowledge of the stars, prophecies, miracles, the second 
 sight of genius ! Lady Stanhope has comprehended this from the 
 extent of her truly superior intellect. Then perhaps, like all others 
 gifted with powerful intellectual faculties, she has concluded by 
 deceiving herself, and by becoming the first neophyte of the symbol 
 she had elevated for others. Such is the effect this woman produced 
 upon me. One cannot judge or classify her in a sentence ; she is a 
 statue of enormous dimensions, which we can estimate only in pro- 
 portion as we see it. I would not be surprised if an early day 
 should bring about the realisation of part of the destiny she promises 
 herself. An empire in Arabia, a throne in Jerusalem! — the least 
 political commotion in the region she inhabits might lift her to that 
 height. 
 
 * Upon this subject,' said I to her, ' I have only one reproach to 
 make to you, namely, that you have been too timid in the course 
 of events, and have not yet pushed your fortune as far as it might 
 have conducted you.' She answered, ' You speak to me like a man 
 who believes too much in human volition, and not sufficiently in the 
 irresistible control of destiny alone : my power is in it. I await 
 it, but do not invoke it. I am growing old ; I have greatly lessened 
 my fortune ; I am at present alone, and abandoned to myself, upon 
 this desert rock, a prey to the first audacious ruffian who may force 
 my gates, surrounded by a band of faithless domestics and ungrateful 
 slaves, who rob me every day, and sometimes threaten my life. Yet 
 more, I owe my safety solely to this poniard, with which I have 
 been compelled to arm myself, to guard my breast against the 
 weapon of a black slave whom I have reared. Well, in the midst 
 of all these tribulations I am happy ; I respond to everything by 
 the sacred phrase of the Mussulmans, "Allah Kerim!"— ("It is the 
 will of God!")— and I await the future, of which I have spoken to 
 
124 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 you with confidence : and I wish I could inspire you with the con- 
 viction respecting it with which you ought to be impressed.' 
 
 After having smoked several pipes, and drunk several cups of 
 coffee, which the black slaves brought every quarter of an hour, she 
 said to me, ' Come, I will lead you into a sanctuary where I allow 
 nothing profane to enter — my garden.' We descended to it by 
 some steps, and, in a positive enchantment, I followed her through 
 one of the most beautiful Turkish gardens which I had yet seen in the 
 East. There were arbours of vine where the light was dulled, but 
 on the verdant arches of which glittered the grapes of the promised 
 land, like myriads of lustres ; kiosks (summer-houses) where the 
 sculptured arabesques were entwined in jessamine and the climbing 
 canes of Asia ; canals, in which an artificial water came murmuring 
 for a league of distance, and spouted up through marble jets ; alleys 
 lined with all the fruit-trees of England, Europe, and these beautiful 
 climates ; plots of greensward, sprinkled with shrubs in flower, 
 and marble compartments surrounding the shoots of flowers new to 
 my eyes. Such was her garden. We rested in several of the kiosks 
 with which it was ornamented; and never did the inexhaustible 
 conversation of Lady Hester lose the mystic tone or the elevation 
 of style which it had assumed in the morning. 'Since destiny,' 
 said she to me at the close, ' has sent you here, and so astonishing 
 a sympathy in our stars permits me to confide to you what I conceal 
 from the profane — come, and I will let your eyes behold a prodigy 
 of nature, the destination of which is known only to myself and 
 my scholars; the prophecies of the East had many ages ago an- 
 nounced it, and you will judge yourself if these prophecies are 
 accomplished.' She opened a door of the garden, which introduced 
 us to a small inner court, where I perceived two magnificent 
 Arabian mares, of pure race, and of rare symmetry. 'Approach, 
 and look at this bay mare,' said she : 'see if nature has not accom- 
 plished in her all that is written touching the mare which is to 
 carry the Messiah — " She shall be born ready saddled.' 5 ' I saw, in 
 fact, upon this fine animal a sport of nature sufficiently uncommon 
 to serve as a delusion for vulgar credulity amongst a half-barbarous 
 people ; the mare had, from a defect in the shoulders, a cavity so broad 
 and deep, and so much in the form of a Turkish saddle, that it might 
 be said with truth she was born ready saddled; and even to the 
 stirrups, she could be easily mounted without the aid of an artificial 
 saddle. The mare, a splendid animal in other respects, appeared 
 used to the admiration and respect which Lady Stanhope and her 
 slaves testified for her, and to have a presentiment of the dignity of 
 her future mission : no person had ever mounted her, and two Arab 
 grooms attended and watched her, without losing her a moment 
 out of sight. Another white mare, and, in my opinion, infinitely 
 more beautiful, partook, with the Messiah's mare, the respect and 
 attentions of Lady Stanhope. No one had ever mounted her either. 
 Lady Hester did not tell me, but she left me to infer, that although the 
 destiny of the white mare was less sanctified, she had likewise one 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 125 
 
 of great mystery and importance ; and I thought I understood that 
 Lady Stanhope reserved her for herself, on the day when she should 
 make her entry by the side of the Messiah into the reconquered 
 Jerusalem. After having caused the two animals to be promenaded 
 for some time upon a green plot outside the enclosure of the fortress, 
 and admiring their suppleness and grace, we returned ; and I re- 
 newed to her my request that she would at length allow me to 
 present to her M. de Farseval, my friend and fellow-traveller, who 
 had followed me, in spite of myself, to her house, and who had been 
 vainly waiting since the morning for a favour of which she was so 
 chary. She consented at last, and we all three returned into the 
 little saloon which I have already described, to pass the evening 
 or the night. Coffee and pipes reappeared in Oriental profusion, 
 and the room was soon filled with such a cloud of smoke, that the 
 figure of her ladyship was visible only through an atmosphere 
 similar to that of a magical invocation. She conversed with the 
 same vigour, grace, and abundance, but with infinitely less of the 
 supernatural, upon subjects not so sacred for her, as she had exhi- 
 bited with me when alone throughout the day. 
 
 ' I hope,' said she to me suddenly, ' that you are an aristocrat ; I 
 do not doubt it from your appearance.' ' You are deceived, my 
 lady,' replied I ; ' I am neither an aristocrat nor a democrat ; I have 
 lived long enough to see the two sides of the human medal, and to find 
 both equally unsound. I am neither aristocrat nor democrat ; but 
 I am a man, and the exclusive partisan of what may ameliorate 
 and perfect every member of the human race, whether he be born 
 at the top or the bottom of the social ladder. I am neither for the 
 people nor for the nobles, but for all humanity ; and I do not ascribe 
 any exclusive capacity for improving humanity either to aristocratic 
 or democratic institutions : this capacity is only in a divine morality, 
 the fruit of a perfect religion ! Faith is the civilisation of nations ! ' 
 ' That is true,' replied she ; * but yet I am an aristocrat in spite 
 of myself : and you will acknowledge that if there be vices in aris- 
 tocracy, there are at least lofty virtues to redeem and compensate 
 them ; whilst in democracy I see many vices, and vices of the lowest 
 and most malevolent order, but I seek in vain for the elevated 
 virtues.' ' It is not so, my lady,' said I in return ; ' there are on both 
 sides vices and virtues ; but in the higher classes these very vices 
 have a brilliant cast ; in the lower classes, on the contrary, these 
 vices exhibit themselves in all their naked deformity, and wound 
 the moral sentiment more in the contemplation. The difference is 
 in appearance, and not in fact ; but in reality the identical vice is 
 more a vice in the rich, educated, and instructed man, than in the 
 wretch without information and without bread— for with the one 
 the vice is matter of choice, with the other of necessity. Let us 
 despise it, then, everywhere, and yet more in a profligate aristocracy, 
 and let us judge humanity not by classes, but by men : the nobles 
 would have the vices of the people if they themselves were of the 
 people, and the inferiors would have the vices of the superiors if 
 
126 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 they were nobles ! The balance is even, let us not weigh it down.' 
 1 Very well, let it pass,' she remarked ; ' but give me leave to believe 
 that you are an aristocrat like myself. It would cost me much 
 uneasiness to think that you are of the number of those young 
 Frenchmen who rouse the popular froth against all the institutions 
 which God, nature, and society have made, and who would over- 
 throw the edifice to rear for themselves, out of its ruins, a pedestal 
 upon a level with their own grovelling envy.' 'No,' said I to her; 
 4 be tranquil on that head ; I am not one of these men ; I am only 
 of those who do not despise what is below them in the social grade, 
 whilst respecting what is above them, and whose desire or dream 
 is, to call all men, independently of their standing in the arbitrary 
 hierarchies of society, to the same enlightenment, the same liberty, 
 and the same moral perfection ! — and since you are religious, since 
 you believe that God loves all his children equally, and you await 
 a second Messiah to institute a new order of things, you think, 
 doubtless, like them and me.' ' Yes,' replied she, ' but I concern 
 myself no longer with human politics ; I have had enough of them ; 
 I have seen too much of them for the ten years which I passed in 
 the cabinet of Mr Pitt, my uncle, when all the intrigues of Europe 
 were resounding in my ears. In my youth I have despised humanity, 
 and I do not wish to hear any further mention of it ; all that men 
 do for men is fruitless ! — the forms by which it is done are indiffe- 
 rent to me.' * And to me also,' said I. 1 The foundation of things 
 is God and virtue ! ' 'I think exactly with you,' I responded ; ' so 
 let us talk no more about it, as we are both of one opinion.' 
 
 Passing to subjects less grave, and joking on the species of divina- 
 tion which enabled her to comprehend a man at the first glance, 
 and upon a simple inspection of his star, I put her wisdom to the 
 proof by interrogating her upon two or three travellers of my ac- 
 quaintance who, fifteen years ago, had come under her observation. 
 I was struck with the perfect justness of her glance over two of 
 these individuals. Amongst others, she analysed, with an amazing 
 clearness of judgment, the character of one of them, which was 
 known intimately to myself, a character difficult to understand at a 
 first view — lofty, but veiled beneath appearances of the most simple 
 and engaging good-nature : and what carried my astonishment to 
 the highest pitch, and made me admire her grasp of memory as 
 altogether surprising, was the fact of this traveller having passed 
 but two hours in her house, and of sixteen years having elapsed 
 between the period of his visit and that of the account which I 
 asked from her of the impressions she entertained regarding him. 
 Solitude concentrates and fortifies all the faculties of the mind. The 
 prophets, the saints, great men, and poets, have perfectly under- 
 stood this truth, and their dispositions have made them seek the 
 desert or isolation in the midst of mankind. 
 
 The name of Bonaparte dropped, as usual, in the course of con- 
 versation. 'I thought,' said I to her, ' that your fanaticism for this 
 man would have raised a barrier between us.' 'I have been a 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 127 
 
 fanatic only from his misfortunes, and from pity for him,' answered 
 she. 'And I also ; so we understand each other again/ I replied. 
 
 I could not explain to myself how a religious and moral woman 
 should adore force alone without piety, without morality, and without 
 liberty. Bonaparte was a grand reconstructor without doubt; he 
 remodelled the social world, but he did not pay sufficient attention 
 to the elements which compose it ; he fabricated his statue with dirt 
 and personal interest, instead of sculpturing it in divine and moral 
 sentiments, in virtue and in liberty. 
 
 The night thus wore away in the free discussion, without any 
 affectation on the part of Lady Hester, of ail the subjects which 
 hazard calls up, and brings into conversation. I found that no 
 chord was wanting in her high and strong intellect, and that every 
 key that was touched gave out a just, full, and powerful sound, 
 except perhaps the metaphysical chord, which too much stretching 
 and solitude had rendered false, or elevated to a diapason too high 
 for mortal intelligence. We separated, with a sincere regret on my 
 part, and an obliging reluctance testified on hers. 
 
 ' No farewells,' said she to me ; ' we shall often meet again in this 
 journey, and more often yet in other journeys, of which you have 
 not formed any project. Go to repose, and recollect that you leave 
 a friend in the solitudes of Lebanon.' She stretched out her hand 
 to me ; I put mine upon my heart, in the manner of the Arabs, and 
 we retired. 
 
 VISIT TO THE EMIR BESCHIR. 
 
 On the morrow, at four o'clock in the morning, M. de Parseval 
 and I were on horseback descending the steep declivity which leads 
 from her monastery to the deep valley of the torrent Belus ; we 
 cleared at a ford the waters exhausted by the summer heat, and we 
 began to climb the high mountains of Lebanon which separate 
 Digioun from De'ir-el-Kammar, or the Convent of the Moon, the 
 palace of the Emir Beschir, sovereign prince of the Druzes, and of 
 all the mountains of Lebanon. Lady Hester had given us her physi- 
 cian as interpreter, and an Arab groom as a guide. We arrived, 
 after two hours' ride, in a more deep, narrow, and picturesque valley 
 than any of those that we had already traversed. On the right and 
 on the left, like two perpendicular ramparts, arose two mountain 
 chains, from three to four hundred feet high, which appeared to 
 have been recently torn from each other by a thunderbolt of the 
 Creator of worlds, or perhaps by the earthquake which shook Leba- 
 non to its foundations, when the Son of Man, returning his soul to 
 God, not far from these same mountains, heaved that last sigh which 
 scattered the spirit of error, oppression, and falsehood, and breathed 
 truth, liberty, and life into an invigorated world. Gigantic blocks 
 detached from the sides of the mountains, and spread like pebbles 
 by the hands of children in the bed of a brook, formed the horrible, 
 sunken, and uneven course of the dry torrent. Some of these blocks 
 were higher and longer than large houses. Some stood straight up 
 
128 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 like solid and eternal bodies ; others, suspended upon their angles, 
 and sustained by the pressure of other unseen rocks, appeared as if 
 they were yet falling and rolling, thus presenting the image of a ruin 
 in action, of an incessant downward movement, of a stony chaos, of 
 a never-ending avalanche of rocks: — rocks of dismal colour, gray, 
 black, veined with red and white, opaque ; the petrified waves of a 
 river of granite. Not a drop of water was in the deep interstices 
 of this torrent-bed, crumbling to dust in the broiling sun of Syria ; 
 not an herb, a plant, a blade, either in the torrent or on the indented 
 and harsh sides of the abyss ; it was a sea of stones, a cataract of 
 rocks, to which the diversity of form, the variety of position, the 
 strangeness of their impending fall, the play of shade and light on 
 their sides and surfaces, appeared to impart motion and fluidity. If 
 Dante had wished to paint in one of the circles of his hell, the hell 
 of stones, the hell of aridity, of ruin, of the decay of things, of the 
 sinking of worlds, of the rottenness of age, this is the scene which 
 lie would have had simply to copy :— it is a flood of the last hours 
 of the world, when fire shall have consumed everything, and the 
 earth, heaving up its entrails, shall be but one block of stone, 
 burnt to ashes beneath the feet of the terrible Judge who shall come 
 to visit it. 
 
 We followed this valley of lamentations for two hours, without the 
 -scene varying otherwise than by the winding circuits which the tor- 
 rent made for itself between the mountains, and by the manner, 
 more or less terrific, in which the rocks were grouped in their stony 
 bed. Never will this valley be effaced from my imagination. This 
 land must have been the first, the land of horror-striking poetry, 
 and of human lamentation. The pathetic and sublime accent of the 
 prophecies was felt in its savage, affecting, and awe-inspiring aspect. 
 All the images of Biblical poesy are engraved in capital letters on 
 the furrowed face of Lebanon, and on its gilded summits, on its 
 gushing valleys, and on its valleys mute and dead. The divine 
 spirit, the superhuman inspiration, which breathed into the souls, 
 and upon the harps of the poetic people, to whom God spoke by 
 symbols and images, struck thus forcibly the eyes of the sacred 
 bards from their infancy, and nourished them with a stronger 
 sustenance than us old and withered inheritors of the ancient harp 
 — than us who have beneath our eyes only a graceful, soft, and 
 cultivated nature, a nature civilised and discoloured like ourselves. 
 
 At noon we reached the highest mountains we had to clear. We 
 began to descend again by the steepest paths, where our horses' feet 
 trembled on the loose stones which alone separated us from the pre- 
 cipices. After an hour's descent, we perceived, on turning a hill, 
 the fantastic palace of Dptedin, near to Dcir- el- Kammar. We 
 uttered a cry of surprise and admiration, and with an involuntary 
 movement we stayed our horses to contemplate the novel, pictu- 
 resque, and truly Oriental scene which opened before us. 
 
 A few paces from us, an immense sheet of foaming water rushed 
 from a mill-dam, and fell from a height of fifty or sixty feet iq)on a 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 129 
 
 bed of rocks, which broke it into fleeting shreds : the noise of this 
 waterfall, and the freshness which it spread in the air, moistening 
 our burning foreheads, gave us a delicious preparation for the rap- 
 ture which our senses were eager to enjoy. Above the cascade, 
 which was lost in the bottomless abyss, unfathomable to our eyes, 
 a vast and deep valley opened through a vista planted from the 
 bottom to the top with mulberries, vines, and figs, and in which the 
 earth was everywhere clothed with the freshest and lightest verdure ; 
 some beautiful villages were suspended like terraces on the declivi- 
 ties of all the mountains which surrounded the valley of Deiir-el- 
 Kammar. On one side only the horizon stretched, and permitted the 
 Sea of Syria to be seen over the least-elevated summits of Lebanon. 
 ' Ecce mare magnum ! ' said David. ' See below the great blue sea with 
 its waves, and its roarings, and its immense reptiles ! ' David was 
 there perhaps when he uttered this poetical exclamation ! In fact 
 we perceive the Sea of Egypt, tinctured with a deeper blue than 
 that of the sky, and confounded at a distance with the horizon, in 
 the foggy and purple vapour which veils all the coasts of this part of 
 Asia. At the bottom of this immense valley, the hill of Dptedin, 
 on which the emir's palace is erected, took root and arose like an 
 enormous tower, flanked with rocks covered with ivy, and shoots of 
 waving verdure hanging from their fissures and indentations. This 
 hill rose to a level with the precipice on which we ourselves were 
 suspended ; a narrow and groaning abyss separated us from it. On 
 its summit the Moorish palace of the emir stretched majestically 
 over all the table-land of Dptedin, with its square towers and battle- 
 ments; long galleries rising one above the other, and presenting 
 extended rows of projecting arcades, light as the trunks of the palms 
 which crowned them with their aerial plumes ; vast courts ranged 
 by lofty steps from the top of the hill to the outward walls of the 
 fortification. At the extremity of the largest of these courts, on 
 which our eyes plunged from the height on which we were placed, 
 the irregular facade of the women's palace presented itself to us, 
 ornamented with slender and graceful colonnades, which in irregular 
 and unequal forms reached to the roof, and bore, like an umbrella, a 
 light covering of painted wood, serving as a portico to the palace. 
 A marble staircase, decorated with balustrades sculptured in ara- 
 besque, led from this portico to the door of the women's palace ; this 
 door, inlaid with wood of various colours, with frames of marble, and 
 surmounted with Arabic inscriptions, was surrounded by black 
 slaves, magnificently attired, armed with silver-mounted pistols and 
 with Damascus sabres glittering with gold and chasings ; the large 
 courts which faced the palace were likewise filled with a crowd of 
 servants, courtiers, priests, and soldiers, in all the varied and pictu- 
 resque costumes which distinguish the five populations of Lebanon — 
 the Druzes, Christians, Armenians, Greeks, Maronites, and Metualis. 
 Five or six hundred Arab horses were attached by the feet and head 
 to cords which stretched across the courts, saddled, bridled, and 
 covered with shining cloths of all colours ; several groups of camels 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
130 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 were lying, standing, or bent on the knee, to receive or discharge 
 their loads ; and on the most elevated terrace of the inner court 
 some young pages were throwing the djerid, rushing with their 
 horses upon each other, crouching down to evade the blow, return- 
 ing at full speed upon their disarmed adversary, and going through, 
 with an admirable grace and vigour, all the rapid evolutions which 
 this warlike sport requires. After having contemplated for some 
 instants this Oriental scene, so full of novelty for us, we proceeded to 
 the immense and massive gate of the first court of the palace, 
 guarded by Arabs, armed with muskets and long slight blades, 
 similar to the stalks of long reeds. There we sent to the prince the 
 letters which we had for him. A few moments afterwards, he des- 
 patched to us his first physician, If. Bertrand, a native of Syria, of 
 a French family, who still preserved the language and recollection 
 of his country. He conducted us to the apartments which the hospi- 
 tality of the emir offered us, and the slaves led our suite and horses 
 to another quarter of the palace. Our apartments consisted of a 
 pretty court, decorated with Arabic pilasters, and with a spouting 
 fountain in the centre falling into a large marble basin ; round this 
 court were three rooms and a divan, that is to say, a chamber larger 
 than the others, formed by an arcade which opened on the inner 
 court, and which had neither door nor shutters to close it. It is a 
 place of transition between the house and the street, serving as a 
 garden to the lazy Mussulmans, its motionless shade supplying for 
 them that of the trees, which they have neither the industry to 
 plant nor energy to go and seek, where nature herself causes them 
 to grow. Our rooms, even in this magnificent palace, would have ap- 
 peared ruinous to the poorest peasant of our huts ; the windows had 
 no glass, an unknown luxury in the East, notwithstanding the rigour 
 of winter in these mountains ; no beds, tables, or chairs ; nothing but 
 the naked walls, mouldering and riddled with rat and lizard holes ; 
 and as a floor, the battered clay, uneven, and mixed with chopped 
 straw. Slaves brought mats of rush, which they stretched upon this 
 floor, and Damascus carpets, with which they covered the mats ; 
 they afterwards brought a small table of Bethlehem, made of wood, 
 incrusted with mother-of-pearl. These tables are not half a foot either 
 in diameter or in height; they resemble the trunk of a broken column, 
 and arc not capable of holding more than the tray on which the Mo- 
 hammedans place the five or six dishes which compose their repasts. 
 
 Our dinner, which was served on this table, consisted of a pilau, of 
 a dish of sour milk which is mixed with oil, and some pieces of 
 hashed mutton, which they heaped on boiled rice, and garnish with 
 certain gourds like our cucumbers. This is, in fact, the most desir- 
 able and savoury food which one can cat in the East ; for drink, pure 
 water, which they drink in earthen jugs with long spouts, which are 
 passed from hand to hand, and from which they make the water fall 
 into the opened mouth, without the vase touching the lips. No 
 knives, spoons, or forks ; they cat with the hands — but the repeated 
 ablutions render this custom less revolting for the Mussulmans. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 131 
 
 Scarcely had we finished dinner, than the emir sent to tell us that 
 he was waiting for us. We traversed an immense court, ornamented 
 with fountains, and a piazza, formed of high slim columns rising from 
 the ground, and supporting the roof of the palace. We were intro- 
 duced into a very beautiful saloon, the pavement of which was 
 marble, and the ceilings and walls painted with lively colours and 
 elegant arabesques by artists from Constantinople. Waterspouts 
 murmured in the corners of the apartment ; and at the end, behind 
 a colonnade, the inter-columniations of which were barred and 
 glazed, an enormous tiger was seen sleeping with its head upon its 
 paws. The half of the room was filled with secretaries in long 
 robes, each bearing a silver ink-stand, pushed like a poniard into 
 their belts ; Arabs richly armed and clothed ; negroes and mulattoes 
 waiting the orders of their master ; and some Egyptian officers, clad 
 in European vests, and having on their heads the Greek bonnet of 
 red cloth, with a long blue tuft hanging on the shoulders. The other 
 part of the saloon was raised about a foot, and a large sofa, or divan, 1 * 
 of scarlet velvet ran round it. The emir was squatted at a corner 
 of this divan. He was a fine-looking old man, with a lively and 
 penetrating eye, a fresh and ruddy complexion, and a flowing gray 
 beard. A white robe, bound by a cashmere shawl as a belt, entirely 
 covered him, and the glittering handle of a long and wide poniard 
 issued from the folds of his robe as high as his breast, and bore a 
 cluster of diamonds of the size of an orange. We saluted him in the 
 manner of the country, first carrying our hand to the forehead, and 
 then to the heart. He returned us our salutation with grace and a 
 smile, and made us a sign to come near and seat ourselves beside 
 him on the divan. An interpreter was on his knees between him 
 and us. I commenced the conversation by expressing to him the 
 pleasure which I experienced in visiting the interesting and beautiful 
 country which he governed with so much firmness and wisdom ; and 
 I told him, amongst other things, that the highest eulogy I could 
 pass on his administration was to find myself there ; that the secu- 
 rity of the roads, the richness of the cultivation, the order and peace 
 reigning in the towns, were undoubted testimonies of the virtue and 
 ability of the ruler. He thanked me, and put to me a multitude of 
 questions on Europe, and especially on the policy of Europe in the 
 contest between the Turks and Egyptians, which showed the interest 
 with which he regarded that affair, as well as a knowledge and 
 acquaintance with things very uncommon for an Eastern prince. 
 Coffee and long pipes were brought, which were several times 
 renewed, and the conversation continued for nearly an hour. 
 
 I was delighted with the sagacity, the information, and the noble 
 and dignified manners of this old prince, and I arose, after a long 
 conversation, to accompany him to his baths, which he resolved 
 upon showing us himself. These baths consisted of five or six rooms, 
 
 * It must be remembered, in order to avoid confusion, that the word ' divan ' in 
 the East is applied both to a large room and to the sofa which runs round every 
 principal apartment in a house.— Note by Translator. 
 
132 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 paved w ith marble flags, the arched roofs and walls being stuccoed 
 and painted in water colours, with great taste and elegance, by 
 Damascus artists. Jets of hot, tepid, and cold water sprang from 
 the pavement, and spread their varied temperature through the 
 rooms. The last was a vapour bath, where we could not remain a 
 minute. Several handsome white slaves, with only a shawl of raw 
 silk drawn over their limbs, held themselves in readiness in these 
 rooms to exercise their functions as assistants in the bath. The 
 prince proposed to us to take the bath with him ; but we declined 
 the honour, and we left him in the hands of his slaves, preparing 
 to undress him. 
 
 We went from there, under the care of one of his equerries, to 
 visit the courts and stables, where his splendid Arabian stallions 
 were kept fastened. It is only in the stables of Damascus, or in 
 those of the Emir Beschir, that an idea can be had of the Arabian 
 horse. This superb and graceful animal loses his beauty, his gentle- 
 ness, and his picturesque form, when he is transplanted from his 
 native country and familiar habits into our cold climates, and the 
 darkness and solitude of our stables. He must be seen at the door 
 of the tent with the Arabs of the desert, his head between his legs, 
 shaking his long black mane like a moving umbrella, and lashing 
 his sides, polished like brass or silver, with his spreading tail, the 
 end of which is always dyed with henna, a purple colour; he must 
 be seen with his sparkling trappings turned up with gold, and em- 
 broidered with pearls ; his head covered with a net of red or blue 
 silk woven with gold or silver tissue, and the resounding waving 
 points which fall from his forehead over his nostrils, and which dis- 
 play or conceal by turns, at every undulation of his neck, the large, 
 intelligent, fiery, the soft yet proud orbit of his eye. Above all, he 
 must be seen when in a body of two or three hundred, as we saw 
 him; some stretched on the dust of the court, others shackled with 
 rings of iron, and fastened to long cords which reached across the 
 courts; others loose upon the sand, and clearing at a bound the 
 rows of camels which were opposed to their flight : here were some 
 held in the hand by young black slaves, clad in scarlet vests, and 
 their heads resting in a caressing manner upon the shoulders of 
 the boys ; there were some frisking together, free and tetherlcss as 
 colts in a meadow, rearing against each other, or rubbing their fore- 
 heads together, or mutually licking their shining and silvery skins : 
 all looking at us with an unquiet and inquisitive attention, on 
 account of our European costumes, and of our strange tongue, but 
 soon familiarising themselves, and coming gracefully forward to 
 yield their necks to our caresses and the pleasing stroke of our 
 hands. The varied expression and transparency of physiognomy 
 possessed by these horses is not to be believed by those who have 
 not witnessed it. All their thoughts are depicted in their eyes, and 
 in the convulsive movement of their jaws, lips, and nostrils, with as 
 much certainty, force of character, and varied motion, as the im- 
 pressions of the mind on the countenance of a child. "When we drew 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 133 
 
 near them for the first time, they pouted, and gave signs of repug- 
 nance and of curiosity perfectly similar to those which a nervous 
 man would make at the appearance of an unforeseen and disquieting 
 object. Our language especially struck and astonished them ; and 
 the motion of their ears, held erect, thrown back, or pointed for- 
 wards, testified their surprise and alarm. I admired, above the rest, 
 several priceless mares, reserved for the emir exclusively. I made 
 an offer to the equerry through the interpreter as far as 10,000 
 piastres for one of the most beautiful ; but no temptation will in- 
 duce an Arab to part with a mare of pure blood, and this time I 
 could purchase nothing. 
 
 At the close of day we returned to our rooms, and they brought us 
 a supper similar to the dinner. Several officers of the emir came to 
 pay us a visit on his part. M. Bertrand, his first physician, passed 
 the evening with us. We were able to hold a conversation with him, 
 owing to a' little Italian and French which he had preserved from the 
 recollections of his family. He gave us the most interesting details 
 touching the domestic life of the emir of the Druzes. This prince, 
 although seventy-two years of age, having recently lost his first wife, 
 to whom he was indebted for all his fortune, had just married again. 
 We regretted that we could not see his new wife ; she was, they said, 
 remarkably beautiful. She was only fifteen years old — a Circassian 
 slave, whom the emir sent to buy at Constantinople, and whom he 
 made a Christian before he espoused her ; for the Prince Beschir is 
 himself a Christian, and even a Catholic, or rather he is, as usual in 
 all countries of toleration, of all the official creeds in his country — a 
 Moslem for the Mussulmans, a Druze for the Druzes, a Christian for 
 the Christians. There are both mosques and a church in his palace ; 
 but for several years his family religion, the faith of his heart, is 
 Catholicism. His policy is such, and the terror of his name so well 
 established, that his Christian faith inspires neither distrust nor 
 hatred in the Mohammedan Arabs, in the Druzes or Metualis, 
 who live under his sway. He does justice to all, and all equally 
 respect him. 
 
 In the evening, after supper, the emir sent us some of his musi- 
 cians and singers, who improvised Arabic verses in our honour. He 
 has amongst his servants some Arabs solely devoted to this sort of 
 ceremony. They are exactly what the troubadours were in the 
 castles of the middle ages, or the popular bards in Scotland. Stand- 
 ing behind the cushion of the emir, or of his sons, whilst at their 
 repasts, they sing verses in praise of the masters whom they serve, 
 or of the guests whom the emir wishes to honour. We got M. 
 Bertrand to translate some of these poetic toasts ; they were, in 
 general, very insignificant, or their ideas were so far-fetched, that it 
 would be impossible to put them into ideas or images appropriate to 
 our European tongues. The following is the only thought possessing 
 a little perspicacity which I find noted in my album : — 
 
 ' Your vessel has wings, but the courser of the Arab has wings 
 also. His nostrils, when he flies over the mountains, imitate the 
 
134 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 noise of the wind in the sails of a ship. The motion caused by his 
 rapid gallop to the hearts of the weaK, is like the rolling of the 
 waves ; but it rejoices the heart of the Arab. May his back be for 
 you a seat of honour, and may it often conduct you to the divan of 
 the emir!' 
 
 Amongst the secretaries of the emir there was at that time one of 
 the greatest poets of Arabia. I was ignorant of the circumstance, 
 and knew it only somewhat later. "When he learnt from other 
 Syrian Arabs that I was a poet, he wrote me some verses, always full 
 of that affectation and straining, always spoiled by that play on 
 words, which characterise languages and civilisation weakened bv 
 age, but in which were nevertheless perceptible a high order of talent, 
 and ideas far superior to what we figure to ourselves in Europe. 
 
 We slept upon the cushions of the divan spread upon mats, to the 
 murmuring noise of the water spouting on all sides in the gardens, 
 the courts, and the saloons of this part of the palace. "When it was 
 day, I saw through the grate several Mussulmans at their devotions 
 in the great court of the palace. They stretched a carpet on the 
 ground, to avoid touching the dust ; they stood a moment erect, 
 then inclined their whole bodies, and several times touched the 
 carpet with their foreheads, the face being always turned towards 
 the mosque; they afterwards laid themselves flat down on the 
 carpet, and struck the ground with their foreheads ; they again rose, 
 and recommenced a number of times the same ceremonies, reassum- 
 ing the same attitudes, and murmuring prayers. I never discovered 
 anything in the least ridiculous in these attitudes and ceremonies, 
 however odd they may seem to our ignorance. The physiognomy of 
 the Mussulmans is so penetrated with the religious sentiment, which 
 they express by these gestures, that I have always deeply respected 
 their praying — the motive sanctifies all. "Wherever the divine idea 
 descends and acts in man, it impresses upon him a dignity more than 
 human. "We may say — I do not pray like thee, but I pray with 
 thee to the common master, the master whom thou believest, and 
 whom thou wishest to acknowledge and honour, as I myself wish to 
 acknowledge and honour him under another form. It is not for me 
 to laugh at thee ; it is for God to judge us. 
 
 We passed the morning in visiting the palaces of the emir's sons, 
 which are at a little distance from his ; and also a small Catholic 
 chapel, quite similar to our modern village churches in France or 
 Italy. "We went through the gardens of the palace likewise. The 
 emir has erected another country palace about a mile from Dptedin. 
 It is the sole object of his rides, and the road to it is almost the 
 only one where a horse, even an Arabian, can gallop without danger. 
 On all other sides, the paths which lead to Dptedin are so steep and 
 suspended on the edges of precipices, that one cannot pass, even 
 in a walk, without shuddering. 
 
 Before quitting Dptedin and Deir-el-Kammar, I transcribed the 
 faithful and curious notes which I collected on the spot concerning 
 the able and warlike old man whom we had just seen. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 135 
 
 NOTES UPON THE EMIR BESCHIR. 
 
 Upon the death of the last descendant of the Emir Fakardin, the 
 command of the mountain passed into the hands of the Chab family. 
 This family has only been established on Lebanon for about 110 
 years. This is what the old Arabic chronicles of the desert relate. 
 
 Towards the commencement of the first age of the Hegira, at the 
 era when the armies of Abubeker overran Syria, a man of distin- 
 guished bravery, named Abdallah, an inhabitant of the small village 
 of Bet-Chiabi, in the desert of Damascus, covered himself with glory 
 at the siege of that city, and was slain beneath its walls. The 
 Moslem general showered benefits on his family, who then quitted 
 Bet-Chiabi, to establish themselves at Housbaye, on Anti-Lebanon. 
 The primitive stock of the family, whence issued the branch now 
 reigning on Lebanon, is still to be found there. 
 
 The Emir Beschir, one of Abdallah's descendants, was left an 
 orphan at a tender age. His father, the Emir Hassem, had been in- 
 vested with the pelisse of dignity, and had received the signet-ring 
 of command, at the time his uncle, the Emir Milhem, gave up the 
 administration of affairs, in order to finish his days in a peaceable 
 retreat ; but the government of Hassem was unskilful and weak, and 
 Milhem, being forced to reassume the command, had to repair the 
 faults of his nephew, and appease the troubles his rashness had 
 excited. 
 
 Thus, as Yolney has related, the power afterwards passed in suc- 
 cession from Mansour to Joussef, the one the father, the other the 
 son, of Milhem. When Joussef assumed the command for the first 
 time, the Emir Beschir was only seven years old. Joussef attached 
 him to his person, and caused him to be carefully educated. Some 
 years afterwards, having perceived in him a quick and courageous 
 spirit, he made him enter into the affairs of the government. 
 
 At this period Djezzar, pacha of Acre, who had succeeded Daher, 
 had for a long time annoyed the Emir Joussef by his attacks and 
 exorbitant exactions. War broke out ; but Beschir could not follow 
 his uncle in this expedition : it was not until 1784 that he took part 
 in the second expedition against Djezzar- Pacha. The young Beschir, 
 then twenty-one, ran great danger in the town of Ryde, of which the 
 Druzes had gained possession. Pursued by a body of the pacha's 
 troops, and forced to evacuate the town, he found himself, in his re- 
 treat, hemmed in by the enemy. His situation was critical ; Beschir 
 forced his horse violently up a wall, and precipitated himself from 
 the top of it under a shower of bullets. Happily he was not injured, 
 but his horse was killed in the fall. 
 
 On his return to Lebanon, the Emir Beschir applied himself 
 entirely to business, and attempted to institute order in the adminis- 
 tration of the Emir Joussef. His ambition was soon inflamed ; he 
 recalled to mind whose son he was, and, although poor, he coveted 
 supreme power. His manners and his courage had gained him the 
 friendship of several powerful families ; he laboured to attach others, 
 
136 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 whom the bad administration of Joussef disgusted, and succeeded in 
 drawing into his interest a considerable and very influential family, 
 that of Kantar, the chief of which was the most able man then in 
 Lebanon, possessing great wealth, and bearing the title of Seheik- 
 Beschir ; that is to say, great and illustrious. Opportunity was now 
 all that Beschir required^ and it presented itself. 
 
 From 1785, in which year Djezzar-Pacha had restored to Joussef 
 the command of which he had deprived him for more than twelve 
 months, hostilities had completely ceased between these two princes. 
 The Emir Joussef sent every year certain officers to St Jean d'Acre, 
 who brought him the pelisse, accompanied with the usual compli- 
 ments : he was, however, always apprehensive of a misunderstand- 
 ing between him and the pacha, wliich was not long in occurring. 
 
 In 17S9, a violent rupture broke out between these two ehiefs ; and 
 the Emir Joussef, in no condition for resistance, resolved to abdicate. 
 Beschir possessed credit : Joussef loved him. He called him to him, 
 and advised him to go to Acre, and ask the investiture from Djezzar. 
 Beschir at first refused, and let his uncle understand that he found 
 himself at that time obliged to remove from his states, because the 
 pacha required it, and because his presence in Lebanon would pre- 
 sent an incessant aliment to faction. Joussef, in making the pro- 
 posal to his relation, was urged by two reasons : first, to prevent the 
 power going out of his own family, and to reassume the command, 
 when Beschir had smoothed the difficulties, either by conciliation or 
 force of arms. 
 
 Joussef was urgent; and on the promise which he made of quit- 
 ting the country as soon as Beschir should have received the com- 
 mand, the young prince departed for Acre. Djezzar received him 
 with kindness, granted him the sway over Lebanon, and gave him 
 8000 men to secure his power, and to seize upon the Emir Joussef. 
 Beschir, having arrived at the bridge of Gesser-Cadi, wrote secretly 
 to his uncle, informed him of the instructions he had received from 
 the pacha, and urged him to retire. The Emir Joussef fell back on 
 Gibel in Kosrouan, where he collected his partisans. Beschir joined 
 to his followers the soldiers whom he had brought from Acre, and 
 marched against Joussef, whom he fell in with in Kosrouan. He 
 gave him battle, and destroyed many of his troops ; however, several 
 months elapsed without any definitive result. 
 
 To put an end to the dispute, Joussef sent to Acre a messenger 
 who promised to the pacha a greater tribute than that paid by Beschir 
 if we would restore him to the command. Djezzar consented, called 
 him to Acre, invested him with the pelisse, and gave him, in order to 
 chase Beschir away, the same 8000 soldiers who had fought against 
 him. Beschir retired into the district of Marmeri, whence he 
 laboured to procure the downfall of his rival, by offering yet more 
 than Joussef had promised. The pacha agreed, and Joussef was 
 again compelled to give up the dignity. He returned to Acre, to 
 attempt new intrigues ; but Beschir offered to the pacha 4000 purses 
 (of 500 pieces of 40 cents, or 4d. each) if he would order the death 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 137 
 
 of Joussef, wishing by that means to put an end to the troubles 
 which distracted the mountain. 
 
 Djezzar was then at Damascus. His treasurer, a Greek who pos- 
 sessed his confidence, and who was considered in his absence as the 
 pacha of Acre, treated in his name, and informed his master of the 
 bargain which he had concluded. The proposition at first pleased 
 Djezzar, who ratified the engagement, and ordered the Emir Joussef, 
 and his minister Gandour, to be hanged. 
 
 Scarcely had Djezzar despatched the order, than he repented of 
 having done so ; it occurred to him that the enmity of the two 
 princes was useful to him, and he sent a second order which revoked 
 the first ; but whether it arrived too late, or the minister was won, 
 the Emir Joussef was hanged. This execution irritated the pacha : 
 he returned to Acre, investigated the affair, pretended that he had 
 been deceived, caused his treasurer to be drowned, and with him all 
 his family, besides several other persons accused of having been con- 
 cerned in the business. 
 
 Djezzar confiscated the immense treasures of his favourite, and 
 wrote a letter of reproaches to the Emir Beschir. The tone of this 
 despatch convinced the young prince that he was compromised. He 
 attempted to justify himself w r ith the pacha, who dissembled until 
 the time for the re-election of the governor : then Djezzar invited 
 the prince to come to Acre to receive the investiture. He went 
 without distrust, accompanied by his minister, the Scheik Beschir; 
 but they had no sooner arrived than they were thrown into a dungeon, 
 where they endured all sorts of sufferings during eighteen or twenty 
 months of captivity. The object of Djezzar in treating them thus, 
 was to induce them to pay a rich ransom : but the prince had nothing ; 
 he had governed too short a time to have amassed great wealth. 
 His minister supplied the deficiency. He secretly sent to the pacha 
 the widow of a Druze prince, named Sest-Abbous, with whom he 
 had had intimate relations: he commissioned her to offer to the 
 pacha the required sum, and to pretend that she herself would 
 pledge her own jewels to complete the ransom. She was an adroit 
 and bold woman, with a considerable share of ability. She found the 
 pacha at Acre, and gained him so completely by the charms of her 
 person and understanding, that Djezzar reduced considerably the 
 sum which he at first demanded. The investiture was granted to the 
 Emir Beschir, who obtained the good graces of the pacha. 
 
 During his captivity, the brother of the Emir Joussef, and his 
 cousin the Emir Kaider of Bubda, had seized upon the government, 
 and taken the necessary measures to prevent the Emir Beschir from 
 returning to his dominions, if the pacha should restore him to liberty. 
 As soon as he Avas released from prison, the prince, not judging 
 it prudent to reappear at that time amongst his people, sent his 
 minister, the Scheik Beschir, to sound the public feeling, and in the 
 meantime retired to the village of Homs, to wait the effect of his 
 negotiations. He endeavoured likewise to gain the Emir Abbets, 
 a Druze prince of Soliman, who had hitherto preserved neutrality, 
 
13S 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 and who enjoyed the highest consideration amongst the Druzes and 
 the Christians, especially those of the Marcaeutre district. 
 
 The Emir Abbets, concluding the cause of Beschir just, declared 
 himself in his favour, and invited him to come to him. As the com- 
 munication was difficult, he sent his despatch to him by an Italian, 
 a lay-brother of the convent of Soliman. Beschir suddenly appeared 
 in the midst of his partisans, the number of whom the scheik had 
 augmented by his largesses and tact, fell with impetuosity on the 
 army of his rivals, dispersed it, got possession of the persons of the 
 two princes, and strangled them without ceremony. 
 
 Now peaceable possessor of supreme power, the Emir Beschir 
 married the widow of a Turkish prince, who had been, like himself, 
 of the family of Chab, and whom he had caused to be put to death 
 two years before. This union rendered him master of an immense 
 fortune. Before espousing the princess, who possessed great beauty, 
 he made her be baptised. The marriage was attended with much 
 happiness. When sixty-eight years old, the princess was over- 
 whelmed with infirmities, and by a paralysis which took from her 
 the use of her limbs : they, however, presented an example of the 
 most lively affection, and of the most perfect union. 
 
 The Emir Joussef at his death had left three children very young. 
 Giorgios-Bey, and his brother Abdallah, educated them with great 
 care, in the hope that they would one day collect the party of 
 Joussef, and overthrow Beschir ; but the latter triumphed over all 
 obstacles, and peaceably enjoyed his power until the year 1804. 
 
 Events of the highest importance were passing in Egypt. Bona- 
 parte having entered Syria with a division of his army, arrived 
 before Acre, which was to open to him the gates of the East. The 
 French general despatched pressing letters and emissaries to the 
 prince of Lebanon, to induce him to enter into his views, and to 
 assist him in becoming master of the place. The Emir Beschir 
 answered that he was disposed to unite himself to him, but he would 
 not do so until after Acre was taken. A Frenchman one day re- 
 proached the emir with not having embraced with enthusiasm the 
 cause of the French army, and with having, by his backwardness, 
 perhaps prevented the regeneration of the East. The prince 
 answered him — 'Notwithstanding the strong desire which I had to 
 join General Bonaparte, and in spite of the profound hatred which 
 I had vowed to the pacha, I could not embrace the cause of the 
 French. The fifteen or twenty thousand men whom I might have 
 sent from the mountain could have done nothing towards the 
 success of the siege. If Bonaparte had taken the place without my 
 assistance, he would have carried the mountain without opposition, 
 for the Druzes and the Christians ardently desired his arrival ; I 
 should then have lost my command. On the contrary, if I had aided 
 the General Bonaparte, and we had not conquered the place (which 
 would have been the case), the pacha of Acre would have had me 
 hanged, or thrown into a dungeon. AVho then would have succoured 
 me ? — whose protection should I have implored ? Would it havo 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 139 
 
 been that of France, who was so far off, who had England and all 
 Europe on her hands, and who was herself torn by civil war and 
 intestine factions ? ' 
 
 General Bonaparte understood the position of the Prince Beschir, 
 and, as a proof of his friendship, sent him a superb musket, which 
 Beschir has preserved in memory of the great captain. 
 
 Before resuming the history of the events which followed the ruin 
 of the Emir Joussef's party, it will be appropriate to relate an 
 adventure, which was perhaps instrumental in rendering the Pacha 
 Djezzar so cruel and ferocious. 
 
 During the first years of his command, he went, according to 
 usage, to meet the caravan returning from the pilgrimage of Mecca. 
 (Afterwards the pacha of Damascus was charged with this duty, 
 and he of Acre was held bound only to the furnishing of a propor- 
 tion of the expenses of the caravan, and of the tribute to the Arabs 
 of the Desert.) The Mamelukes, to whom Djezzar had left the 
 guard of his seraglio in his absence, forced open the gates, and aban- 
 doned themselves to all the brutality of lustful passions. The pacha 
 returned, and, far from taking to flight at his approach, the Mame- 
 lukes seized upon the treasure, closed the gates of the town, and 
 decided upon repelling force by force. With the weak escort which 
 accompanied him, Djezzar could not vanquish ; but the Mamelukes 
 sent him word that if he would let them retire with their arms and 
 horses, they would open the gates of the town to him ; if not, that they 
 accepted war, and would sooner die with arms in their hands than 
 surrender. Djezzar was not long in deciding. He knew that he was 
 hated by the Turks as well as by the Christians, on account of his 
 exactions; he was not ignorant, besides, that if the Emir Joussef 
 came to learn his position, he would join with the Mamelukes, and 
 commence a war which might be fatal to him. 
 
 He granted to the Mamelukes what they demanded, and they 
 retired with great despatch, whilst the pacha entered the town. 
 Scarcely was Djezzar in his palace, than he sent out his cavalry 
 to pursue the fugitives ; but without effect : they arrived safe in 
 Egypt. Djezzar then wreaked his vengeance on the women. He 
 caused them all to be scourged, thrown into a great pit, and covered 
 over with quicklime. He excepted from this atrocious punishment 
 his favourite, whom he caused to be decked out in her jewels and 
 finest garments, enclosed in a sack, and cast into the sea. 
 
 This event rendered the character of Djezzar more morose. He 
 was before a miser and a spoiler ; he now became fierce and cruel ; 
 he talked henceforth only of cutting off noses and ears, or tearing 
 out eyes. At the moment of his death, unable any longer to speak 
 or order executions, he made a sign to those surrounding him, 
 pointing to the pillow of his bed. Fortunately he was not under- 
 stood. After his death, a long list of persons whom he designed 
 for death, when he recovered his health, was found. His ferocity 
 accompanied him to the tomb. 
 
 Let us return to the Prince Beschir. As soon as the sons of the 
 
140 
 
 lamarti.ve's 
 
 Emir Joussef were old enough to dispute the possession of power, 
 Giorgios-Bey and Abdallah resolved to put their designs into execu- 
 tion. They took advantage of a moment of disagreement between 
 Djezzar and Beschir, and raised the party of their pupils. The 
 emir, taken unawares, was obliged to retire into the Huran, and 
 to invoke the meditation of the pacha, whose cupidity and avarice 
 he flattered. Djezzar interposed, and dictated a treaty which put an 
 end to the strife between the two parties, but which was extremely 
 favourable to Beschir, to whom he gave the country of the Druzes, 
 whilst the sons of Joussef had to content themselves with the districts 
 of Gibel and Kosrouan. 
 
 This treaty was not observed many years. The sons of Joussef 
 tried all possible means to overthrow their enemy. As they were 
 the strongest, they succeeded, and Djezzar, disregarding the repre- 
 sentations of Beschir, their usurpation was sanctioned. The emir 
 had then no resource but to throw himself into the arms of the 
 viceroy of Egypt. 
 
 The English admiral, Sydney Smith, was at this period with some 
 vessels in the roads of Syria. Beschir intreated him to receive 
 him on board, and transport him to Egypt. After being several 
 months at sea, and touching at Cyprus, Smyrna, Candia, and Malta, 
 he disembarked at Alexandria, where he went to seek the viceroy, 
 followed by some friends who remained faithful to his fortunes. 
 The viceroy gave him a reception of the most flattering discrip- 
 tion, treated him with all the respect due to his station, loaded him 
 with presents, and sent him back to Syria in one of the Admiral 
 Sydney Smith's ships, with a letter for Djezzar full of reproaches 
 and menaces, in the midst of which he ordered him to re-establish 
 the Emir Beschir in his government. 
 
 The Egyptian viceroy was powerful, and Djezzar- Pacha has- 
 tened to obey him ; for the tone of the despatch made him feel 
 that he should neglect nothing to give satisfaction to the Prince 
 Beschir. He therefore enjoined the sons of Joussef, who durst not 
 offer any resistance, to conform to the treaty in every particular; 
 and up till the period of his death, the most profound peace reigned 
 between the two parties. 
 
 The Emir Beschir, however, did not entirely rely on the single 
 protection of Mohamet Ali ; he saw the party of the three princes 
 grow stronger every day, and was apprehensive of falling before 
 some plot, as he knew the ardent thirst for vengeance which in- 
 spirited them against him. The skill of their ministers, Giorgios- 
 Bey and Abdallah, likewise increased his fears. He therefore re- 
 solved to come to a conclusion with them by a decisive blow, capable 
 of striking terror into his enemies. To accomplish his project, he 
 took advantage of the investiture of Soleyman-Paeha, who succeeded 
 Djezzar. At this time everything appeared tranquil in Lebanon ; 
 the three princes governed their provinces in peace, and seemed 
 reconciled to the supremacy which the treaty granted to their 
 enemy, whilst their ministers prepared in secrecy for a new attack. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 141 
 
 Besehir was beforehand with them. Informed of the favourable mo- 
 ment by his emissaries, he sent for Giorgios-Bey to Deir-el-Kammar 
 upon pretext of business ; at the same time his brother, the Emir 
 Hassem, attacked Gibel, seized the princes, and hanged Abdallah. 
 The three brothers were conducted to Yong-Michael, where their eyes 
 were put out. Their property was seized for the benefit of Besehir. 
 Upon hearing of these events, Giorgios-Bey threw himself from a 
 window of his prison, and killed himself, which did not prevent the 
 emir from having him hanged as an example to his enemies. Five 
 chiefs of Deir-el-Kammar, and a brother of the Scheik Besehir, all 
 of the house of Gruimbelad-el-Bescantar, accused of having aided 
 the dethroned princes, were put to death, and their goods con- 
 fiscated. 
 
 Having performed these bloody sacrifices, the Prince Besehir 
 obtained supreme authority over all Lebanon, and he gave the com- 
 mand of Kosrouan, the chief seat of which was Gazyr, to his brother 
 Hassem ; but as he died a short time afterwards, the Emir Besehir 
 was accused of having poisoned him, from entertaining suspicions 
 of ambitious designs on his part. This accusation is without founda- 
 tion, and public opinion has done him justice in discrediting it. 
 
 In 1819, the districts of Gibel-Biscarra, Gibes, and Kosrouan, rose 
 in insurrection, on occasion of a contribution which excited general 
 discontent. The rebels, acting under the advice of the Bishop 
 Joussef, resolved to proceed to attack the Emir Besehir in the 
 country of the Druzes, where he was then residing. The prince, 
 without allowing them time to collect their forces, advanced himself 
 to meet them at the head of a small detachment of his army, after 
 giving orders to his lieutenant-general, the Scheik Besehir, to follow 
 him with 3000 men, whom he had assembled on the spur of the 
 moment. The emir entered the country of Gibes, and pitched his 
 tent in a valley of Agousta, between Djani and the territory of 
 Gazyr. During the night, and on the following morning, he was 
 exposed to a brisk firing from several detachments of the enemy 
 posted on the heights. His tent was riddled with balls ; but resisting 
 all the intreaties of his son Halil, he refused to change his position. 
 When the day was more advanced, the firing of the enemy became 
 hotter, and Besehir thought the rebels had got an increase of force, 
 and were preparing to block up his passage. Then he rose from 
 the carpet on which he had been extended during the firing, got 
 on horseback, and marched direct upon the enemy, accompanied 
 by his trifling escort. At his approach, the insurgents dispersed 
 without offering any resistance, and he arrived at Gibes, where he 
 took energetic steps to prevent them increasing their numbers. 
 
 His lieutenant-general, the Scheik Besehir, who followed him by 
 slow marches, passed the river of Chieu, and took possession of the 
 two first villages of Kosrouan, Yong-Michael, and Yong-Monsbak, 
 which stood on his route. The very day of this occupation, his 
 advanced guard arrested a priest who carried despatches to the 
 Bishop Joussef. The Scheik Besehir, having read these letters, 
 
« 
 
 142 lamartixe's 
 
 presented his kangiar to him who had brought them to him, and 
 ordered him to kill the priest, and bury him in the place where he 
 had been taken. A few hours afterwards, another secret messenger 
 met with the same fate. 
 
 The following day, the Scheik Beschir resumed Ins march, overran, 
 without obstacle, Kosrouan, and strangled all those whom the emir 
 had inscribed on a list which he had sent him. He afterwards 
 advanced to Gibel-Biscarra, where he joined the prince, who met 
 him from Gibes. The Emir Beschir remained nine days in this 
 province, during which he succeeded in stifling the revolt, by 
 hanging and strangling all the rebels of distinction in the three 
 districts of Gibes, Kosrouan, and Gibel-Biscarra. The bastonadc 
 was performed on various others, and afterwards ruinous ransoms 
 exacted from them. 
 
 In the number of these last was a poor old man of seventy-five 
 years of age, condemned to seventy purses, which he was not able 
 to pay. His son wrote to him that he would raise the money by 
 loan if he sanctioned it, but the old man answered that he would 
 pay nothing, adding expressions by no means complimentary to the 
 prince. The letter was intercepted, and the old man handed over 
 for torture. Already oppressed by age, he could not support so 
 many inflictions, and when he was carried to the Scheik Beschir, 
 according to his orders, he died after twenty days of suffering. His 
 son inherited his father's condemnation : the emir seized his goods 
 for his own profit, leaving him only a thousand piastres (<£14) of 
 patrimony. 
 
 The emir mounted the hill to Eden, passed the Cedars, and de- 
 scended the other side of the mountain to Balbek, whilst the Scheik 
 remained in occupation of the rebellious provinces. On arriving 
 at Balbek, the chief ordered his lieutenant-general to return by the 
 same route by which he had come, and to levy on his journey a 
 contribution of 400 purses (of 500 pieces each) from the three 
 districts. That the prince of Lebanon could put down an insur- 
 rection in three such powerful provinces, with a force of only 3000 
 men, would appear miraculous, if we did not recollect that the revolt 
 was partial, and that the party of Beschir in the provinces them- 
 selves facilitated his triumph. 
 
 The pacha of Damascus had in this interval sent an aga to Bkaa, 
 for the purpose of taxing, according to custom, the produce of the 
 lands dependent on his pachalik. This officer advanced to the 
 village of Haunie, belonging to the principality of Lebanon, and 
 there raised contributions in cattle and money. The inhabitants 
 not being inclined to submit, apprised Prince Beschir, who wrote to 
 the aga testifying his displeasure ; but the latter paid no attention 
 to his remonstrances, and after levying very heavy exactions, he 
 returned to Damascus. The emir, greatly irritated, gave advice to 
 the pacha of Acre, and expressed his resentment in a very forcible 
 strain. Abdallah, cither from regard for Beschir, or from personal 
 hatred for the aga, demanded from the pacha of Damascus his 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 143 
 
 severe punishment. The latter returned an evasive answer, indi- 
 cating his surprise that the pacha of Acre should interest himself 
 in an affair concerning the Christians. Abdallah sent his letter 
 to Beschir, with instructions to take vengeance on the pacha of 
 Damascus. The Prince of Lebanon assembled in haste 10,000 men, 
 and advanced towards Damascus. The pacha came forth to meet 
 him, and the two armies had several conflicts, the superiority in 
 which was always on the side of Beschir. 
 
 During these events, Abdallah gave proclamation to a forged 
 firman, which declared the pacha of Damascus deprived of his pa- 
 chalik, and uniting it to that of Acre. But the pacha of Damascus, 
 applying to the neighbouring pachas, and to the court of Constanti- 
 nople, obtained from the Porte a true firman, condemning the pacha 
 of Acre to death, and dethroning the Emir Beschir from his govern- 
 ment. This prince was already at the gates of Damascus when the 
 firman arrived. He then perceived the one promulgated by Abdallah 
 was spurious, and he judged it prudent to retire into the province of 
 Deir-el-Kammar, where, learning that the same fate as Abdallah's 
 was reserved for himself, he fled to the environs of Beirout, and 
 solicited the governor to receive him with his escort. This officer 
 refused, alleging that the presence of the emir in the town would 
 excite sedition. The prince then sent to apprise his brother, the 
 Emir Abbets, whom he had left in command of the mountain, that 
 he would return to his territories, and try the fortune of arms 
 against the pachas sent by the Sublime Porte; but his brother 
 answered him that the mountain was void both of provisions and 
 money, and he advised him therefore very strongly not to attempt 
 so perilous a project. In this sad state of affairs the prince again 
 turned his eyes towards Egypt, and addressed himself to a Frank, 
 begging him to assist him in his departure from Syria. M. Aubin 
 procured his safe embarkation on board of a French ship lying 
 between Beirout and Saiide, which then set sail for Alexandria. 
 After his departure, the Scheik Beschir and the Emir Abbets 
 joined themselves to the coalition of pachas, and intrigued for the 
 command of the mountain. This was the source of the divisions- 
 which distracted Lebanon in 1823. 
 
 The combined troops began the siege of Acre in July 1822, and 
 continued it until April 1823, when it was raised. Then the young 
 pacha of Acre, who was very avaricious, conceived a means of 
 getting rid of the tribute which he owed to the Porte. "With this 
 design he caused the officers who carried the tribute to be assassi- 
 nated near Latakia, and obtained from the murderers the restoration 
 of the money. He then complained to the Porte of the murder com- 
 mitted on his agents, and of the robbery of a rent belonging to the 
 Grand-Seigneur. The pacha, by this detestable conduct, indulged two- 
 expectations — first, of exempting himself from tribute ; and secondly, 
 of compromising the pacha of Latakia, to whom he expected the 
 bow-string would be forwarded, whilst his pachalik would be 
 re-united to that of Acre ; but Abdallah was deceived in his hopes. 
 
144 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 The sultan, apprised of the pacha's perfidy, a second time de- 
 manded his head. But what availed against Acre the pachas of 
 Damascus, Aleppo, and Adama, with an army of 12,000 men, ill 
 disciplined, without artillery capable of effecting a breach, pos- 
 sessing only some pieces of ordnance, of such large calibre, that the 
 balls were quite unfit for them, having 3000 or 4000 horsemen with- 
 out baggage, and an infantry which consumed both day and night 
 in smoking tobacco beneath the tents? Thus Abdallah Pacha, being 
 master of the strongest fortress in the East, prepared without fear 
 for a vigorous defence. 
 
 An English corvette lying at anchor in the road offered an officer 
 from its crew to direct the artillery of the besiegers. The pachas 
 accepted the offer, and put the cannons under his order. But at the 
 end of three days, he saw that he would never carry the place with 
 the Turks, who would not approach the walls with the artillery, 
 which was the only means of breaching the fortifications. 
 
 Abdallah was perfectly at ease, in spite of the army of the pachas. 
 He had nothing to fear on the land side from troops so ill organized, 
 and by way of showing his contempt for them, he replied to their 
 cannon-balls by musket-shots. He had good soldiers well paid; 
 provisions and munitions of war arrived for him in abundance by 
 sea both from Europe and Asia. He was even suspected of holding 
 an intercourse with the Greeks of the Morea. 
 
 The Emir Beschir, who was now under the protection of the 
 viceroy of Egypt, maintained a regular correspondence with Abdal- 
 lah, who, under the mediation of Mohamet Ali, solicited peace and 
 pardon from the Porte. If the pacha had nothing to fear from the 
 land, he was afraid that the Divan of Constantinople would procure 
 the blockade of the town by sea, and intercept his communications 
 with strangers, which would soon reduce his people to famine, incite 
 his soldiers to mutiny, and compel him to stretch out his own neck 
 to the bow-string of the Sublime Porte. The Divan pardoned him, 
 knowing that Abdallah could deliver the place to the insurgents of 
 the Morea; but it condemned him to a fine of 3000 purses, and the 
 expenses of the war. 
 
 The viceroy, having obtained the pardon of Abdallah Tacha, de- 
 manded and secured that also of the Emir Beschir, who resumed his 
 command. He took advantage of this crisis to make his influence 
 at the Divan be felt, and to obtain a sway over the Prince of Leba- 
 non, whose political interests are at this moment united with those 
 of Mohamet Ali. 
 
 At the end of the year 1823, the Emir Beschir landed at Acre, to 
 regulate with Abdallah the expenses of the siege, and to fix the sum 
 at which his part of the debt should be estimated. On his return to 
 Lebanon, he levied a contribution of a thousand purses, for he was by 
 no means in an easy position after his exile and the expenses of his 
 sojourn in Egypt. His people also were very poor ; and feeling in- 
 disposed to excite their antipathy against him by so severe an exac- 
 tion, he resolved to make it be borne by his former lieutenant- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 145 
 
 general, the Scheik Beschir, wishing thus to revenge himself for the 
 intrigues which he had had with his brother Abbets, to deprive him 
 of the command of the mountain. The Scheik Beschir refused to 
 pay the sum, and retired to Karan, a province of Lebanon. He 
 afterwards returned to his palace of Moctura, where he negotiated 
 with Prince Abbets for the overthrow of Beschir. He even drew 
 into the conspiracy three young brothers of the prince, who till then 
 had lived tranquilly in their retreats. This conspiracy must have 
 been fatal to the emir without the aid of Abdallah Pacha. 
 
 The Scheik Beschir was pursued, and arrested in the plains of 
 Damascus with an escort of 200 persons. He might easily have 
 saved himself ; but upon the assurance given him by a Turkish 
 olficer, in the name of the pacha of Damascus, that the Prince of 
 Lebanon pardoned him, he yielded himself up, and was conducted 
 to Damascus. There he was sti'ipped of his garments, his hands 
 bound, the one upon his breast, the other behind his back, and cast 
 into a dungeon, where he remained several months. A process 
 was instituted against him at Constantinople, and he was condemned 
 to death. When the bow-string was presented to him, he appeared 
 unmoved, and only asked to speak with the pacha and the emir. 
 He was answered that it was useless, that neither the one nor the 
 other could do anything, as the sentence emanated from Constan- 
 tinople. Then the Scheik Beschir submitted to his destiny. He was 
 strangled, then beheaded, and his body, cut into pieces, was thrown 
 to the dogs. This execution took place in the beginning of 1824. 
 The three brothers of the prince were afterwards arrested ; their 
 tongues and eyes were torn out, and they were sent into exile with 
 their families, each into a village at remote distances. After that, 
 tranquillity reigned in Lebanon ; the family of Chab enjoyed power 
 in peace ; thanks to the active police which the emir maintained in 
 his government, and to the friendship of Abdallah Pacha, who was 
 not, however, ignorant of the intimate connection which existed 
 between him and Mohamet Ali. 
 
 Such is the policy which the Emir Beschir has followed up to this 
 day, and everything announces that he will pursue it with success 
 in the new crisis which the attack of Mohamet Ali upon the Otto- 
 man Empire has produced. The emir took no part in the war until 
 Ibrahim Pacha, having taken Acre, and sent Abdallah Pacha a 
 prisoner to his father in Egypt, entered Syria. It was then neces- 
 sary to declare himself; and according to the practice of Orientals, 
 he perceived the hand of God in victory, and ranged himself on the 
 side of success. However, he has done so as if with regret, and 
 alleging to the Porte the pretext of constraint. It is probable that 
 if Ibrahim Pacha sustained any reverse, the Emir Beschir would 
 turn to the side of the Turks, and aid them in crushing the Arabs. 
 Ibrahim, who is doubtful of this two-edged policy, compromises the 
 prince as much as he can. He has forced him to give him one of 
 his sons, and some of his best horsemen, to accompany him on the 
 side of Horns; and his other sons, having come down from the 
 
 VOL. i. j 
 
146 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 mountain, hold military government, in the name of the Egyptians, 
 over the principal towns of Syria. 
 
 The head of the Emir Beschir depends on the success of Ibrahim 
 at Horns. If he should be conquered, the re-action of the Turks 
 against the Christians of Lebanon, and against the prince himself, 
 will be implacable. On the other side, if Ibrahim continues master 
 of Syria, he will not be long in viewing with umbrage a power inde- 
 pendent of his own, and he will endeavour to overcome it by political 
 intrigue, or destroy it for ever by eradicating the family of Chab. 
 If the Emir Beschir were younger, and more active, he might resist 
 both attempts, and establish for a long time — perhaps for ever — his 
 dominion, and that of his descendants, over the most inaccessible, 
 the best-peopled, and the richest part of Syria. The mountaineers 
 whom he commands are brave, intelligent, and well disciplined ; the 
 roads leading to the centre of Lebanon are impracticable; the 
 Maronites, who are becoming very numerous on Lebanon, would be 
 devoted to the emir by the common sentiment of Christianity, and by 
 hatred and terror for Turkish dominion. The only obstacle to the 
 creation of a new power in these countries is the difference of re- 
 ligion between the Maronites, Druzes, and Metualis, who people, 
 with almost equal numbers, the territories subject to the authority 
 of the emir. The strongest tie of nationality is community of reli- 
 gious creeds, or at least it has hitherto been found so. Civilisa- 
 tion in its advance reduces religious feeling to an individualism, and 
 other common interests form a nationality ; these interests, being 
 less grave than the cause of religion, national feelings become feeble ; 
 for what so strong as an incentive to man, as religious belief, his 
 creed, his inward faith! It is the voice of intelligence, it is the 
 thought in which he includes all others — manners, laws, country, 
 everything is comprised in religion. It is this which, in my opinion, 
 will render it so difficult to institute a single great nation in the 
 East ; it is this which makes the Turkish Empire totter. You per- 
 ceive no signs of an existence in common, or symptoms of a possible 
 nationality, except in those parts of the empire where tribes of the 
 same faith are congregated ; it is visible amongst the Asiatic Greek 
 race, amongst the Armenians, the Bulgarians, the Servians ; every- 
 where besides you see men, but not nations. 
 
 October 3. — This day I descended the lower grades of Lebanon, 
 which inclined from Deir-el-Kammar towards the Mediterranean, 
 and I have come to sleep in a solitary khan in the mountains. At 
 five o'clock in the evening we mounted our horses in the court of 
 the emir's palace. Upon leaving the gate of the palace, we began 
 to descend by a road cut in the rock, which wound round the 
 peak of Dptedin. On our right and left the plots of soil sus- 
 tained by the artificial terraces were planted with mulberry-trees, 
 and carefully cultivated. The shade of trees and of vines every- 
 where covers the ground ; and numerous rivulets, turned by the 
 Arab husbandman, come from the mountain-heights divided into 
 canals, and irrigate the roots of the trees and the gardens. Tho 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 147 
 
 gigantic shadow of the palace and terraces of Dptedin reaches over 
 the whole of this scene, and follows you to the foot of the peak, 
 where you recommence to ascend another mountain, which bears 
 upon its summit the town of De'ir-el-Kammar. In a quarter of an 
 hour we arrived there. De'ir-el-Kammar is the capital of the Emir 
 Beschir and the Druzes ; it contains a population of ten or twelve 
 thousand souls. But, except an ancient edifice, adorned with Moorish 
 sculpture and high balconies, exactly resembling the ruins of one 
 of our castles of the middle ages, Deir-el-Kammar possesses no 
 feature of a town, still less of a capital ; it is very similar to a little 
 town of Savoy or Auvergne, or to a large village in a distant pro- 
 vince of France. The sun was just rising when we went through it ; 
 troops of mares and camels issued from the courts of the houses, and 
 spread themselves over the unpaved quarters and streets of the 
 town. On a wide open square, some black tents of a vagabond race 
 (zingari) were erected ; men, women, and children, half-naked, or 
 enveloped in the immense blankets of white wool which is their only 
 garment, were huddled round a fire, combing their hair, or searching 
 after the vermin which were feeding on them. Some Arabs, in the 
 service of the emir, passed on horseback in their magnificent cos- 
 tumes, with superb arms stuck in their belts, and holding a lance 
 twelve or fifteen feet long in their hands. Some were bringing to 
 the emir news from Ibrahim's army ; others were descending 
 towards the coast to deliver the orders of the prince to the detach- 
 ments commanded by his sons lying encamped on the plain. No- 
 thing is more imposing and rich than the costume and equipments 
 of these Druze warriors. Their immense turban, composed of 
 shawls of brilliant colours, wound in graceful folds, casts over their 
 swarthy visage and black eyes a shade which adds to the command- 
 ing and savage energy of their physiognomies. Long moustachios 
 cover their lips, and fall over both sides of the mouth. A species of 
 short tunic of a red colour is invariably worn by all the Druzes and 
 mountaineers ; this tunic is wove, according to the importance and 
 wealth of the wearer, of cotton and gold, or only of cotton and silk, 
 into elegant designs, in which the variety of colours contrasts with 
 the gold or silver tissue sparkling on his breast and back. Immense 
 trousers, in numberless plaits, cover the limbs ; the feet are covered 
 with short boots of red morocco, and with slippers of yellow morocco 
 above the boots ; furred jackets with hanging sleeves are thrown 
 over the shoulders. A belt of silk or morocco leather, similar to 
 that of the Albanians, encircles the waist in numerous folds, and 
 serves the horseman to carry his arms. The handles of two or three 
 kangiars, or yatagans — poniards and short sabres in use amongst the 
 Orientals — are always seen sticking out of the belt, and shining on 
 the breast ; generally the stocks of two or three pistols, incrusted 
 with gold or silver, complete this portable arsenal. All the Arabs 
 have, besides, a lance, the shaft of which is thin, supple, and hard, 
 like a long reed. This lance, which is their principal weapon, is 
 decorated with waving tufts and strings of silk ; they generally hold 
 
148 
 
 lamabthce's 
 
 it in their right hand, the iron towards the sky, and the handle 
 almost touching the ground; but when they urge their horses to the 
 gallop, they brandish it horizontally above their heads, and in their 
 military sports they throw it to an enormous distance, and pick it 
 up, bending their bodies to the earth. Before tin-owing the lance, 
 they give it an oscillating movement for some time, which adds con- 
 siderably to the force of the cast, and enables them the more sureiy 
 to hit the mark they design. "We met a great number of these 
 cavaliers in the course of the day. The Emir Beschir had himself 
 given us some of them to serve as guides, and as a mark of honour. 
 They ail saluted us with extreme politeness, and drew up their 
 horses to permit us to pass along the road. 
 
 About two miles from De'ir-el-ivammar there is one of the most 
 beautiful views of Lebanon that can be imagined. On one side its 
 deep gorges, into which we were about to descend, open all at once 
 beneath your feet. On the ether, the castle of Dptedin rises like a 
 pyramid on the summit of its hill, clothed in verdure, and furrowed 
 by foaming torrents ; and before you are the mountains gradually 
 sinking to the sea, some all black, others struck with the rays of 
 light, and rolling like a cataract of hills, until they are lost in the 
 green ridges of the olive woods in the plains of Sidon, or in the 
 sandy beaches, red as brick, which border the coasts of Bcirout. 
 Here and there the variegated colouring of the mountain sides, and 
 the waving lines of the immense horizon described by their descent, 
 are intercepted and cut off by the groups of ciders, firs, or pines, 
 with broad tops ; and numerous villages glitter at their bases, or on 
 their summits. The sea bounds this landscape: one follows with 
 the eye, as upon an enormous chart or a raised plan, the hollows, 
 the projections, and the undulations of the coasts, the capes, the pro- 
 montories, and the gulfs of its shore, from Mount Carmel to Cape 
 Batroun, a stretch of fifty leagues. The air is so pure, that one 
 imagines points can be reached in a few hours' descent, which re- 
 quire three or four days' march to arrive at. At this distance, the 
 sea is so confounded at the first glance with the firmament, which 
 closes on it at the horizon, that one cannot distinguish the two ele- 
 ments, and the land appears to float, as it were, in a boundless and 
 double ocean. It is only after fixing with more attention the eyes 
 upon the sea, and observing the little white sails shining on its blue 
 expanse, that we can tell exactly what we see. A light mist, more 
 or less gilded, floats at the edge of the horizon, and divides the 
 water and the sky. At intervals, fleecy clouds, roused from the sides 
 of the mountains by the morning breezes, were detaehed like the 
 white feathers which a bird scatters in the wind, and were borne 
 over the sea, where they evaporated in the rays of the sun, just 
 commencing to scorch. 
 
 We epiitted with regret this magnificent scene, and we began our 
 descent by a path more perilous than any I have ever seen in the 
 Alps. The declivity was perpendieular, the road was not two feet 
 broad, bottomless precipices yawned on one side, Avails of rock rose 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 149 
 
 on the other. The path was formed of loose stones, or of pieces of 
 rock, so polished by water and the iron shoes of horses and the 
 tread of camels, that these animals are obliged to seek with care a 
 place to plant their feet : as they always fix them in the same spots, 
 they have at last dug cavities in the stone, into which their hoofs 
 sink some inches deep, and it is entirely owing to these holes that 
 any points of resistance are afforded to the horses' shoes, so as to 
 enable the animal to keep himself from sliding forwards. From 
 time to time we found also steps cut in the rock two feet high, or 
 round blocks of granite which it was impossible to clear, so that it is 
 necessary to wind into the interstices, scarcely so wide as the limbs 
 of the animals Ave bestrode. Such are almost all the roads in this 
 part of Lebanon. At times the sides of the mountains swerved or 
 grew into a plain, and we marched more at our ease on beds of 
 yellow sand, of a sort of freestone, or of vegetable earth. One can- 
 not conceive how such a country is filled with so many beautiful 
 horses, and how they get accustomed to it. No Arab, however 
 inaccessible his village or his dwelling, ever leaves home but on 
 horseback, and we saw them descending or mounting, in perfect 
 carelessness, with the pipe in their mouths, such declivities as our 
 mountain goats would find it difficult to scale. 
 
 After an hour and a-half s continual descent, we came in sight of 
 the bottom of the gorge which we had to traverse and follow. A 
 river murmured in its depths, still veiled from us by the mist of its 
 waters, and by the branches of walnut, carob, plane, and Persian 
 poplar trees, growing on the lowest banks of the ravine. Limpid 
 fountains issued to our right from the grottos of rock, hung with a 
 thousand unknown creeping plants, or gushed from beds of green 
 sward, sprinkled with the flowers of autumn. In a short time we 
 spied a house amongst the trees on the edge of the stream, and we 
 passed at a ford this river or torrent. There we stopped to rest our 
 hoi'ses, and to enjoy for a moment one of the most extraordinary 
 scenes which we had met in our journey. 
 
 The gorge to which we had descended was quite overflowed by 
 the waters of the torrent, which foamed round the masses of rock 
 fallen into its bed. Here and there islets of vegetable soil gave 
 root to gigantic poplars, which rose to a prodigious height, and 
 cast their long tapering shadows on the banks of the mountain 
 where we were seated. The torrent on our left tumbled headlong 
 between two walls of granite, Avhich it seemed to have cleaved to 
 form a gulf for itself ; these walls rose to a height of four or five 
 hundred feet, and nearly joining at their summits, appeared an 
 immense arcade, which in time would crumble on itself. The tops 
 of Italian pines hung like clusters of wall-flowers over the ruins of 
 ancient walls, and stood out in sombre green upon the vivid blue of 
 the sky. On our right, the gorge winded for a quarter of a mile 
 between the retreating and more sloping banks ; the waters of the 
 river stretched in freedom, washing a multitude of small isles or 
 verdant promontories : all these isles and tongues of land were 
 
150 
 
 lamarttxf.'s 
 
 decked in the richest and most graceful vegetation. It was the first 
 time I had met the poplar since on the banks of the Rhone and the 
 Saone. It cast its wan and restless shade over the whole of this 
 watery valley ; but as it is not lopped or planted by the hand of man, 
 it grows in groups, and extends its unrestrained branches with much 
 more majesty, diversity of form and grace, than in our countries. 
 Between these groups of trees and multitudes of rushes and high 
 reeds, growing also on the islands, we saw the broken arches of an 
 old bridge, built by the ancient emirs of Lebanon, and fallen in the 
 lapse of ages. Beyond the ruined arches of the bridge the gorge 
 widened into an immense landscape of valleys, plains, and elevated 
 spots, studded with villages inhabited by the Druzes, and all was 
 surrounded, like an amphitheatre, by a circular chain of high moun- 
 tains. The elevations were almost all covered with green, and plan- 
 tations of pine. The villages, suspended above each other, seemed 
 to the eye as if they touched ; but when we reached some of them, 
 we found that the distance between them was considerable, both 
 from the difficulty of the paths, and the necessity of descending and 
 remounting the deep ravines which separated them. Some of these 
 villages are so situated, that it is quite easy to hear the voice of a 
 man speaking in another village, yet it requires an hour to go from 
 one to another. What increased the effect of this beautiful landscape, 
 were two large monasteries, planted like fortresses on the top of two 
 hills behind the river, which seemed like huge blocks of granite 
 blackened by age. The one is inhabited by Maronites, who devote 
 themselves to the instruction of young Arabs destined to the priest- 
 hood. The other is deserted ; it formerly belonged to a congregation 
 of Lazarites of Lebanon ; and it now serves as an asylum and refuge 
 to two young Jesuits sent there by their order, at the request of the 
 Maronite bishop, to furnish rules and models to the Arab instructors. 
 They live there in complete solitude, in an exemplary poverty and 
 sanctity (I knew them afterwards). One of them learns Arabic, 
 and uselessly labours for the conversion of the Druzes in the neigh- 
 bouring villages : he is a man of great intelligence and information. 
 The other is occupied with medicine, and traverses the country dis- 
 tributing medicines gratuitously. Both are much loved and respected 
 by the Druzes, and even by the Metualis. But they can expect no 
 result from their residence in Syria. The Maronite clergy are 
 greatly attached to the Roman church ; yet tins clergy have their 
 own traditions and their independent discipline, which they will not 
 allow to be borne down by the manoeuvres of the Jesuits. They 
 possess the real spiritual authority in the whole of Lebanon ; they 
 would very quickly have rivals in the active and indefatigable cor- 
 porations of Europe, and this rivalship they very naturally look 
 upon with alarm. 
 
 After having rested half an hour in this enchanting spot, we got 
 again on horseback, and commenced chmbing the steep ascent 
 which was before us. The road became more and more difficult 
 as we scaled the last chain of Lebanon, separating us from the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 151 
 
 coasts of Syria. But in proportion as we mounted, the aspect of 
 the immense hollow, which we left on our right, became more 
 imposing from its vastness. 
 
 The river which we had quitted meandered in the midst of a plain 
 slightly undulated with hills, and sometimes expanded into pools of 
 water as blue and glittering as the lakes of Switzerland. The black 
 hills, crowned at their summits with clusters of pines, interrupted its 
 course at every moment, and divided it, to appearance, into a thou- 
 sand luminous streaks. Step by step the hills leaving the plain rose 
 cumulating and supporting each other, all redolent with flowering 
 heaths, and bearing here and there at intervals trees with widely- 
 spreading tops, which threw a gloom on detached spots. Woods of 
 cedars and pines stretched from the more lofty elevations, dying 
 away in solitary groups and glades as they came around the nume- 
 rous Druze villages, the terraces, balconies, and latticed windows of 
 which we saw rising from out the greenness of the pines. The 
 inhabitants, clad in their beautiful scarlet mantles, and their fore- 
 heads bound by red turbans in wide folds, stood on their terraces to 
 see us pass, and added, by the brilliancy of their costume, and the 
 gracefulness of their attitudes, to the imposing, novel, and picturesque 
 effect of the prospect. At the entry, and at the termination of each 
 of these villages, handsome Turkish fountains were playing. The 
 women and young girls, who came to get water in their long and 
 narrow jugs, were grouped around the basins, and lifted up a corner 
 of their veils to get a look at us. The population appeared to us 
 superb : men, women, and children, all had the aspect of vigour 
 and of health. The women are very handsome ; their features in 
 general bear a haughty and elevated expression, without a shade 
 of ferocity. 
 
 We were saluted on all sides with an agreeable politeness, and 
 the hospitality of the dwellings was offered us by all. We declined 
 their kindness, however, and continued ascending for about three 
 hours precipitous paths, winding in the pine woods. We reached at 
 length the concluding crest, white and naked, of the mountains, and 
 the vast horizon of the Syrian coast stretched before us at a single 
 glance. It presented a prospect widely different from that which 
 we had had under our eyes for some days : it was like the view of 
 Naples seen from the top of Vesuvius or from the heights of Cas- 
 tellamare. The immense expanse of ocean was at our feet, without 
 limits, or only with some clouds heaped at the extremity of its waters. 
 Beneath these clouds we might have believed we perceived land — 
 the land of Cyprus, which is thirty leagues at sea ; Mount Carmel on 
 the left ; and on the right, until all sight was lost, the interminable 
 chain of the shores of Beirout, Tripolis, Syria, Latakia, and Alexan- 
 dretta : and in fine, confusedly, and under the gilded mists of evening, 
 the glittering peaks of the mountains of Taurus ; but this must have 
 been an illusion, for the distance is enormous. Immediately from 
 under our feet the mountain began to sink ; first down the rocks, 
 and the dry heaths of the summit, on which we stood ; then the 
 
152 
 
 LAMARTINI/S 
 
 descent becoming less rapid, it stretched out from hill to hill, first 
 over gray rocky eminences, afterwards over the dark-green tops of 
 pines, carobs, and holly oaks; then in more gentle declivities over 
 the lighter and youthful green of planes and sycamores ; finally 
 appeared the brown hills, in the velvet foliage of the olive woods. 
 All at last fell away, and was lost in the narrow plain which sepa- 
 rates Lebanon from the sea. There, upon slips of land, we saw 
 ancient Moorish towers, guarding the shore, and in the bottom of 
 the gulfs, towns or large villages, with their walls glittering in the 
 sun, and their little coves hollowed in the sands, whilst their barks 
 were pulled dry on shore, or, with sails set, were leaving or entering 
 the havens. Sa'ide, and Beh'out especially, surrounded by rich plains 
 of olives, of citrons, and of mulberries, with the minarets and domes 
 of their mosques, their castles and battlements, stood out from this 
 expanse of tints and outlines, and drew the observation to the two 
 promontories jutting into the waves. Beyond the plain of Beirout, 
 the great Lebanon, broken by the course of the river, began again 
 to rise, first yellow, and gilded like the columns of Piestum, then 
 gray, sombre, and gloomy ; afterwards green and sable in the region 
 of the forests; and lastly, presenting its peaks of snow, which seemed 
 confounded in the transparency of the heavens, and where the 
 white rays of day slept in an eternal serenity upon a coueh of per- 
 petual snow. Naples or Sorrento, Borne or Albano, has no such 
 landscape. 
 
 After having pursued our descent for nearly two hours, we found 
 a khan, isolated under magnificent palm-trees, on the borders of a 
 fountain. It is proper to describe, once for all, what they call a khan 
 in Syria, and generally in all the countries of the East. It is a cabin 
 built of stone, with its walls badly joined, without cement, and giving 
 free ingress to both wind and rain. The stones are generally 
 blackened with the smoke of the hearth, which is perpetually steal- 
 ing through the numerous crevices. The walls are scarcely seven 
 or eight feet high ; they are covered with pieces of rough wood, with 
 the bark and branches of trees ; the whole is surmounted with dried 
 fagots, which serve for a roof. The interior is not paved, and 
 according to the season, it is a bed either of dust or of mud. One 
 or two stakes serve as support to the leafy roof, and the traveiler 
 hangs there his mantle or his arms. In a corner is a small hearth 
 raised on unhewn stones ; upon this hearth a perpetual fire burns, 
 and there are one or two brass coffee-pots always full of thick and 
 mealy coffee, the habitual refreshment and solitary want of the 
 Turks and Arabs. There arc ordinarily two rooms such as I have 
 described. One or two Arabs are authorised, upon payment of a 
 rent to the pacha, to perform the honours of hospitality, and to sell 
 coffee and cakes of barley-flour to the caravans. When the travel- 
 ler arrives at the door of one of these khans, he descends from his 
 camel or his horse, and detaches the straw mat or Damascus carpet, 
 which has to serve as his bed ; it is stretched in a corner of the 
 smoky chamber. He then seats himself, asks for coffee, lights his 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 153 
 
 pipe or his hookah, and he waits until his slaves have collected a 
 little dry wood to prepare his repast. His meal consists generally 
 of two or three cakes, half-baked on a heated flint, and of some 
 pieces of hashed mutton, which is stewed in a brass kettle, with 
 rice. Most frequently there is neither mutton nor rice to be bought 
 in the khan, and he contents himself with the cakes, and excellent 
 fresh water, which is never wanting in the vicinity of the khans. 
 The domestics, slaves, and moukres (conductors of camels), with the 
 horses, remain in the open air round the khan. There is usually 
 some well-known centenarian tree in the neighbourhood, which 
 serves as a distant beacon to the caravan; it is oftenest an immense 
 fig sycamore, a tree which I have never seen in Europe. It is as 
 high as the largest oaks, and attains a greater age than they; its 
 trunk is sometimes thirty or forty feet in circumference, often much 
 more ; its branches, which commence to shoot out fifteen or twenty 
 feet from the ground, extend horizontally, at first with an immense 
 sweep, but they rise in less enlarged cones, and at a distance give an 
 idea of the form of our beeches. The shade of these trees, which Pro- 
 vidence seems to have thrown here and there like a welcoming cloud 
 over the burning sand of the desert, stretches to a great distance 
 from the trunk ; and it is not uncommon to see sixty camels or 
 horses, and as many Arabs, encamped beneath the shelter of one of 
 these trees during the heat of the day. But here, as everywhere, we 
 discover with regret the carelessness of the Orientals, and of their 
 government. These trees, which should be preserved with care, as 
 hotels provided by nature for the necessities of caravans, are aban- 
 doned to the stupid indifference of those whom they shelter; the 
 Arabs light their fires at the foot of the sycamore, and the greatest 
 number of these beautiful trees have their trunks all blackened and 
 hollowed by the flame from these fires. Our small caravan estab- 
 lished itself beneath one of these majestic sycamores, and we passed 
 the night enveloped in our mantles, and stretched on a straw-mat, 
 in a corner of the khan. 
 
 October 4.— This morning we left the khan ; and after some hours' 
 ride over the rapid sweeps of Lebanon, we arrived at the beautiful 
 villages midway to the coast. There all the asperity of the moun- 
 tain disappears, and we marched for two hours in the midst of 
 rising ground, more pleasing and better cultivated than can be ima- 
 gined. It resembled Tuscany. Walls of support everywhere sus- 
 tain the terraces of soil, where the trees are entwined with vines, 
 casting a shade over the crops of all kinds, without preventing them 
 from flourishing. Villages, where everything announces order, 
 peace, industry, and wealth, are thickly scattered on the hills ; the 
 houses, or rather the castles, of the scheiks command them, as our 
 Gothic castles formerly frowned over our small towns. Immense 
 convents of Maronite monks occupy the tops of the eminences, like 
 fortresses. The monks are seen issuing out, proceeding with the 
 plough to the fields, or collecting the leaves of the mulberries. The 
 Arabs, without distinction of sex, are peaceably at work in the 
 
154 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 enclosures, and look at us as we pass, with a smile at our European 
 costumes. The scheik and his principal servants are generally seated 
 on a carpet at the door of his castle, or beneath a great sycamore in 
 the middle of the road ; he smokes his pipe, and gives us a salute by 
 pressing his hand to his heart, and saying to us, 1 Sola d kaer ' — 
 'May the day be fortunate for you, travellers !' 
 
 At length we reached the plain, which we traverse under an arch 
 of verdure formed by long reeds, palms, figs, vines, and mulberries. 
 From time to time a solitary house of an Arab, or Graeco-Syrian 
 cultivator, appears in this forest of foliage ; the children play with 
 the broad-tailed Syrian sheep upon the thresholds of the doors; 
 beautiful young girls, with their faces uncovered, bear water-pitchers 
 on their heads ; and the father and mother work, at the foot of the 
 mulberries, on those beautiful silk stuffs of a thousand colours, the 
 threads of which they attach from tree to tree, and weave, as they 
 walk beneath the shade. Scotland, Saxony, Savoy, Switzerland, do 
 not present the traveller with more scenes of quiet life, peace, and 
 happiness, than are to be seen at the foot of Mount Lebanon, where 
 we expect to find nothing but barbarians. 
 
 October 5. — I have found my wife and child in good health, and 
 occupied in embellishing and adorning our winter abode. I have 
 passed some days with them, before departing for Palestine and 
 Egypt. Ibrahim Pacha has gained a decisive victory at Horns ; he 
 advances towards Caramania, and will pass the Taurus, driving the 
 Turks before him. There is no longer any disquietude as to the 
 tranquillity and safety of this country. I will travel with my mind at 
 rest touching all that I hold most dear in life. Our new Beirout 
 friends, Messieurs Bianco, Jorelle, Farrcn, Laurella, Abost, are to 
 provide in my absence for all the casualties which may occur. I am 
 about to organise definitively my caravan, and shall depart as soon 
 as the first rains have lowered the temperature of thirty degrees, 
 which still prevails on the Syrian coast. 
 
 JOURNEY FROM BEIROUT, THROUGH SYRIA AND 
 PALESTINE, TO JERUSALEM.* 
 
 OctoberS: three o'clock in the afternoon. — We mounted on horseback, 
 with eighteen horses in our train forming the caravan. We slept at 
 a khan three hours' march from Beirout, on the same route as that 
 
 * [Palestine, or the Holy Land, fonns only a portion of Syria. It consists of a 
 stripe of land, lying betwixt the 31st and Mfch degrees of north latitude, and having 
 the Mediterranean Sea on the west and the river Jordan on the east. The land 
 of Edom and Egypt arc on the south. The length of the country is from two to 
 three hundred miles, and its breadth about rifty. It will be observed that M. de 
 Lamartine begins his journey at Beirout, in the northern quarter of the country, 
 ;vnd proceeds southwards along the coast to Jerusalem, but making, when half 
 way, an inland excursion to Nazareth and Lake of Galilee.] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 155 
 
 already described on our visit to Lady Stanhope. On the following 
 day, departed at three in the morning ; at five, crossed the river 
 Tamour, the ancient Tamyris ; rose-laurels in flower on the banks. 
 Followed the strand, on which the foam of the waves washed over 
 the feet of our horses, as far as Saide, the ancient Sidon, still a fine 
 shadow of the destroyed town, of which even the very name is lost 
 — no relic of its past grandeur. A circular jetty, formed of enor- 
 mous rocks, surrounds a dock, choked with sand, and some fisher- 
 men, with their children wading in the water, push into the sea a 
 boat without masts or sails, the sole maritime feature of this second 
 queen of ocean. At Saide, we dismount at the French khan, an 
 immense palace for our ancient commerce in Syria, where our con- 
 suls united the natives of all countries under the standard of France. 
 There is no longer any commerce, no longer any Frenchmen ; there 
 only remains at Saide, in the vast deserted khan, an old and respect- 
 able agent of France, M. Giraudin, who has lived there for fifty years 
 in the midst of his truly Oriental family, and who received us as a 
 travelling countryman is always received, in a land where ancient 
 hospitality is preserved in full integrity. We dined, and slept for 
 some hours with this excellent family; hospitality is sweet thus 
 accorded, unexpectedly and lavishly bestowed; water for washing 
 offered by the sons of the house ; the mother, and the wives of the 
 sons, attending on their feet to the arrangements of the repast. At 
 four o'clock, mounted on our horses, escorted by the sons and friends 
 of the family of Giraudin ; the exercise of the djerid performed by 
 one of them seated on a superb Arab horse ; two hours from Saide, 
 adieus and acknowledgments. Marched two hours more, and slept 
 beneath our tents at a delightful fountain on the sea-coast named El 
 Kantara. A gigantic tree overshadowed the whole caravan; a 
 -delicious garden descended to the very waves of the sea; an 
 immense caravan of camels spread around us in the same field. 
 Night under the tent; neighing of the horses, cries of the camels, 
 smoke of the evening fires, transparent glimmer of the lamp through 
 the streaked cloth of the tent. Thoughts of the tranquil life, of the 
 fireside of home, of distant friends, come across the brow, whilst re- 
 posing uneasily, and in burning heat, upon the saddle, which serves 
 for a pillow. In the morning, whilst the moukres and slaves bridle 
 the horses, two or three Arabs draw up the stakes of the tent ; they 
 knock away the pole which supports it ; it falls, and the wide ex- 
 panding sails which covered a whole family of travellers slide and 
 fall to the ground into a small heap of canvas, which a camel-driver 
 puts under his arm, and hangs to the saddle of his mule. There 
 simply remains upon the vacant spot where we were just now estab- 
 lished, as if in a permanent abode, an abandoned fire, which is yet 
 smoking, and quickly expires in the heat of the sun — a veritable, 
 striking, and living image of life, frequently employed in the Bible, 
 and which always has a powerful effect upon me whenever it is pre- 
 sented to my observation. 
 
 Departed from Kantara before daylight. Scaled some dry and 
 
156 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 rocky eminences advancing into the sea as promontories. From the 
 top of the last and highest of these hills we see Tyre, which appears 
 at the termination of its long and sterile bank. Between the sea and 
 the concluding heights of Lebanon, which here fall with a rapid de- 
 scent, there stretches a plain about eight leagues long and one or two 
 broad : the plain is naked, yellow, and covered with prickly shrubs, 
 on which the camels of the caravan browse as they pass. A penin- 
 sula juts into the sea, separated from the continent by a causeway, 
 covered with a glittering sand, brought by the winds of Egypt. Tyre, 
 at present called Sour by the Arabs, is placed on the sharpest ex- 
 tremity of this promontory, and appears to rise from the waves them- 
 selves : at a distance you would call it a handsome, new, white, and 
 lively town, looking on the sea; but it is only a beautiful shadow, 
 which vanishes on drawing near. A few hundred crumbling and 
 almost deserted houses, in which the Arabs collect at evening the 
 large flocks of sheep and black goats, with long hanging cars, which 
 defile before you in the plain — such is the Tyre of to-day ! She has 
 no longer a harbour in the seas, or a road on the land : the prophecies 
 are long ago accomplished upon her. 
 
 We journeyed in silence, occupied in contemplating this wreck and 
 dust of empire which we trampled on. We followed a path in the 
 middle of the lands of Tyre, between the town and the gray naked 
 hills which Lebanon throws to the edge of the plain. We came op- 
 posite the town, and reached a hillock of sand which seems at pre- 
 sent to form its sole bulwark, whilst it is overwhelming it. I 
 thought on the prophecies, and I tasked my memory for some of the 
 eloquent menaces which the Divine Spirit spoke by Ezekiel. I found 
 them not in words, but I found them in the deplorable reality which 
 I had before my eyes. Some verses of my own, thrown off* at hazard 
 on leaving France for the East, alone occurred to my recollection. 
 
 I have not heard the nations' cries ascend, 
 
 And call responses from the cedars old, 
 Nor seen high Lebanon's (jod-sent eagles bend 
 
 Their flight on Tyre, emblems of wrath foretold. 
 
 I had before me the black Lebanon ; but my imagination has de- 
 ceived me, thought I to myself : I see neither the eagles nor the 
 vultures, which ought, in order to fulfil the prophecies, to descend 
 incessantly from the mountains to devour this corpse of a town re- 
 proved by God, and the enemy of his people. At the moment I was 
 making this reflection, some large, strange, and motionless object ap- 
 peared to our left on the top of a perpendicular rock which advanced 
 into the plain, even to the route for caravans. It was like five 
 statues of black stone, placed on the rock, as on a pedestal ; but from 
 some almost insensible movements in these colossal figures, we be- 
 lieved, as we approached, that they were five Bedouin Arabs, clad in 
 their black goat-skins, who stood on this height to see us pass. At 
 length, when we were only fifty steps from the rock, we saw one of 
 these five objects expand his wide wings, and flap them against his 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 157 
 
 sides with a noise like that of a sail set to the wind. We distinguished 
 them as five eagles, of the largest kind I had ever seen on the Alps, 
 or chained in the menageries of our cities. They did not fly away, 
 or bestir themselves as we drew near ! Planted like kings of the 
 desert on the edge of the rock, they looked down upon Tyre as their 
 appanage, whither they were about to return. They seemed to 
 possess it of right divine ; instruments of a command which they 
 enforced, of a prophetic vengeance which they were commissioned to 
 accomplish towards man, and in spite of man. I could not tire my- 
 self with the contemplation of this prophecy in action, this miraculous 
 verification of the Divine threats, of which chance rendered us the 
 witnesses. Never had anything more supernatural struck thus 
 vividly my sight and my spirit ; and it required an effort of my 
 reason not to behold, behind the five gigantic eagles, the lofty and 
 terrible figure of the poet of vengeance, Ezekiel, rising above them, 
 and pointing out to them with his eye and finger the city which God 
 gave them to devour, whilst the storm of Divine anger shook his 
 snowy streaming beard, and the fire of celestial wrath, shot from his 
 eyes. We stood when forty paces off; the eagles just turned their 
 heads, and cast a disdainful look upon us ; but at last two of our 
 troop left the caravan, and rushed in a gallop, musket in hand, to 
 the very foot of the rock : still they flew not. Some shots with ball 
 caused them heavily to rise, but they returned, and hovered for 
 a long time over our heads, without being reached by our balls, 
 as if they had said to us, 4 You can do nothing : we are the eagles 
 of the Almighty!' I was then assured that poetic imagination had 
 suggested to me the eagles of Tyre as less real, less beautiful, and 
 less sublime, than they were in fact, and that there is in the mens 
 divinior of poets, even of the most obscure, some portion of that 
 divining and prophetic instinct which speaks the truth without 
 knowing it. 
 
 We arrived at noon, after a march of seven hours, in the midst of 
 the Tyrian plain, at a place called the Well of Solomon. All travel- 
 lers have described them ; they are three reservoirs of clear and 
 running water, which springs, as by enchantment, from a flat, parched, 
 and sandy soil two miles from Tyre. Each of these reservoirs is 
 artificially elevated about twenty feet above the level of the plain, 
 and is filled to the very brim, the water perpetually running over the 
 sides, and by the current it forms giving motion to the wheels of 
 mills. By aqueducts, half ancient half modern, the water is con- 
 veyed to Tyre, giving a fine effect to the landscape. It is said that 
 Solomon caused these three wells to be constructed, as a recompense 
 to Tyre and its king, Hiram, for the services which he had received 
 from its marine and artists in the building of the temple. Hiram 
 had conveyed the mai'bles and cedars of Lebanon. 
 
 These immense wells are each from sixty to eighty feet in circum- 
 ference; their depth is unknown, and in one of them no bottom is 
 found. No one has ever discovered by what mysterious channel the 
 water of the mountains is drawn there. There is every reason to 
 
158 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 believe, on examining them, that they are vast artesian wells, 
 invented long before their re-invention by the moderns. 
 
 Departed at five o'clock from the Wells of Solomon ; marched two 
 hours in the plain of Tyre, and arrived at night at the foot of a high 
 perpendicular mountain on the sea, which forms the Cape of Kaz-el- 
 Abiad. The moon was rising above the dark peak of Lebanon to 
 our left, but not high enough to illumine its sides ; she fell upon some 
 prodigious blocks of white rock, on which her light glared like a flame 
 on marble, leaving us in the shade : these rocks, far advanced into the 
 sea, broke the sparkling foam, and showered it over us ; the dull, 
 periodical sound of the heavy wave against the cape was heard alone, 
 and it shook at every stroke the narrow ridge on which we were 
 toiling, suspended upon the edge of the precipice. At a distance the 
 sea shone like an enormous sheet of silver, and here and there some 
 lowering cape jutted into its bosom, or a deep cavern struck into the 
 indented sides of the mountain : the plain of Tyre stretched behind 
 us ; it was yet distinguishable by its fringes of yellow glittering sand, 
 which marked its outlines between sea and land. Tyre was seen 
 throwing its shadow over the extremity of the promontory, and by a 
 chance, doubtless unusual, a light was glimmering on its ruins, which 
 at a distance might be taken for a beacon : but it was the beacon of 
 solitude and desolation, guiding no vessel in her course, and appear- 
 ing and drawing our eyes only to a glance of pity over its ruins. 
 This route along the precipice, with all the varied, solemn, and 
 sublime accompaniments of the night, the moon, and the yawning 
 abysses, continued for about an hour — one of the hours the most 
 strongly imprinted on my memory that God has permitted me to 
 contemplate on earth ! A sublime portal for to-morrow's entry into 
 the land of miracles ! — into that land of testimony, yet all-impressed 
 with the traces of the old and new dispensations from God to man ! 
 
 On descending from the heights of this cape, we had the same 
 view which had struck us on scaling them ; precipices equally lofty, 
 sonorous, whitened with foam, and diversified with vast ledges of 
 living rock, yawned beneath our feet and before our eyes ; the sea 
 broke with the same ringing echo which accompanied us the whole 
 length of the stormy coast of Syria, as the ancient Hebrew poets call 
 it ; the moon, farther advanced in the firmament, lighted up more 
 vividly this scene, at once tumultuous and solitary. The vast plain 
 of Ptolemais stretched before us. It was nine o'clock, in an October 
 evening ; our horses, exhausted by a journey of thirteen hours, slowly 
 dragged their feet over the sharp and shining rocks, which form the 
 only roads in Syria, irregular stepping-stones on which we should not 
 dare to risk any animal in Europe : we ourselves, overcome with 
 weariness, and overawed with the grandeur of the spectacle and the 
 imperishable recollections of the day, walked in silence on foot, hold- 
 ing our horses by the bridle, and casting our eyes sometimes upon 
 that sea which we had to cross to behold again our own rivers and 
 our own mountains, and sometimes on the black and lofty peak of 
 Mount Carmel, which began to be delineated on the remotest skirts 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 152 
 
 of the horison. We arrived at a species of khan, that is to say, at a 
 little house, half destroyed, where a poor Arab cultivates some figs 
 and gourds in the clefts of the rocks, beside a fountain : the building 
 was occupied by camel-drivers from Naplous, carrying corn into Syria 
 for the army of Ibrahim. The fountain was tainted by the autumn 
 heats. We nevertheless pitched our tents upon a soil covered with 
 round loose stones ; we made fast our horses to the stake, and we 
 drank with moderation a few mouthfuls of the fresh water which 
 remained in our jars from the Wells of Solomon. Between the plain 
 of Tyre and the foot of the mountains water begins to get scarce ; 
 the fountains are from five to six hours' distance from each other ; 
 and often when you arrive, you only find in the bed of the spring a 
 dry and heated trough, which bears the footmarks of the camels and 
 goats which have last drunk at it. 
 
 On the 11th, we struck our tents by the light of a thousand stars 
 which were reflected in the waves stretched at our feet. We de- 
 scended for yet an hour the last declivities which form the Cape 
 of Eaz-el-Abiad, and we entered the plain of Acre, the ancient 
 Ptolemais. 
 
 The recent siege of Acre by Ibrahim Pacha had reduced the town 
 to a heap of ruins, under which ten or twelve thousand slain were 
 buried, with myriads of camels. Ibrahim, being victorious, was 
 eager to place his important conquest beyond the reach of fortune, 
 and immediately began to rebuild the walls and houses of Acre. 
 Every day, hundreds of dead bodies, half consumed, were dug out 
 of the ruins; the putrid exhalations, the heaps of corpses, had 
 corrupted the air of the whole plain. We passed as far as possible 
 from the walls, and proceeded until mid-day, halting at the Arab 
 village of the Waters of Acre, in an orchard of pomegranates, figs, 
 and mulberries, close to the mills of the pacha. At five o'clock we 
 resumed, to reach an encampment, in an olive wood, on the top of 
 the first hills of Galilee. 
 
 On the 12th, we commenced our march with the first dawn of 
 day ; we cleared a hill planted with olives and holyoaks, scattered 
 iu groups, or, under the browsing teeth of goats and camels, decreased 
 to briers. When we were on the other side of the hill, the Holy- 
 Land, the land of Canaan, appeared in all its extent before us. It- 
 was a grand, agreeable, and imposing prospect. It was not that 
 naked, rocky, and sterile land, that hive of mean and scraggy moun- 
 tains, which is pictured to us as the promised land on the credit of 
 prejudiced writers, or of travellers hurried in their descriptions, who, 
 of the immense and varied domains of the twelve tribes, have only 
 perceived the rocky path which leads from Jaffa to Jerusalem. 
 Deceived by them, I expected only what they described — namely, 
 a confined country, void of plains, trees, and water; a land en- 
 cumbered with white or gray hillocks, where the Arab robber con- 
 ceals himself in the shade of ravines to despoil passengers. Such is 
 perhaps the route from Jerusalem to Jaffa. But here was Judea, such 
 as we behold it, the first day, from the heights which skirt the plain 
 
160 
 
 LAMA RUNE'S 
 
 of Ptolemais; such as we afterwards found it on the other side of 
 the hills of Zabulon, beside Nazareth, and at the foot of the Mounts 
 Hermon and Carmel: such as we traversed throughout its extent, 
 and in all its variety, from the eminences which command Tyre and 
 ►Sidon, as far as Lake Tiberias, and from Mount Tabor to the hills of 
 Samaria and Xaplous, and from there to the very walls of Sion. 
 First before us was the plain of Zabulon ; we were standing between 
 two gently-rising undulations, scarcely fit to be designated as hills ; 
 the hollow between them diving before us formed the road we had 
 to follow. This road was marked by the traces of camels who have 
 trod its dust for four thousand years, and by the broad deep holes 
 which their heavy feet, always falling on the same spot, have worn 
 in the chalky and brittle rock, which continues invariably the same 
 from the Tyrian cape to the first sands of the Lybian desert. To 
 our right and to our left the round sides of the two lulls were 
 shaded every twenty steps by thickets of varied shrubs, which never 
 lose their leaves ; at a less distance, trees with knotty trunks, and 
 strong interwoven branches, spread their motionless and sombre 
 foliage. The greater part were holm-oaks of a particular species, 
 the stem of which is thinner and straighter than the European oaks, 
 and their velvety circular leaves are not notched like those of the 
 common oak. The carob, the turpentine-tree, and, more rarely, the 
 Tjalm and sycamore, contributed to the clothing of these lulls. I 
 am not acquainted with the name of the other trees : some had the 
 foliage of pines and cedars ; others, and they were the most beau- 
 tiful, resembled immense willows in the colour of their bark, the 
 beauty of their foliage, and the delicate yellow tints of their leaves; 
 but they far surpassed them in extent, growth, and elevation. The 
 most numerous caravans can collect around their colossal trunks, 
 and encamp with their camels and baggage beneath their shade. 
 In the wide and frequent spaces which these different trees left 
 naked on the sides of the hills, ridges of whitish, or oftener of bluish- 
 gray rock, stood out from the soil, like the vigorous muscles of a 
 strong-built human frame, which grow more prominent in advanced 
 age, and seem as if they would pierce the skin which covers them ; 
 but between these ridges or blocks of rock, a black, light, and deep 
 soil vegetated without intermission, and would have produced wheat, 
 barley, and maize with the slightest husbandry, instead of forests of 
 thorny brambles, wild pomegranates, Jericho rcses, and prodigious 
 thistles, the stems of which rose as high as the head of a camel. 
 When you see one of these hills such as I have described, you have 
 seen them all so far as form is concerned, and the imagination can 
 picture their effect when they are met in descriptions of the scenery 
 of the Holy Land. "We journeyed then between two of these hills, 
 and we began again a gentle descent, leaving the sea and the plain 
 of Ptolemais behind us, when we perceived the first plain in the 
 land of Canaan — it was the plain of Zabulon, the garden of the tribe 
 of that name. 
 
 Before us, on both sides, the two hills which we had just traversed 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 161 
 
 separated in graceful and similar curves, like two exhausted waves, 
 which gently sink and divide in unison before the prow of a vessel. 
 The space which intervened between them, and which gi-adually 
 enlarged, seemed like a creek, which the plain hollowed in the 
 mountains; this creek, or gulf of level and fertile land, soon ex- 
 panded into a larger valley; and where the two hills, which still 
 skirted it, absolutely died away, the valley stretched, and was lost 
 in an almost oval plain, the two sharp extremities of which sank 
 under the shadow of two other rows of hills. This plain might be, 
 at an eye's view, a league and a-half broad, and three or four leagues 
 long. From the height on which we were placed, at the opening 
 of the hills of Acre, our eyes fell naturally upon it, involuntarily 
 followed its waving sinuosities, and penetrated the narrowest hol- 
 lows which it scooped in the roots of the mountains which bounded it. 
 On the left, the lofty, gilded, and indented tops of Lebanon cast their 
 pyramidal forms on the dark blue of the morning sky ; on the right, 
 the hill on which we stood rose insensibly as it left us, and joining 
 itself, as it were, to other hills, formed divers elevated groups, of 
 which some were arid and fruitless, and others were covered with 
 olives and figs, bearing on their summits a Turkish village, the white 
 minaret of which contrasted strongly with the dark colonnade of 
 cypresses, which almost everywhere envelops the Moslem mosque. 
 In front of us, the horison which bounded the plain of Zabulon, 
 stretching three or four leagues before us, formed a perspective of 
 hills, mountains, and valleys — of sky, light, shade, and vapours — 
 arranged in such a harmonious colouring and outline, cast in such 
 happy composition, linked in such graceful proportions, and varied 
 with effects so different, that I could not draw my eyes away ; and 
 finding nothing in my recollections of the Alps, of Italy, or of 
 Greece, to which I could compare this magical blending, I exclaimed, 
 * It is a Poussin, or a Claude Lorrain ! ' Nothing, in fact, could equal 
 the majestic sweetness of this prospect of Canaan but the pencil 
 of the two painters to whom the divine genius of nature has re- 
 vealed her beauties. "We shall only find this concourse of the grand 
 and the soft, the energetic and the graceful, the picturesque and the 
 rich, in the imaginary landscapes of these two great men, or in the 
 inimitable country which Ave had before us, and which the hand of 
 the great and Supreme Master had himself designed and coloured 
 for the habitation of a pastoral and innocent people. At the foot 
 of the mountains, about half a league in the plain, an eminence, 
 entirely detached from the surrounding hills, rose from the ground 
 like a natural pedestal, intended by nature to bear a fortified town. 
 Its sides rose almost perpendicularly from the level of the plain to 
 the very summit of this mountain-altar ; they resembled exactly the 
 ramparts of a fortification, traced and erected by the hands of men. 
 The summit itself, instead of being uneven and round, like the tops 
 of all the other hills and mountains, was levelled and flat, as if on 
 purpose to bear something with which it should be crowned, when 
 the people came for whose abode it was destined. 
 VOL. i. K 
 
162 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 In all the charming plains of the land of Canaan, I have since 
 again seen these same eminences in the form of quadrangular or 
 oblong altars, evidently intended to protect the primitive dwellings 
 of a timid and weak nation ; and their destination is so well por- 
 trayed in their isolated and strange form, that their extent alone 
 prevents our deceiving ourselves, and believing that they have been 
 raised by the people as the sites of towns. But could so small a nation 
 have ever elevated so many citadels of land, so enormous, that the 
 armies of Xerxes could not have heaped up one of them ? To what- 
 ever belief credit may be attached, we must be blind not to see a 
 special and providential, or, if you will, a natural destination in these 
 fortresses, reared at the openings and the terminations of almost all 
 the plains of Galilee and Judea. Behind this eminence, on which 
 the imagination may reconstruct, without difficulty, an ancient town, 
 with its walls, bastions, and towers, the hills began to mount gra- 
 dually from the plain, bearing in black and gray spots on their sides 
 clusters of olives and holm-oaks. Between these hills and the more 
 lofty and frowning mountains of which they formed the bases, and 
 which towered majestically above them, doubtless some torrent 
 foamed, or the waters of some deep lake evaporated in the first 
 heats of the morning sun, for a white and bluish vapour hung over 
 the vacant space, and gently hid, as if to make it vanish, the higher 
 range of mountains behind this transparent curtain, through which 
 the rays of the sun streamed. Farther, and higher still, a third 
 chain of mountains, enveloped in a perfect gloom, rose in circular 
 and unequal peaks, and gave to the whole of this delightful land- 
 scape that aspect of majesty, energy, and sublimity, which should 
 be always found in everything that is beautiful, either as an element 
 or a contrast. From point to point this third chain was broken, 
 and permitted to the horison and the vision an extension over a 
 vast space of pale silvery sky, sprinkled with clouds lightly touched 
 with vermilion : and behind this magnificent amphitheatre, two or 
 three ridges of the distant Lebanon came out like advanced pro- 
 montories upon the arch of heaven; and the first to catch the lumi- 
 nous darts of the early rays of the sun above them appeared so 
 transparent, that we believed we could see the light of the fir- 
 mament they hid from us trembling through them. Add to this 
 spectacle the serene expanse of the heavens, and the pureness of 
 the light, and the force of the shades winch characterise an Asiatic 
 atmosphere ; scatter in the plain a ruined khan, long rows of reddish 
 cows, of white camels, of black goats, going with slow steps to seek 
 the scarce but limpid and refreshing water ; figure to yourself a few 
 Arab horsemen, mounted on their light coursers, and scouring along 
 the plain, glittering in their silvered arms and scarlet clothing, 
 and groups of women, from the neighbouring villages, clad in their 
 long sky-blue tunics, a broad white sash, with the ends trailing on 
 the ground, and a blue turban, ornamented with little fillets of Vene- 
 tian sequins — add here and there on the hill -sides Turkish and 
 Arab hamlets, with walls of the colour of rock, and houses without 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 163 
 
 roofs, confounded with the rocks of the hill itself; clouds of azure 
 smoke rising from interval to interval between the olive and cypress- 
 trees which surround these villages; stones scooped like troughs 
 (the tombs of the patriarchs), heads of granite columns, and sculp- 
 tured capitals, scattered around the fountains beneath your horse's 
 feet — conceive all this, and you will have the most exact and faith- 
 ful idea of the delicious plain of Zabulon, of that of Nazareth, and 
 of that of Sephora, and of Tabor. Such a land, repeopled with a 
 young and Jewish nation, cultivated and watered by intelligent in- 
 dustry, fructified by a tropical sun, producing spontaneously all the 
 plants necessary or agreeable to man, from the sugar-cane and the 
 banana to the vine and the grain of temperate climates, to the cedar 
 and pine of the Alps — such a land, say I, would still be that of 
 promise at the present day, if Providence should restore to it a race 
 of people, and a condition of repose and liberty. 
 
 From the plain of Zabulon we passed over gently-rising hills, 
 more sandy than the first, to the village of Sephora, the Sephora of 
 the Scriptures, the ancient Diocesana of the Komans, the largest 
 town in Palestine, after Jerusalem, in the time of Herod Agrippa. 
 A great number of blocks of stone, cut for tombs, marked for us 
 the route to the top of the eminence on which Sephora was placed ; 
 at the concluding height was an isolated column of granite, yet 
 standing, and pointing out the site of a temple ; beautifully-sculptured 
 capitals lay on the ground at the foot of the column, and immense 
 pieces of carved stone, raised for some great Roman monuments, 
 were thick around, and served as boundaries to the fields of the 
 Arabs, as far as a mile from Sephora, where we stopped to halt 
 during the middle of the day. A fountain of excellent and inex- 
 haustible water flows there for the inhabitants of two or three 
 valleys ; it is surrounded by orchards of fig and pomegranate-trees, and 
 we seated ourselves beneath their shade, and waited more than an 
 hour before we could water our caravan, so great was the concourse 
 of cows and camels which the pastoral Arabs brought there from 
 all parts of the valley; countless strings of black goats, and of 
 cows, stirred up the plain and the hills which rise towards Nazareth. 
 I lay down, wrapped up in my mantle, under the shade of a fig- 
 tree, a short distance from the fountain, and contemplated for a long 
 time this scene of ancient days. Our horses were standing thickly 
 about us, their feet shackled, their Turkish saddles on their backs, 
 their heads lowered, and seeking the shade of their own drooping 
 manes; our arms, sabres, muskets, pistols, were suspended above 
 our heads, on the branches of the pomegranates and figs. Some 
 Bedouin Arabs, covered with a single piece of stuff with black and 
 white stripes, were seated in a circle not far from us, and eyeing us 
 with the aspect of plunderers. The women of Sephora, clothed ex- 
 actly like the wives of Abraham and Isaac, with a blue tunic, bound at 
 the middle of the body, and the swelling folds of another white tunic 
 falling gracefully over the blue one, bore upon their blue-turbaned 
 heads empty pitchers, lying on their sides, or carried them full and 
 
164 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 straight up, supporting them with their hands like the cariatides of 
 the Acropolis. Some girls, in the same costume, were washing at 
 the fountain, and laughing as they scrutinised us. Others clad in 
 richer garments, and their heads covered with fillets of piastres or 
 golden sequins, were dancing under a large pomegranate-tree at 
 some distance from the fountain and from us ; their gentle and slow 
 dance was nothing but a monotonous round, accompanied from time 
 to time by some artless but not ungraceful steps. Woman has been 
 created graceful; manners and costumes cannot alter in her that 
 charm of beauty and of love which everywhere hangs upon and 
 displays her. These Arab women were not veiled, like all those 
 whom we had hitherto seen in the East, and their features, though 
 slightly tattooed, had a delicacy and regularity which distinguished 
 them from the Turkish race. They continued dancing and singing 
 all the time of our halt, and did not appear offended at the curiosity 
 we evinced towards their movements, songs, and costumes. We 
 were told that they were collected there, expecting the marriage- 
 presents which a young Arab was gone to buy at Nazareth for one 
 of the daughters of Sephora, his bride. In fact, we met the presents 
 on the road the same day ; they consisted of a sieve to sift the flour, 
 and separate it from the bran, a piece of cotton cloth, and a piece 
 of richer stuff, to make a robe for the bride. 
 
 Tins day commenced in me new and entirely different impressions 
 from those with which my journey had hitherto inspired me. I had 
 journeyed with my eyes, thought, and understanding : I had never 
 journeyed with the soul and the heart as on reaching the land of 
 prodigies, the land of Jehovah, and of Christ ! — the land, all the 
 designations of which had been thousands of times lisped by my 
 childish lips, all the ideas of which had first given colour to my young 
 and tender imagination ; the land from which had flowed to me, at a 
 later date, the lessons and consolations of a religion the second soul 
 to our own. I felt within me as if something till now cold and dead 
 was wanned and reanimated ; I felt what we all feel on recognising, 
 amongst a thousand unknown strange faces, the countenance of a be- 
 loved mother, sister, or wife ! — what we feel on leaving the street to 
 enter a temple— a feeling of meditation, of mildness, of internal joy, 
 of tenderness, and of consolation, which we have nowhere else. The 
 temple was, for me, this country of the Bible and the Gospel, into 
 which I had just put my steps. I prayed to God in silence, in the 
 secrecy of thought ; I gave thanks to Him for having granted that I 
 should live long enough to cast my eyes upon the sanctuary of the 
 Holy Land ; and from this day, during all the rest of my journey in 
 Judea, Galilee, and Palestine, the material poetic impressions which 
 I received from the appearances and the names of places, were 
 mingled with a more lively sentiment of veneration and love, and 
 also of remembrance. My journey frequently became a prayer; 
 and the two enthusiastic emotions the most natural to my mind, that 
 for nature, and that for its Author, were roused within me almost 
 every morning as fresh and vivid as if so many scorching and wither- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 165 
 
 ing years had not dried and exhausted them in my bosom. I felt 
 that I was again a man, when appearing before the shadow of the 
 God of my youth ! On visiting the places consecrated by one of 
 those mysterious events which have changed the face of the earth, 
 we experience something similar to what is felt by the traveller who 
 ascends the course of a vast river, like the Nile or the Ganges, to 
 discover and contemplate it at its hidden and unknown source ; it 
 seemed to me also, as I scaled the last hills which separated me 
 from Nazareth, that I was going to ponder, at its mysterious source, 
 on that great and fruitful religion which, two thousand years ago, 
 worked its bed in the universe, and has refreshed so many mortal 
 generations with its pure and life-bestowing waters ! There was the 
 source, in the hollow of that rock which I ground beneath my feet ; 
 that hill, the last steps of which I was clearing, had borne on its 
 sides the Saviour, the Life, the Light, and the Hope of the world ; 
 it was there, at some steps from me, that the human model had 
 taken birth amongst men, to draw them, by his word and example, 
 from the ocean of error and corruption in which the human race was 
 immersed. If I considered the matter as a philosopher, it was the 
 starting-point of the greatest event which has ever agitated the 
 moral and political world— an event, the influence of which alone 
 imparts any remnant of movement and of vitality to the intellectual 
 world. It was there that the most exalted, the most just, the most 
 wise, and the most virtuous of all men, had arisen from obscurity, 
 misery, and ignorance ; there was his cradle, there the theatre of his 
 actions and affecting sermons ! From there he had issued forth 
 yet young, with some obscure and ignorant men, upon whom he had 
 engrafted the confidence of his genius, and the courage of his mis- 
 sion, to proceed with foreknowledge to denounce an order of ideas 
 and things not strong enough to resist him, but sfrong enough to 
 procure his death! From there, said I, he went forth with con- 
 fidence to vanquish death, and the universal empire of posterity ! 
 From there had flowed Christianity, an obscure spring, a drop of 
 water invisible in the hollow of the rock of Nazareth, with which 
 two passengers could not have slaked their thirst, which a ray of 
 the sun could have drained, and which at present, like the great 
 ocean of spirits, has filled up all the abysses of human wisdom, and 
 bathed, with its inexhaustible waters, the past, the present, and the 
 future ! If, therefore, I had been incredulous as to the divinity of 
 this occurrence, still would my mind have been powerfully overawed 
 on drawing nigh to its first stage, and I should have laid bare my 
 head, and bowed my face, before the concealed and disposing Power 
 which had made such things spring from so weak and imperceptible 
 a commencement. 
 
 But considering the mystery of Christianity with the faith of a 
 Christian, it was there, beneath that point of the blue heavens, at 
 the bottom of that narrow and dark vale, and where that little hill 
 threAv its shadow, whose antique rocks seemed yet all broken up 
 from the start of joy they suffered when giving birth to and sustain- 
 
166 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 ing the infant Jesus, or from the rent of grief that tore them when 
 the dead Jesus was borne to the tomb — there was the fatal and 
 sacred spot on the globe which God had chosen from all eternity for 
 the descent on earth of his truth, his justice, and his love incarnate, 
 in a God in Man. There it was that the divine breath had fallen at 
 its own hour on a poor hut, the abode of humble industry, simplicity, 
 and misfortune — that it had animated in the breast of an innocent 
 and spotless virgin what was gentle, tender, and compassionate as 
 herself, patient, suffering, and afflicted as a mortal, powerful, super- 
 natural, wise, and prevailing as a God. It was there that God, in the 
 garb of human nature, had endured our ignorance and weakness, our 
 labours and miseries, during the obscure years of His unknown life, 
 and that He had in some degree tasted existence, and inured Himself 
 to the world, before enlightening it by His word, healing it by His 
 prodigies, and regenerating it by His death ; it was there the sky had 
 opened, and had darted to the earth His spirit made flesh, His con- 
 quering AVord, to consume till the end of time iniquity and error, to 
 try our virtues and our vices as in the fire of the crucible, and to 
 kindle before the only and holy God the incense which sliall never 
 be exhausted— the incense of the renewed altar, the frankincense of 
 universal charity and truth. 
 
 "Whilst I made these reflections, with my eyes cast down, and my 
 brain loaded with a thousand other thoughts yet more overpowering, 
 I perceived at my feet, at the end of the valley, fashioned like a 
 basin or lake of land, the white houses of Nazareth, gracefully 
 grouped on the sides and at the bottom of the hollow. The Greek 
 church, the high minaret of the Turkish mosque, and the extensive 
 broad walls of the convent of the Latin fathers, were first perceived. 
 Streets, formed by smaller buildings of an elegant and Oriental style, 
 extended round these larger edifices, and were animated with the 
 bustle and movements of life. All around the valley or basin of 
 Nazareth, groups of high prickly nopals, of fig-trees shorn of their 
 autumnal leaves, and of pomegranates in gentle foliage, and of a 
 delicate saffron green, were scattered here and there, giving fresh- 
 ness and grace to the landscape, like flowers of the field encircling 
 a village altar. God alone knows what was then passing in my 
 heart ; but by a spontaneous, and, so to express it, an involuntary 
 movement, I cast myself at my horse's feet, on my knees, in the 
 dust, upon one of the blue crumbling rocks of the precipitous path 
 we were descending. I remained in that posture some minutes ab- 
 sorbed in a silent contemplation, in which all the ideas of my sceptic 
 and Christian life rushed so confusedly into my head, that it was 
 impossible for me to discriminate them. These words only escaped 
 my lips, 1 And the "Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.' I 
 uttered them with the sublime, deep, and grateful sentiment which 
 they embody ; and this spot inspires them so naturally, that I was 
 struck, on arriving in the evening at the sanctuary of the Latin 
 church, to find them printed in letters of gold on the marble table 
 of the subterranean altar in the house of Mary and Joseph. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 167 
 
 Then bowing my head reverentially to the ground which had pro- 
 duced the Christ, I kissed it in silence, and moistened with tears of 
 repentance, love, and hope, that soil which has seen so many shed, 
 and which has dried up so many, praying it might inspire me with 
 some small portion of truth and charity. 
 
 We arrived at the convent of the Latin fathers of Nazareth as 
 the last faint light of evening was yet lingering on the high yellow 
 walls of the church and the monastery. * A broad iron gate opened 
 for us, and our horses entered, their iron hoofs sliding and clattering 
 on the glossy and sonorous flag-stones of the outer court of the con- 
 vent. The gate was closed behind us, and we descended from our 
 horses before the very door of the church where formerly stood the 
 humble habitation of that mother who lent her breasts to the Im- 
 mortal Visitor, who gave her milk to a God. The superior and the 
 guardian father were both absent. Some Neapolitan and Spanish 
 brothers, who were occupied in winnowing the wheat of the monas- 
 tery under the gateway, received us rather coldly, and conducted 
 us to an immense corridor, out of which the cells of the monks and 
 the chambers destined for strangers opened. We there waited for 
 a long time the arrival of the incumbent of Nazareth, who loaded us 
 with politeness, and caused a room and a bed to be prepared for 
 each of us. Oppressed by the journey, and the feelings of the day, 
 we cast ourselves on our beds, adjourning until the morrow our 
 inspection of the consecrated places, being unwilling to injure the 
 entirety of our impressions by a glance cast in haste upon the holy 
 spots, in the precincts of which we already reposed. I arose several 
 times during the night to lift up my soul and my voice to God, who 
 had chosen in this place Him who was to bear His word to the 
 universe. 
 
 In the morning an Italian father came to conduct us to the church 
 and the underground sanctuary, which was anciently the house of 
 the Holy Virgin and Saint Joseph. The church is a broad and 
 lofty nave, with three elevations. The highest is occupied by the 
 choir of the fathers of the Holy Land, which communicates with 
 the convent by a door from behind ; the lower is occupied by the 
 faithful, and communicates with the choir and the great altar by a 
 handsome staircase, with a double flight of steps, and gilded rails. 
 From this part of the church, and beneath the great altar, a few 
 steps conduct to a small chapel and a marble altar, lighted with 
 lamps of silver, and erected at the very spot where tradition asserts 
 the annunciation to have taken place. This altar is raised under 
 the half-natural and half-artificial arch of a rock, against which the 
 holy house doubtless leaned. Behind this first arch two darker sub- 
 terranean recesses served, as it is said, as a kitchen and cellar for 
 the holy family.* These traditions, more or less accurate, more or 
 
 * [How the site of the house of Joseph and Mary should now be below the level 
 of the ground, is not explained by any authority which we have examined. Mr 
 Robinson mentions that the vault contains two granite columns ; one, which is par- 
 tially destroyed, being intended to record the spot where Mary was sitting when the 
 
16S 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 less altered by the pious necessities of popular credulity, or by the 
 desire, natural to all those monks who possess so precious a relic, to 
 augment its interest by multiplying its details, have perhaps added 
 some well-meant inventions to the powerful recollections of the 
 place ; but there is no doubt that the convent, and especially the 
 church, were primitively constructed on the very site occupied by 
 the house of the Divine Inheritor of heaven and earth. When His 
 name was spread abroad like the light of a rising sun, a short while 
 after His death, whilst His mother and disciples still lived, it is quite 
 certain that they must have transmitted from one to another the 
 attachment and sorrow with which the absence of the Divine 
 Master had inspired them, and have often themselves gone and con- 
 ducted the new Christians to those places in which they had seen 
 Him live, speak, act, and die, whom they then adored. Xo mere 
 human piety coidd preserve the tradition of a place dear to its re- 
 membrance, as faithfully as has done the piety of the faithful and 
 the martyrs. We can trust for the exactitude of the principal posi- 
 tions of the redemption to the fervour of a young faith, and to the 
 vigilance of an immortal creed. We fell on our knees upon these 
 stones, beneath this arch, the witnesses of the most incomprehensible 
 mystery of the divine charity for man, and we prayed. The en- 
 thusiasm of prayer is likewise a mystery between man and God — 
 like modesty, it casts a veil over the thoughts, and hides from men 
 what is meant only for heaven. 
 
 We also visited the spacious and commodious convent, an edifice 
 similar to all the convents of France or of Italy, and where the 
 Latin fathers exercise as freely, and with as much security and pub- 
 licity, the ceremonies of their religion, as they could do in a street 
 of Rome, the capital of Christianity. The Mohammedans have 
 been on this point very much calumniated. Religious tolerance, I 
 will say more, religious respect, are profoundly impressed on their 
 manners. They are so religious themselves, and regard with so 
 jealous an eye freedom in their own religious exercises, that the 
 creed of other men is the last thing upon which they permit them- 
 selves to make any attack. They have sometimes a sort of horror 
 for a religion the symbol of which is offensive to their own ; but they 
 entertain contempt and hatred only for the man who prays to the 
 Almighty in no language ; him they cannot comprehend, so much is 
 the palpable conception of God ever present to their minds, and in 
 constant occupation of their souls. 
 
 Fifteen or twenty Spanish and Italian fathers live in this convent,, 
 occupied in singing the praises of the Child-God, and the glories of 
 His mother, in the temple where they lived poor and unknown.. 
 
 angel Gabriel saluted her as the mother of the Messiah ; the other, where the angeL 
 stood when he delivered the annunciation. The house of Joseph and Man-, which 
 stood on this spot, is represented to have been carried miraculously by angels in 
 1-291 to Dalmatia, and thence in l'29i to near Kecanati in Italy, and finally, in 1295, 
 to Loretto, in the same country, where it is preserved with extraordinary care, and 
 is an object of veneration to pilgrims. It is usually called the Santa Casa, or Iloly 
 House, of L,pretto. Imitations of it have been made at different places.] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 169 
 
 One of them, whom they call the Incumbent of Nazareth, is specially 
 charged with the wants of the Christian community in the town, 
 which contains seven or eight hundred Catholics, two thousand 
 schismatic Greeks, some Maronites, and only a thousand Mohamme- 
 dans. The fathers conducted us in the course of the day to the 
 Maronite churches, to the ancient synagogue where the young Jesus 
 went to instruct himself in the law which he was one day to purify, 
 and into the workshop in which Saint Joseph exercised his humble 
 trade of a carpenter. We remarked with surprise and pleasure 
 the proofs of deference and regard which the inhabitants of Nazareth, 
 even the Turks, everywhere evinced for the fathers of the Holy 
 Land. A bishop in the streets of a Catholic town could not be 
 more honoured, or more affectionately respected, than the religious- 
 persons here. Persecution is much less visited on the priest in the 
 manners of the East than in those of Europe; and if he desires 
 martyrdom, it is not here that he should come and seek it. 
 
 October 14. — We started at four o'clock in the morning for Mount 
 Tabor, the assigned scene of the transfiguration, but with great im- 
 probability, as at that epoch the summit of Tabor was crowned by a 
 Koman citadel. The isolated position, and the height of this beautiful 
 mountain, which rises like a verdant knoll from the plain of Es- 
 draelon, caused it to be selected, in the time of Saint J erome, as the 
 scene of that sacred event. A chapel has been erected on the top, 
 to which the pilgrims resort to hear the holy sacrifice ; no priests 
 reside there, but they are supplied from Nazareth. When arrived 
 at the foot of Tabor — a superb cone of perfect regularity, clothed on; 
 all sides with vegetation and hollyoaks — the guide misled us. I sat 
 down alone under an oak, close to the spot at which Raphael, in his 
 picture, places the disciples dazzled with the glare from above, and 
 I waited until the monk celebrated mass. It was announced to us. 
 from the height by the firing of a pistol, so that we might kneel 
 down upon the natural steps of that gigantic altar before Him 
 who made it, and who stretched the shining arch of heaven over it. 
 
 At noon, we departed for Jordan and the Sea of Galilee — traversed, 
 in an hour, the low and umbrageous hills which bear the roots of 
 Tabor — entered upon a vast plain eight leagues long, and at least as 
 many broad. A khan in ruins was in the midst, of the architecture- 
 of the middle ages. Passed some villages of poor Arabs who culti- 
 vate the plain : each village has a well at some distance, and fig- 
 trees and pomegranates planted not far from it. This is the only- 
 trace of comfort. The houses cannot be distinguished until you are 
 close to them. They are huts six or eight feet high, a sort of mud 
 cubes, with chopped straw forming a roof in the shape of a terrace. 
 These terraces serve as courts : there is placed all their furniture — 
 a rug and a mat. The women and children are almost always on 
 them : the women are not veiled ; their lips are dyed blue, the circle 
 of their eyelashes is stained the same colour, and a slight tattooing is 
 painted around their lips and on their cheeks. They are clad in a 
 single blue chemise, tied with a white band around the loins. They 
 
170 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 all have an appearance of misery and distress. The men are covered 
 with a mantle without a seam, of a thick stuff woven in black and 
 white streaks in a shapeless guise, and the legs, arms, and neck are 
 bare. After journeying for a course of six hours through this yellow 
 and rocky, though fertile plain, we perceive the land all at once sink 
 before us, and we discover the immense valley of the Jordan, and 
 the first azure glimmerings of the beautiful lake of Genesareth, or of 
 the Sea of Galilee, as the ancients and Evangelists call it. It soon 
 opens entirely to our eyes, surrounded on all sides, except on the 
 south, by an amphitheatre of lofty, gray, and black mountains. At 
 its southern extremity this amphitheatre contracts, and leaves an 
 opening through which flows the river of the prophets, and the river 
 of the Gospel — the Jordan ! 
 
 The Jordan winds, as it issues from the lake, gliding into the low 
 and marshy plain of Esdraelon, about fifty paces from the lake ; it 
 passes under the ruined arches of a bridge of Roman architecture, 
 foaming a little, and making its first murmur heard. We directed 
 our steps towards it by a rapid and rocky descent. "We were eager 
 to salute its waters, hallowed in the recollections of two religions. 
 In a few minutes we are on its banks ; we jump from our horses, 
 and bathe our heads, feet, and hands in its stream, fresh, tepid, and 
 blue, as the waters of the Rhone where it leaves the lake of Geneva. 
 The Jordan at this point, which must be nearly the middle of its 
 course, would not be worthy of the name of a river in a country of 
 larger extent ; but it, however, far exceeds the Eurotas and Cephisus, 
 and all those rivers whose fabulous or historical names are early 
 echoed in our memory, and are conceived in a likeness of magni- 
 tude, rapidity, and abundance, which the view of reality destroys. 
 The Jordan even here is more than a torrent, although at the end of 
 a rainless autumn it gently flows in a bed about a hundred feet 
 broad, as a stream of water two or three feet deep, so clear, limpid, 
 and transparent, that the pebbles in its bed can be told ; and of that 
 ravishing colour which returns the full depth of tint of an Asiatic 
 sky — more blue even than the sky, like a picture more beautiful than 
 the reality, like a mirror which embellishes what it reflects. 
 Twenty or thirty paces from its waters, the strand, which it leaves 
 at present dry, is scattered with loose stones, rushes, and tufts of 
 laurel-roses yet in flower. This strand is five or six feet below the 
 level of the plain, and marks the dimensions of the river in the 
 ordinary seasons of fulness. These dimensions, in my opinion, must 
 be a depth of eight or ten feet, and a breadth of a hundred or a 
 hundred and twenty. It is narrower both above and below in the 
 plain, but there it is more confined and deep, the spot at which we 
 contemplated it being one of the four fords which the river has in its 
 course. I drank, in the hollow of my hand, of the water of Jordan, 
 of the water which so many divine poets had drunk before me, of 
 that water which flowed over the innocent head of the voluntary 
 Victim ! I found it perfectly fresh, of an agreeable taste, and of great 
 clearness. The custom which we contract in Eastern journeys of 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 171 
 
 drinking nothing but water, and of drinking it repeatedly, renders 
 the palate an excellent judge of the qualities of a new stream. The 
 water of the Jordan failed in only one quality — coolness. It was 
 warm, and though my lips and hands were inflamed by a march of 
 eleven hours without shade, under a scorching sun, my lips and 
 forehead experienced a sensation of heat on touching the water of 
 this river. 
 
 Like all the travellers who come through so many fatigues, routes, 
 and dangers, to visit in its abandonment this once royal stream, I 
 filled several bottles with its waters to carry to friends less fortunate 
 than myself, and I crammed the barrels of my pistols with the 
 pebbles which I gathered on its shores. Might I not thus bear with 
 me the holy and prophetic inspiration with which of old it invested 
 the bards of its sacred precincts, and especially a small portion of 
 that sanctity, and of that purity of spirit and heart, it contracted 
 doubtless when laving the purest and holiest of the children of men ! 
 I then mounted on horseback, and went round some of those ruined 
 piles which bore the bridge or aqueduct of which I spoke above. I 
 saw nothing but the inferior masonry of all the Koman constructions 
 of that period — neither marble, sculpture, nor inscription ; no arch was 
 yet subsisting, but ten pillars were standing, and we distinguished 
 the foundations of four or five others, with a space of about ten feet 
 for each arch ; which agrees pretty well with the breadth of 120 feet, 
 which, at an eye's view, I believed the Jordan would have. 
 
 But what I say here of the dimensions of the Jordan is only in- 
 tended to satisfy the curiosity of persons who are anxious to have 
 just and exact measures of the very creations of their thoughts, and 
 not to lend arms to the enemies or champions of the Christian faith 
 — arms despicable on both sides. What matters it whether the 
 Jordan be a torrent or a river? — whether Judea be a heap of barren 
 rocks or a delicious garden ? — whether this mountain be but a hill, 
 and this kingdom but a province ? The men who rage and fight upon 
 such questions, are as insane as those who think they upset a creed 
 of two thousand years when they laboriously strive to give the lie to 
 the Bible, and an objection to the prophecies ! Would one not be- 
 lieve, on seeing these grand combats on a word ill understood or 
 wrongly interpreted by both sides, that religions are geometrical 
 problems, which are proved by figures or destroyed by an argument, 
 and that generations of believers or infidels are quite ready to await 
 the end of the discussion, and immediately to pass over to the side of 
 the best logician, and of the most erudite and ingenious antiquary ? 
 Profitless disputes, which neither pervert nor convert! Keligions 
 are not proved, are not demonstrated, are not established, are not 
 overthrown, by logic ! They are, of all the mysteries of nature and 
 the human mind, the most mysterious and the most inexplicable ; 
 they are of instinct, and not of reason ! Like the winds which blow 
 from the east, and from the west, of which no one knows the cause, 
 cr the point of departure, they blow God alone knows whence, God 
 alone knows wherefore, God alone knows for how many ages, and 
 
172 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 over what countries of the globe ! They are, because they are ; they 
 are not taken up, or laid down at will, on the word of such or such 
 a tongue ; they are parcel of the heart, even more than of the under- 
 standing of men. Who is the man who will say, I am a Christian 
 because there is such a decisive answer in such a book, or such an 
 insurmountable objection in such another? Every sensible man who 
 is asked to give an account of his faith, will answer, ' I am a Chris- 
 tian because the fibres of my heart are Christian, because my mother 
 has made me suck a Christian breast, because the sympathies of my 
 soul and my mind are for that doctrine, because I live on the air of 
 my own time, and do not attempt to foresee what will feed pos- 
 terity.' 
 
 We saw two villages suspended upon the steep banks of Lake 
 Genesareth, the one at a quarter of an hour's march in front of us on 
 the other side of the Jordan, the other at some hundreds of fathoms 
 on our left, and on the same side of the river. We did not know by 
 what race of Arabs these villages were peopled, and we had been 
 warned to be on our guard, and be prepared for surprises on the 
 part of the Arabs of Jordan, who seldom permit their river and 
 plains to be traversed with impunity. We were well mounted, well 
 armed, and the rapid unexpected conquest of Syria by Mohamet- Ali 
 had struck all the Arabs with such a sensation of fear and astonish- 
 ment, that the moment was well chosen to attempt bold excursions 
 on their territory. They were ignorant who we were, why we 
 marched with so much confidence amongst them ; and they might 
 naturally suppose we were closely followed by forces superior to 
 those they could bring against us. Fear for the morrow, apprehen- 
 sions of a prompt vengeance, were thus the safeguards of our journey. 
 In this belief, I went and audaciously fixed my camp in the very 
 midst of the Arab village of which I spoke last. I do not know its 
 name ; it is built, if one can so speak of houses mere shapeless blocks 
 of stone and mud, on the extremity of the elevated shore which 
 commands the Sea of Galilee. Whilst our Arabs fixed the tents, I 
 descended alone the precipitous ridge which led to the lake; its 
 waters bubbled upon the sides, and bordered them with a fringe of 
 light foam, which vanished and reappeared at each return of its short 
 and quick waves, like the rolling of a quiet and deep sea dying away 
 on the sands of some narrow gulf. I had scarcely time to bathe in 
 its waters, the theatre of so many actions in the grand moral and 
 modern poem, the Gospel, and to collect for my European friends 
 some handfuls of its shells. Already the sun had sunk behind the 
 high, black, volcanic peaks of the heights of Tiberias, and some 
 Arabs, who had seen me descend alone, and who were loitering on 
 the shore, might be tempted by the occasion. With my musket in 
 my hjuid, I advanced straight up to them ; they looked at me, and 
 saluted tne, putting their hands on their hearts ; and I returned to 
 the tents. We stretched ourselves on our mats, overcome with las- 
 situde, but our hands on our arms, to be ready at the first alarm. 
 ftVihing broke the silence and slumber of that beautiful night, in 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 173 
 
 which we were lulled by the soft and pleasing noise of the waves of 
 the sea of Jesus Christ against its banks, by the wind which blew in 
 harmonious gusts upon the tightened cords of our tents, and by the 
 pious sentiments and sacred recollections which each of those sounds 
 induced within us. In the morning, when we left our tents at sun- 
 rise, to go and bathe again in the lake, we only saw the female Arabs 
 combing their long black hair on the terraces of their huts, a few 
 shepherds, occupied in milking for us the cows and she-goats, and 
 the naked children of the village, who were playing familiarly with 
 our horses and dogs. The cock crowed, the infant cried, the mother 
 rocked or suckled, as in a peaceable hamlet of France or Switzer- 
 land. We congratulated ourselves on having adventured an expe- 
 dition into a part of Galilee so feared and so little known, and we did 
 not doubt that the same pacific reception would await us still farther 
 on, if we should wish to advance into Arabia. We possessed every 
 capability for traversing in security Samaria, and the country of 
 Naplous, the ancient Sychem, through M. Cottafago, who is all- 
 powerful in that district, and who offered to procure our announce- 
 ment by his numerous Arab friends, and our convoy by his brother. 
 Personal apprehensions compelled me to forego this route, and to 
 retake that of Nazareth and Mount Carmel, where I hoped to find 
 expresses and letters from Beirout. 
 
 However, we got on horseback, to skirt as far as the termination 
 of the Sea of Tiberias the sacred limits of the beautiful Lake of 
 {xenesareth. The caravan moved in silence from the village in 
 which Ave had slept, and marched upon the Avestern shore of the 
 lake, at some paces from its Avaters, on a strand of sand and shells, 
 sprinkled here and there Avith tufts of laurel-roses, and plants Avith 
 a slender indented leaf, Avhich bore a flower similar to the lilac. On 
 our left, a chain of perpendicular hills, black, naked, holloAved with 
 deep ravines, and speckled from space to space Avith immense loose 
 and volcanic stones, stretched the Avhole length of the shore Avhich 
 we were proceeding to coast, and advancing as a dark and barren 
 promontory almost to the middle of the lake, hid from us the toAvn 
 of Tiberias, and the bottom of the lake, in the direction of Lebanon. 
 None amongst us raised his voice ; all our thoughts were iiiAvard, 
 concentrated, and profound, so intensely spoke the sacred remem- 
 brances in the breast of each of us. As to myself, never did any 
 place on earth address itself so poAverfully and deliciously to my 
 heart. I have alAvays rejoiced to pass over the actual scene of spots 
 inhabited by men Avhom I have knoAvn, admired, loved, or revered, 
 amongst the living as Avell as the dead. The land that an illustrious 
 man has frequented and preferred during his sojourn on earth, has 
 ahvays appeared to me the surest and the most significant relic of 
 himself — a sort of material manifestation of his genius, a tacit re% 7 ela- 
 tion of a portion of his soul, a living and palpable commentary on his 
 life, actions, and thoughts. When young, I have passed many soli- 
 tary and contemplative hours, seated beneath the olive-trees which 
 shade the garden of Horace, in sight of the glittering cascades of the 
 
174 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 Tiber ; I have often seated myself in the evening, listening to the 
 noise of the beautiful sea of Naples, below the spreading branches of 
 the vine-trees, near the spot where Virgil wished his ashes to repose, 
 because it was the loveliest and sweetest spot on which his eyes had 
 ever rested. How often, at a later period, have I consumed morn- 
 ings and evenings, stretched at the foot of the beautiful chestnut- 
 trees, in the little vale of Charmettes, where the memory of Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau drew me and retained me by the sympathy of his 
 feelings, his reveries, his misfortunes, and his genius ! The same of 
 several other authors or great men, whose names or writings have 
 powerfully affected me. I have wished to study and know them in 
 the places which had given them birth, or inspired them ; and almost 
 invariably an intelligent eye will discover a secret and profound 
 analogy between the great man and his country, between the land- 
 scape and the author, between nature and the genius who was nursed 
 and inspired by it. But it was not a great man or a great poet 
 whose favourite abode here below I Avas visiting — it was the Man of 
 men, the Divine Man — nature, genius, and virtue made flesh; the 
 Incarnate Divinity — whose steps upon the very shores he pressed 
 the most, upon the very waves which supported him, upon the hills 
 where he seated himself, upon the stones on which he reposed his 
 head — I had come to adore ! He had, with his mortal eyes, looked 
 upon this sea, these waves, hills, and rocks ; or rather this sea, these 
 hills and rocks, had beheld him. He had trod a hundred times tins 
 road on which I was reverentially stepping ; his feet had raised the 
 very dust which sprang from under mine. During the three years of 
 his divine mission, he went and came numberless times from Naza- 
 reth to Tiberias, and from Jerusalem to Tiberias ; he moved in the 
 barks of the fishers on the Sea of Galilee ; he calmed its tempests ; 
 he stood upon the waves whilst stretching out his hand to the 
 apostle of little faith like myself — the celestial hand of which I had 
 greater need than he, in the more terrible tempests of opinions and 
 thoughts ! 
 
 The grand and mysterious scene of the Gospel passed almost 
 entirely upon this lake, and the borders of this lake, and upon the 
 mountains which surround and look upon it. There is Emmaiis, 
 where he chose, at hazard, his disciples amongst the lowliest of men, 
 to testify that the power of his doctrine is in the doctrine itself, and 
 not in its insufficient organs. There is Tiberias, where he appeared 
 to St Peter, and founded in three words the eternal hierarchy of his 
 church. There is Capernaum ; there is the mountain where he deli- 
 vered the sublime Sermon of the Mount ; there is the one where he 
 pronounced the new rewards according to God ; there, tliat on which 
 he exclaimed ' Miser cor super turbam'* — ('I have compassion on the 
 multitude') — and multiplied the loaves and fishes, as his word brings 
 forth and multiplies life. Behold the gulf of the miraculous drawing 
 of fishes; in fine, behold the whole Gospel, with its affecting parables, 
 
 *'I have compassion on the multitude, because they have now been vrith me 
 three days, and have nothing to eat. '— Mark, oh. vii. verse % 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 175 
 
 and its tender and delightful images, which appeared to us such as 
 they appeared to the auditors of the Divine Master, when he showed 
 them with his finger the lamb, the sheepfold, the good shepherd, the 
 lily of the valley ! In a word, behold the country which Christ pre- 
 ferred on this earth, that which he selected to witness the first 
 scenes of his mysterious drama; where, during his obscure life of 
 thirty years, he had his parents and his friends according to the flesh ; 
 where that nature, of which he possessed the key, seemed to him 
 the fullest of charm; and those mountains where he saw, as we 
 did, the sun rise and set, which was to measure his mortal days 
 with such rapidity. There it was he came to be at rest, to medi- 
 tate, to pray, and to exercise his love for man and God ! 
 
 SYRIA. — GALILEE. 
 
 October 13, 1832. — The Sea of Galilee, about a league broad at the 
 southern extremity where we had come upon it, expands at first in- 
 sensibly up to the height of Emmaiis, the termination of the promon- 
 tory which hid from us the town of Tiberias, and thence the moun- 
 tains which confine it all at once recede into large gulfs on both sides, 
 and form it into a vast basin almost round, in which its waters stretch 
 over a bed of about twelve or fifteen leagues in circumference.* 
 This basin is not quite regular in its form, the mountains do not 
 everywhere descend to the sea ; sometimes they retire to some dis- 
 tance from the shore, and leave between them and the waves a 
 small flat plain, fertile and verdant as the plains of Genesareth'; 
 sometimes they part asunder, and open to admit the blue waters 
 into the gulfs, scooped at their feet, and darkened with their 
 shadows. The hand of the most skilful painter could not depict out- 
 lines more graceful, more indistinct, and more varied, than those 
 that the creating Hand has given to these waters and mountains ; it 
 seems to have prepared the evangelical scene for the work of grace, 
 of peace, of reconciliation, and of love, which was destined at one 
 time to be there accomplished ! To the east, the mountains, from 
 the tops of Gilboa, which we have a glimpse of on the south, as far 
 as the summits of Lebanon, which show themselves on the north, 
 form a close but undulating and bending chain, the sombre peaks of 
 which seem ready from time to time to fall away, and are broken 
 here and there to let a glimpse of sky be caught. These mountains 
 
 * [The Sea of Galilee, Lake of Genesareth, or Lake of Tiberias, is a sheet of water 
 of about fifteen or sixteen miles in length, and six to eight in breadth. It is fed at 
 the north end by the river Jordan ; a river with the same name issues from its 
 southern extremity, and continues in a tolerably even course to the Dead Sea. The 
 country around, which is bare and rocky, abounds in spots mentioned in Scripture. 
 Among others is Capernaum, which is at the northern end of the lake ; but—' of 
 Capernaum no traces remain, not even, so far as I could ascertain by repeated in- 
 quiries, the memory of its name.'— lore? Lindsay's Letters on the Holy Land.] 
 
lamartine's 
 
 are not surmounted at their heights with those sharp fangs, those 
 rocks filed by the tempests, winch offer their gloomy points to the 
 lightning and the -winds, and always impart to the aspect of elevated 
 chains something of the old, the terrible, and the ruined, which 
 saddens the heart wlnlst exciting the imagination. They fall gently 
 away into knolls, more or less broad, more or less steep, some 
 covered with scattered oaks, others with green thorns; some again 
 lined with bare but fertile soil, on which the traces of a varied 
 culture are yet perceptible, and others on winch the morning or 
 evening rays are alone seen to glisten, enriching them with a bright 
 yellow, or widi a blue and violet tint, more lustrous than the pencil 
 could portray. Their sides, although they give no passage to any 
 real valley, do not compose an always even rampart ; they are hol- 
 lowed at intervals into deep and wide ravines, as if the mountains 
 had cracked beneath their own weight ; and the natural accidents of 
 light and shade make of these ravines luminous, or more often 
 obscure spots, which attract the eye, and interrupt the uniformity of 
 the outlines and the tints. Lower, they sink down, and throw out 
 here and there into the lake, hills, or small round mountains, pre- 
 senting a soft and agreeable transition between their peaks and the 
 waters in which they are reflected. Scarcely at any point towards 
 the east does the rock pierce the vegetable bed with which it is 
 richly covered; and this Arcadia of Judea thus always joins to the 
 majesty and imposing effect of a mountainous country, the image of 
 the diversified fertility and abundance of the earth. If the dews of 
 Hermon still fell on its bosom ! At the end of the lake, towards the 
 north, this chain of mountains sinks as it recedes : we distinguish 
 from a distance a plain, which dies away in the waters, and at the 
 termination of this plain a white mass of foam, which seems to rush 
 from a height into the sea. It is the Jordan, which is precipitated 
 from there into the lake, which it passes through without mingling 
 with its waters, and issues from it at the place I have described, 
 tranquil, silent, and pure. 
 
 The whole of this northern extremity of the Sea of Galilee is 
 bordered with a slope of fields which appear under cultivation ; we 
 perceived the brown stubble of the last harvest, and large fields of 
 rushes, which the Arabs cultivate wherever they find a spring to 
 water the roots. On the western side, I have described the chains of 
 volcanic hills, which we followed from the dawn of day. They con- 
 tinue, without intermission, as far as Tiberias. Avalanches of black 
 stones, cast up from the mouths, still half-opened, of a hundred ex- 
 tinguished volcanic cones, are constantly falling down the harsh 
 ridges of this sombre and dismal chain. Our route was only varied 
 by the uncouth form and strange colours of the high masses of 
 hardened lava which were scattered thick around us, and by the re- 
 mains of walls, and gates of destroyed towns, and of columns ex- 
 tended on the earth, which our horses jumped over at every step. 
 The shores of the Sea of Galilee on this side of Judea are but a 
 single town, if the expression may be used. The multiplied ruins 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 177 
 
 before us, the number of the towns, and the magnificence of con- 
 struction which their mutilated fragments bespeak, recall to my me- 
 mory the route which runs along the foot of Mount Vesuvius from 
 Castellamare to Portici. As there, the banks of Lake Genesareth 
 appear to bear towns, instead of harvests and woods. After two 
 hours' march, we arrived at the extremity of a promontory which 
 juts into the lake, and the town of Tiberias appeared all at once be- 
 fore us, the living and dazzling apparition of a town of two thousand 
 years. It covers the side of a black and naked hill, which sinks 
 rapidly towards the lake. It is surrounded with a high square wall, 
 flanked with fifteen or twenty embattled towers. The points of two 
 white minarets are alone visible above the walls and towers, and all 
 the rest of the town seems hid from the Arabs under the shadow of 
 these lofty defences, and to present to the eye nothing but the flat 
 unbending arch of its gray roofs, bearing a resemblance to the carved 
 shell of a tortoise. 
 
 We halted at the Turkish mineral bath of EmmaUs, an isolated 
 cupola, surrounded by superb remains of Roman or Hebrew baths. 
 We established ourselves in the very saloon of the bath — a basin 
 filled with running water, at a hundred degrees of Fahrenheit. We 
 took a bath, and slept an hour. Again mounted our horses. A 
 tempest was on the lake, which I desired extremely to witness. The 
 water was green as the leaves of the rushes which surround it — the 
 foam livid and dazzling — the waves of goodly height, and following 
 close. A terrible noise from the billows falling on the volcanic 
 pebbles which they disturb, but no vessels in peril or in sight. 
 There is not one on the lake. Entered Tiberias in the midst of a 
 storm and flood of rain from the south. Took refuge in the Latin 
 church. Caused a lighted fire to be brought into the middle of the 
 deserted church, the first temple of Christianity. 
 
 The interior of Tiberias does not fulfil the expectation created by 
 the distant view. It is a confused and dirty assemblage of some 
 hundreds of houses similar to the mud and straw cabins of the Arabs. 
 We were saluted in Italian and German by several Polish or German 
 Jews, who, towards the end of their days, when they have nothing 
 more to expect than the uncertain hour of dissolution, come to pass 
 their last moments at Tiberias, on the banks of their sea, in the very 
 heart of their country, so as to die beneath their sun, and be buried 
 in their land like Abraham and Jacob. To sleep in the bed of one's 
 fathers — it is evidence of the inextinguishable love of country — it is 
 the sympathy and affinity between man and the dust of which he is 
 formed, from which he has sprung. This is undeniable. It is well, 
 it is happy for him to bear to its place that little dust which has 
 been lent him for a few days. Let me also sleep, oh my God, in the 
 land and near the ashes of my fathers ! 
 
 Nine hours' marching without repose brought us back to Nazareth 
 by way of Cana,the scene of Christ's first miracle ; a pretty Turkish 
 village, gracefully inclining down the two sides of a hollow of fertile 
 land, enclosed by hills covered with nopals, oaks, and olives — around 
 
 yoL. i. 
 
ITS 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 it pomegranates, palm, and fig-trees — women and flocks standing 
 about the troughs of the fountain. The house of the apostle Saint 
 Bartholomew is in the village. At its side, the house in which the 
 miracle of the water changed into wine took place : it is in ruins, 
 and without a roof. The religious brethren still show the jars which 
 contained the wine of the prodigy — monkish romances, which every- 
 where disfigure the simple and fruitful groundwork of religious 
 traditions. 
 
 After having rested and slaked our thirst at the fountain of Cana, 
 ■we resumed our route towards Nazareth by the light of the moon. 
 We passed over some well-cultivated plains, and afterwards a series 
 of wooded hills, which rise as they draw near to Nazareth. After 
 three hours and a-half's march, we arrived at the gate of the Latin 
 convent, and were once more lodged at Nazareth. On awaking in 
 the morning, I was astonished at hearing a voice which saluted 
 me in Italian : it was that of an old French vice-consul at St Jean 
 d'Acre, M. Cottafago, a well-known and very* important personage 
 in all Syria, where his title of European agent, his friendship with 
 Abdallah, pacha of Acre, his commerce and wealth, have rendered 
 him celebrated and powerful. He is yet Austrian consul at Acre. 
 His costume was in accordance with his double character of Arab 
 and European. He was dressed in a red pelisse, edged with ermine, 
 and wore an immense three-cornered hat, the distinctive symbol 
 of the French agents in the East. This hat dates from the time 
 of the Egyptian war ; it is a remnant religiously preserved of some 
 general of brigade of Bonaparte. It is only placed on the head on 
 official occasions, in audiences of the pacha, or when a European 
 journies through the country. It is imagined that in it he will again 
 behold his household gods. M. Cottafago was an old man, of under- 
 stating with the intellectual, firm, and piercing physiognomy of the 
 Arabs; his eyes, full of fire, softened by benevolence and politeness, 
 lighted up his countenance with a ray of superior intelligence. At 
 the first glance we can conceive the ascendancy which such a man 
 must have over the Arabs and Turks, who are in general deficient in 
 that principle of activity which sparkles in the looks, and is por- 
 trayed in the movements and gestures, of M. Cottafago. He held in 
 his hand a packet of letters for me, which he had just received from 
 the coast of Syria by a courier of Ibrahim Pacha, and a file of 
 French newspapers which he had sent for himself. He had con- 
 ceived, with reason, that a French traveller would experience both 
 pleasure and surprise thus to find in the middle of the desert, and a 
 thousand miles from his country, news fresh from Europe. I read 
 the letters, which gave me some uneasiness touching the health of 
 Julia. M. Cottafago left me, after inviting me to breakfast in a pavi- 
 lion which he had built at Nazareth, and where he passed alone the 
 broiling days of summer ; and I opened the journals. My name was 
 the first which struck me. It was in a number of the Journal des 
 Debats, in which were cited some verses that I had addressed, on 
 leaving France, to Walter Scott. I fell upon these, the mournful 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 179 
 
 and anxious tone of which suited the scene so perfectly, to which 
 hazard had conducted me — the scene of the greatest revolutions of 
 the human mind — the scene where the Spirit of God had so powerfully- 
 stirred up mankind, and on which the renovating creed of Chris- 
 tianity had taken its cast on earth, whilst a creed, also the offspring 
 of Christianity, was exciting the other shore of those seas whence my 
 accents were echoed back.* 
 
 Spectator, wearied out with life's great play, 
 Thou leav'st us in a rough and troublous way ; 
 Prophet or bard the nations have no more, 
 To charm and head their march as heretofore ; 
 Kings find the trembling throne a seat unsure, 
 Chiefs rule a day, kingdoms a month endure ; 
 Human opinion's strong, impetuous roll — 
 The fiery equinox that whelms the soul — 
 Permitteth none, not even in hope, to stand 
 Firm on the lofty summit of command : 
 But sets the strong, by turns, upon the crown, 
 Strikes them with giddiness, and hurls them down. 
 In vain the world invokes a help and stay — 
 The potent time compels us 'neath its sway ; 
 A child may curb the sea when it is bland, 
 But weak are all men when the time is grand. 
 Lo! tribunes, chiefs, kings, citizens each one- 
 God lays the hand on all, and chooseth none ! 
 And the resistless, fiery meteor, Power, 
 Falls on our heads to judge us, and devour. 
 5 Tis done — the word has o'er the deep been hurled, 
 And Chaos broods above a second world ; 
 And for poor mankind, of the sceptre reft, 
 No more in one, but all, is safety left. 
 In the vast heavings of a new-formed main, 
 The oscillations sky and ship sustain — 
 By the huge waves that o'er us break and gape — 
 We feel that man now rounds a dangerous cape, 
 And passes through, with gloom and thunder by, 
 The stormy tropic of a new humanity. 
 
 I read these verses again, as if they had been another's, so com- 
 pletely had they been effaced from my memory. I was struck afresh 
 with that sentiment which had at another moment inspired them — 
 with that sentiment of the universal tottering of things, of the general 
 vertigo and infatuation of the human mind, which rushes with too 
 much rapidity to take account of even its own progress, but which 
 has the instinct of a new unknown consummation, to which God 
 conducts it through the rough and precipitous ways of social catas- 
 trophes. I admired that marvellous power of locomotion given to 
 human thought by the press and by journalism, by which a train of 
 reflection which had crossed my brow six months before, in a wood 
 of Saint Point, came to me again as a daughter seeking her father, 
 
 * [This sentence may perhaps appear somewhat obscure, but it is clear the 
 pious author means by the last creed, which he calls an idea, the Jewish faith, the 
 revelation of the same Deity.] 
 
ISO 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 and struck upon the ancient echoes of the rocks of Nazareth, in the 
 sounds of a new but already universal language* 
 
 October 20. — Breakfasted in the pavilion of M. Cottafago with one 
 of his brothers and some Arabs. Went over again the environs of 
 Nazareth ; visited the stone in the mountains where Jesus went, 
 according to tradition, to take his repasts with his first disciples. 
 M. Cottafago gave me letters for Acre and the Mutzelim of Jeru- 
 salem. 
 
 On the 21st, at six in the morning, we leave Nazareth. All the 
 Spanish and Italian fathers of the convent, collected in the court, 
 press round our horses ; and whilst some put up vows and prayers 
 for our safe journey, others offer us fresh provisions, excellent bread 
 baked during the night, olives, and Spanish chocolate. I gave 500 
 piastres to the superior to repay his hospitality. This is no impedi- 
 ment to some of the young priests whispering, in low tones, their 
 requests in my ear, and receiving in secret a few handfuls of piastres 
 to buy tobacco, and other trifling monastic comforts, which beguile 
 their solitude. Travellers have given a romantic and false repre- 
 sentation of these convents of the Holy Land. Nothing is less poetic 
 or less religious, when inspected narrowly. Their conception is 
 beautiful and grand. Men tear themselves from the delights of 
 western civilisation to put their existence in jeopardy, or to lead a 
 life of privations and martyrdom amongst the persecutors of their 
 faith, on the very spots where the mysteries of their religion have 
 consecrated the earth. They fast, they watch, they pray, in the 
 midst of the blasphemies of the Turks and Arabs, in order that a 
 little Christian incense shall still burn on each piece of ground where 
 Christianity was born. They are the guardians of the sacred cradle 
 and sepulchre; the angel of judgment shall find them alone at these 
 places, like the holy women who watched and wept near the empty 
 tomb. All this is beautiful and sublime in thought ; but in actual 
 fact these ideas must vanish. There is no persecution, no martyr- 
 dom ; all around these retreats there is a Christian population, ready 
 for the service and orders of the monks of the convents. The Turks 
 annoy them in no respect whatever ; on the contrary, they protect 
 them. They are the most tolerant people on the earth, and under- 
 stand better than others religion and prayer, in whatever language, 
 and under whatever form they are expressed. Atheism alone they 
 detest, as they esteem it, with reason, a degradation of the human 
 intellect, an insult to humanity much more than to the undoubted 
 Being, God. These convents, besides, are under the respected and 
 inviolable protection of the Christian powers represented by their 
 consuls. On a complaint of the superior, the consul writes to the 
 pacha, and justice is done on the very instant. The monks whom I 
 have seen in the Holy Land, far from presenting to me the image 
 
 * [If. de Lamartine of course means here the French language, which is very 
 aptly described as a universal language in Europe : but a tongue for which RI. de 
 Lamartine has probably very little respect— namely, the English— has much greater 
 claims to the appellation in the other three quarters of the globe, Asia, Africa, and 
 America.] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 181 
 
 of the long martyrdom with which they had been credited, appeared 
 to me the most happy, respected, and feared of the inhabitants of 
 these countries. They inhabit a sort of strong castles, similar to 
 those of our own middle ages. Their residences are inviolable, 
 surrounded with walls, and closed with gates of iron. These gates 
 are only opened for the Catholic population of the neighbourhood, 
 which comes to assist at the offices, to receive a little pious instruct 
 tion, and to pay, in respect and devotedness to the monks, the dues 
 of the altar. I never went out accompanied by one of the fathers 
 into the streets of a Syrian town, but the children and women came 
 and bowed themselves under the hand of the priest, and kissed his 
 hand and the bottom of his robe. The Turks even, very far from 
 insulting them, seem to partake the respect which they everywhere 
 command as they move along. 
 
 Now who are these monks ? In general, Spanish and Italian pea^ 
 sants, who have entered young into the convents of their country, 
 and growing tired of the monastic life, are anxious to diversify it by 
 the aspect of new countries, and seek to be sent to the Holy Land. 
 Their residence in the house of their order established in the East 
 does not in general continue for more than two or three years. A 
 vessel comes to take them back, and brings others in their place.. 
 Those who learn Arabic, and devote themselves to the service of 
 the Catholic population of the towns, stay longer, and often pass 
 there the whole of their lives. They follow the occupations and 
 life of our country parsons, but they are encircled with more vene- 
 ration and attachment. Others remain shut up within the precincts 
 of the convent, or pass from one house to another, in order to com- 
 plete their pilgrimage, sometimes to Nazareth, or to Bethlehem, a 
 short time at Koine, some time at Jaffa, or at the convent of St 
 John in the desert. They have no other employment than the 
 offices of the church, and the promenade in the gardens or on the 
 terraces of the convent. No books, no studies, no useful function. 
 They are devoured by listlessness ; cabals are formed in the interior 
 of the convent; the Spaniards decry the Italians, and the Italians 
 the Spaniards. We were not much edified at the relations the 
 monks of Nazareth gave of each other. W e did not find a single 
 individual amongst them who could sustain the slightest rational 
 conversation, even on subjects which their vocation should have 
 rendered familiar to them. No knowledge of sacred antiquity, of the 
 fathers, or of the history of the places they resided in. The whole 
 is reduced to a certain number of popular and ridiculous traditions, 
 which they transmit amongst themselves without examination, and 
 which they deliver to travellers as they have received them from the 
 ignorance and credulity of the Christian Arabs of the country. They 
 all sigh for the moment of their deliverance, and return to Italy or 
 Spain without any advantage to themselves or to religion. On other 
 points, the granaries of the convent are well filled ; the cellars are 
 stocked with the best wines this earth can produce. They do it all 
 themselves. Every two years a ship arrives from Spain, bearing to 
 
182 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 the superior father the revenue that the Catholic powers, Spain, 
 Portugal, and Italy, send them. This sum, increased by the pious 
 alms of the Christians of Egypt, Greece, Constantinople, and Syria, 
 furnishes them, it is said, with an income of 300,000 or 400,000 francs 
 [from £12,500 to £16,200 sterling per annum]. This is divided 
 amongst the different convents, according to the number of the monks 
 and the wants of each community. The edifices are well supported, 
 and everything indicates comfort, and even relative luxury, in the 
 houses which I have visited. I have never witnessed any scandal 
 in the monks' abodes in the Holy Land. Ignorance, idleness, and 
 listlessness, are the three plagues which they should and could 
 eradicate. 
 
 These men appeared to me simple, and sincerely, though fanati- 
 cally credulous. Some even at Nazareth seemed to ine veritable 
 saints, animated with the most ardent faith and most active charity ; 
 humble, mild, patient, voluntary servants of their brothers and of 
 strangers. I bear their countenances of peace and simplicity in my 
 memory, and their hospitality in my heart. I know also their names ; 
 but what imports it to them that their names traverse the earth, 
 provided that Heaven knows them ; and their virtues remain buried 
 in the shade of the cloister, beneath which it is their pleasure to 
 conceal them. 
 
 Same date. — On leaving Nazareth, we pass along the side of a 
 mountain covered with fig-trees and nopals. On the left, a green 
 and shady valley opens, and a pretty country-house, recalling our 
 European villas, is placed alone on one of the slopes of this valley. 
 It belongs to an Arab merchant of Acre. Europeans run no danger 
 in the environs of Nazareth — a population almost wholly Christian 
 is at their service. In two hours we reach a series of small vales, 
 gracefully winding between hills that are clothed with beautiful 
 woods of holm-oaks. These woods divide the plain of Caypha from 
 the land of Nazareth and the desert of Mount Tabor. Mount Carmel, 
 an elevated chain of mountains, which commences at the course of 
 the Jordan, and ends perpendicularly above the sea, begins to show 
 itself on our left. Its dark green ridge contrasts with the sky of 
 deep blue, in which heated vapours are floating, like the light smoke 
 which issues from the mouth of an oven. Its sides are dressed in 
 a vigorous and hardy vegetation. There is everywhere thick brush- 
 wood, surmounted here and there by the projecting heads of oaks. 
 Gray rocks, cut by nature into strange and colossal forms, at inter- 
 vals pierce this verdant layer, and throw back the dazzling rays of 
 the sun. Such is the aspect we have on our left far as the eye can 
 reach; at our feet, the valleys which we follow sink in gentle slopes, 
 and begin to open on the beautiful plain of Caypha. We scale the 
 last detached hills which separate us from it, and we lose sight of 
 it only to immediately regain it. These detached hills between 
 Palestine and the coast of Syria have ;it once the most agreeable 
 and the most solemn positions that we have contemplated. Here 
 and there, in the forests of oaks abandoned to nature, are extensive 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 183 
 
 glades, covered with a sward as velvety as our western meadows ; in 
 the rear, the peak of Tabor rises into the fiery sky, like a majestic 
 altar crowned with green garlands ; beyond, the blue tops of the 
 mountains of Jelboe and the hills of Samaria oscillate in the indis- 
 tinct horison. Mount Carmel throws its large and heavy shadow 
 on one side of the scene, and the eye following it, falls on the sea 
 which terminates the whole, as the sky in the finest landscapes. 
 How many sites have I not selected in my mind to erect a house, 
 an agricultural fortress, and to found there a colony, with some 
 friends from Europe, and a few hundreds of those youths disinhe- 
 rited from all future prospects in our too-thickly-peopled countries ! 
 The beauty of the places, the serenity of the sky, the prodigious 
 fertility of the soil, the variety of the tropical products for which the 
 earth can be tasked, the facility of procuring labour at a low price, 
 the proximity of two immense, fruitful, watered, and unappropriated 
 plains, the nearness of the sea for the exportation of produce, the 
 security which might be easily obtained against the Arabs of Jordan 
 by raising slight fortifications at the passes of these hills — all has 
 made me select this part of Syria for the agricultural and civilising 
 enterprise on which I have since resolved. 
 
 Same date, evening. — We have been surprised by a storm in the 
 middle of the day. I have seldom seen anything so terrible. The 
 clouds rose like towers perpendicularly above Mount Carmel ; they 
 speedily enveloped the long peak of that chain of mountains ; and 
 the mountain itself, lately so serene and brilliant, was by degrees 
 immersed in dark rolling billows, split at intervals by streaks of fire. 
 In a few moments the whole horison dropped and contracted upon 
 us. The thunder gave no claps ; it was one continued, awful, and 
 deafening roll, like the roar of the waves on a beach during a violent 
 tempest. The lightning gushed like actual torrents of fire from the 
 sky on the black sides of Carmel ; the oaks on the mountain, and 
 those on the hills beside us, bent like reeds. The wind, which rushed 
 from the gorges and caverns, would have overthrown us, if we had 
 not quitted our horses, and found some degree of shelter behind a 
 rock in the dry bed of a torrent. The dried leaves, lifted up by the 
 storm, flew over our heads like clouds, and the branches of trees 
 fell thickly around us. I remembered the Bible, and the prodigies 
 of Eli as, the exterminating prophet, on his mountain; his grotto was 
 not far distant. 
 
 The tempest was over in half an hour. We drank the water of 
 its rains, collected in the felt coverings of our horses. We reposed 
 a few moments nearly half way from Nazareth to Caypha, and we 
 then resumed our route, skirting the foot of Mount Carmel, which 
 we had on our left, with a vast plain and a river on our right. Car- 
 mel, which we thus followed for nearly four hours, presented to us 
 everywhere the same severe and solemn aspect. It is a gigantic, 
 and almost perpendicular wall, entirely covered with brushwood 
 and odoriferous herbs. On no part is the rock bare ; some blocks, 
 detached from the mountain, have rolled into the plain. They are 
 
184 
 
 i.amartine's 
 
 as citadels, given by nature to serve for foundation and shelter to 
 the villages of the Arab husbandmen. AVe fell in with only one 
 of these villages two hours or thereabouts before perceiving the 
 town of Caypha. The houses arc low, without windows, and 
 covered with a terracing, which protects them from rain. On the 
 top the Arabs erect a second flat of green, supported by trunks of 
 trees, where they dwell during the summer. These terraces were 
 filled with men and women, who looked at us passing, and yelled out 
 imprecations on us. The appearance of this people is ferocious ; not 
 one of them, however, durst descend from his height to insult us at 
 closer quarters. 
 
 At seven o'clock we drew near to Cayphn, the white domes, mina- 
 rets, and walls of which present, as do all the towns of the East, 
 a brilliant and gay appearance at a certain distance. Caypha is 
 seated at the foot of Carmel, on a bank of white sand on the shores 
 of the sea. This town forms the extremity of an arc, the other 
 extremity of which is St Jean d'Acre. A gulf two leagues wide 
 separates them. This gulf has one of the most delightful shores 
 that the eye of a mariner can fall upon. Acre, with its fortifications 
 breached by the cannon of Ibrahim Pacha, and of Napoleon, with 
 its handsome but battered mosque, and its dome pierced to the day, 
 with the sails which enter and leave its port, draws the eye to a 
 scene which is one of the most important and distinguished in the 
 annals of war. At the bottom of the gulf, a vast cultivated plain 
 stretches, Mount Carmel throwing its huge shadow over it. Then 
 Caypha, like a twin-sister of Acre, lies on the other side of the gulf, 
 advancing into the sea, with its slender mole, at which some Arab 
 brigs are moored; above Caypha is a forest of large olive-trees, and 
 yet higher, a road cut in the rock leading to the summit of the peak. 
 Two vast edifices crown the mountain ; the one a pleasure-house of 
 Abdallah, pacha of Acre; the other the convent of the monks of 
 Carmel, recently erected by the alms of Christianity, and surmounted 
 by a large tri-colourcd flag, announcing to us the asylum and pro- 
 tection of Frenchmen : a little lower than the convent arc immense 
 caverns, hollowed in the granite of the mountain, which are the 
 famous grottos of the prophets. Such is the landscape which 
 struck us on entering the dusty and narrow streets of Caypha. The 
 inhabitants looked in astonishment and alarm on our long caravan 
 defiling. We knew no one, nor had we a restingplace or hospi- 
 tality to claim. Chance threw in our way a young Piedmontese, 
 who performed the functions of vice-consul at Caypha since the 
 taking and destruction of Acre. M. Bianco, Sardinian consul in 
 Syria, had written to him on our behalf, and had requested him to 
 receive us if we should pass through Caypha. He saluted us, in- 
 formed himself of our names, and conducted us to the gate of the 
 small ruined house in which he lived with his mother and two 
 young sisters. "We left our horses and Arabs to encamp on the sea- 
 shore near the town, and we entered the abode of 31. Malagamba — 
 such was the name of this young and amiable vice-consul, the only 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 185* 
 
 European who remains upon the desolate field of battle since the 
 complete ruin of Acre by the Egyptians. 
 
 A small court and wooden staircase lead to a little terrace, covered 
 with palm-leaves ; behind this terrace, two bare rooms, surrounded 
 only by a divan, the sole indispensable furniture of rich and poor in 
 all the East ; a few flower-pots on the terrace ; an aviary of pretty 
 gray doves, tended by the sisters of M. Malagamba ; shelves round 
 the walls, on which are arranged, in order, cups, pipes, liquor-glasses, 
 silver perfume pans, and wooden crucifixes, inlaid with mother-of- 
 pearl, made at Bethlehem — such is the entire furniture of this poor 
 habitation, in which a forsaken family represents, for an allowance 
 of 1000 piastres [about £12, 10s. sterling], one of our European 
 powers. 
 
 Madame Malagamba, the mother, received us with the ceremonies 
 usual in the country. She presented us with perfumes and scented 
 water, and we were scarcely seated on the divan, wiping the perspi- 
 ration from our brows, than her daughters, two heavenly apparitions, 
 issued from the adjoining room, and presented to us orange water 
 and sweetmeats on plates of Chinese porcelain. The empire cf 
 beauty over our souls is such, that although parched with thirst, 
 and exhausted by a twelve-hours' march, we should have sat gazing 
 in mute contemplation at the two young girls, without carrying the 
 glasses to our lips, if their mother had not by her intreaties urged us 
 to accept what her daughters offered us. The whole East was there, 
 such as I had dreamed it in my young days, when the thought was 
 filled with enchanted ideas of its features and its poets ! One of the 
 young girls was but a child ; she was simply the graceful accon> 
 paniment of her sister, as an image reflected by another. After 
 having attended to all the calls of the most simple, but nevertheless 
 the most poetic hospitality, the young girls came and seated them- 
 selves by the side of their mother on the divan opposite to us. This 
 is the picture which I wish I could portray in words, to preserve 
 it in my notes as I see it in my mind ; but we have a capacity for 
 feeling beauty in all its shades, in all its delicacies, in all its mys- 
 teries, and we have but one vague and abstract word to tell what 
 beauty is. In this consists the triumph of painting : it presents at 
 one touch, it preserves for ages that ravishing impression of a 
 female visage, of which the poet can only say, ''She is beautiful;' 
 and we must believe him on his word — but his word does not paint. 
 
 The young girl, then, was seated on the carpet, her legs folded 
 under her, her elbow resting on her mother's knees, her face a 
 little thrown back, now lifting her blue eyes to express to her mother 
 her artless wonder at our appearance and words, now casting them 
 on us in a graceful scrutiny, then sinking them involuntarily, and 
 concealing them beneath her long, silken, and jet-black eyelashes, 
 whilst a virgin blush suffused her cheek, or an ill-suppressed gentle 
 smile played on her lips. Our singular costume was new to her, 
 and the strangeness of our manners caused in her an always-recur- 
 ring astonishment ; her mother in vain made signs to her not to 
 
186 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 testify her surprise, for fear of giving- us offence; the simplicity and 
 ingenuousness of her impressions depicted them, in spite of her, on 
 an artless face of sixteen, and her mind was displayed in each ex- 
 pression of her features with such a grace and such clearness, that 
 her thoughts could be detected beneath her pure skin before she 
 was herself conscious of them. The play of the sun's rays, glancing 
 through foliage upon limpid water, is less varying and less trans- 
 parent than her countenance. We could not draw our eyes from it, 
 and were sufficiently recruited by the contemplation of that face, 
 which none of us will ever forget. 
 
 Mademoiselle Malagamba has that sort of beauty that can be 
 found only in the East : the shape moulded as it is in the Greek 
 statues ; the soul revealed in the glance, as it is in the races of the 
 south ; and the artlessness in expression, as it exists only amongst 
 primitive tribes. When these three conditions of beauty meet in 
 one female face, and harmoniously blend on features in the first 
 blossom of youth ; when the pensive and straying thought brightens, 
 with a soft but lustrous moisture, eyes through which the workings 
 of the heart are read, for innocence has nothing to veil ; when the 
 delicacy of the form, the virgin symmetry of the outlines, the ele- 
 gance and flexibility of the shape, reveal to the eye that voluptuous 
 sensibility of being born to love, and so mingle soul and sense, that 
 we know not, as we gaze, Avhether we feel or but admire — then is 
 beauty perfect, and we experience at its aspect that complete satis- 
 faction of the senses and the heart, that harmony of gratifications 
 which is not what we call love, but which is the love of the intellect, 
 of the artist, of genius for a perfect work. W T e say to ourselves — 
 here it is good ; and we cannot tear ourselves from that place on 
 which we had just before seated ourselves with indifference, so 
 much is the beautiful the light of the understanding and the in- 
 vincible allurement of the heart ! 
 
 Her Oriental costume added yet more to the charms of her per- 
 son ; her long flaxen hair, slightly yellowed, was plaited on her head 
 in a multitude of tresses, which fell down on both sides over 
 her naked shoulders; a confused collection of pearls, of golden 
 sequins, of white and scarlet flowers, was scattered on her locks, as 
 if a handful had been taken from a casket, and thrown at hazard 
 on her head, leaving the shower of jewels and flowers to settle as it 
 might. All was suitable ; nothing can disfigure a girl of fifteen. 
 Her bosom was uncovered, according to the custom of the Arabian 
 females ; a tunic of muslin, embroidered with silver flowers, was tied 
 with a shawl round her waist ; her arms were passed through hang- 
 ing sleeves open to the elbow, from a vest of green cloth, the skirts 
 of which hung loosely over the person; wide pantaloons with a 
 thousand folds completed this costume ; whilst her ankles were en- 
 circled with two bracelets of carved silver. One of these anklets was 
 ornamented with small silver bells, from which every movement 
 of her feet drew a noise. No poet has ever described so ravishing a 
 vision. The Haidee of Lord Byron in Don Juan has something of 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 187 
 
 Mademoiselle Malagamba, but she is far removed from that per- 
 fection of grace, innocence, soft bashfulness, voluptuous languor, 
 and dazzling serenity, which are mingled in her yet infantine fea- 
 tures. I engrave it on my memory to paint it hereafter, as the type 
 of pure beauty and love, in the poem where I shall consecrate my 
 impressions. 
 
 It would have been a beautiful subject for a picture, if we had 
 had a painter in our party, this travelling scene ! Our Turkish 
 costumes, rich and picturesque; our arms of all sorts scattered 
 on the floor around us; our hounds couched at our feet; those 
 three female forms sitting cross-legged on an Aleppo carpet in front 
 of us ; their attitudes full of simplicity, novelty, and carelessness ; 
 the expression of their countenances whilst I related to them my 
 travels, or we drew a comparison between our European usages and 
 the species of hospitality which they tendered us ; the pans of per- 
 fume burning in a corner, scenting the air of evening ; the antique 
 form of the vases in which they handed us sherbet and aromatic 
 drinks — all this in the midst of a dilapidated chamber, open towards 
 the sea, and into which the branches of a palm-tree growing in the 
 court thrust themselves through the wide openings without panes. 
 I regret that I do not convey this scene to my friends as I bear it in 
 my own mind. 
 
 Madame Malagamba, the mother, is a Greek, born in the Isle of 
 Cyprus ; she there married, when fourteen years old, M. Malagamba, 
 a rich Frank merchant, who was at the same time consul at Larnaca. 
 Losses and revolutions carried off M. Malagamba's fortune ; he 
 came to Acre in search of a petty post of consular agent, and there 
 died, leaving his wife and four children in the most absolute priva- 
 tion. His son, a young man, remarkable for his honesty and intel- 
 ligence, was employed by some consuls, and at length obtained the 
 situation of consular agent for Sardinia at Caypha. It is with the 
 slender emoluments of this precarious employment that he main- 
 tains his mother and his sisters. The eldest sister of Mademoiselle 
 Malagamba, equally beautiful as she whom we have so much ad- 
 mired, it was stated to us, had inspired such a passion in one of the 
 young monks of the convent of Caypha, who had enjoyed oppor- 
 tunities of seeing her from the terrace of the convent, that he had 
 flown to an English ship, had embraced the Protestant faith, to en- 
 able him to demand her in marriage, and had attempted, under dif- 
 ferent disguises, all means to carry her off". It was believed that at 
 this period he was still concealed in some town on the coast of 
 Syria, in order to put his project in execution ; but the Turkish 
 authorities guarded the safety of the family ; and if the monks, who 
 exercise over the brethren the most arbitrary and unrelenting sway, 
 should discover the fugitive, he would expatiate in perpetual cap- 
 tivity the insane love this fatal beauty has lighted in his heart. We 
 did not see this sister. 
 
 The night was falling, and it became necessary at last to tear 
 ourselves from the enchantment of this reception, and to proceed in 
 
1SS 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 search of an asylum at the convent of Mount Carmel. If. Mala- 
 gamba had gone to notify to the fathers the numerous guests who 
 were approaching. We arose, and were compelled, in obedience 
 to the usages of the country, to permit Madame and Mademoiselle 
 Malagamba to put their lips to our hands ; and Ave again got on our 
 horses. 
 
 Mount Carmel begins to rise at a few minutes' march from 
 Caypha. We ascended it by a pretty fair road, cut in the rock, 
 on the very edge of the hill : every step that we made discovered to 
 us a new horison upon the sea, upon the hills of Palestine, and 
 upon the shores of Idumcea. Half-way up we met one of the 
 fathers of Carmel, who during forty years has inhabited a little 
 house which serves as a sort of hospital for the poor in the town 
 of Caypha, and who mounts and descends tiie mountain twice in 
 the day, in order to pray with his brothers. The miid expression 
 of serenity of mind and gaiety of heart which shone in his features 
 struck us. These marks of peaceable and invariable happiness are 
 never perceived but in men of rude and simple life, and of kind- 
 hearted dispositions. The ladder of happiness is one of descent : it 
 is more abundant in the humble situations of life than in elevated 
 stations. God gives to some in internal felicity what he grants to 
 others in splendour, renown, and fortune. I have on repeated occa- 
 sions seen proof of this. Enter a saloon, seek out the man whose 
 countenance expresses the most of inward content, and ask his 
 name : it is one unknown and neglected by the world. Providence 
 reveals itself everywhere. 
 
 At the gate of the beautiful monaster}' — which rises at present, 
 all newly built, and of dazzling whiteness, upon the most pointed 
 summit of the peak of Carmel — two fathers awaited our coming. 
 They were the sole inhabitants of this vast and magnificent retreat 
 of ccenobites. We were welcomed by them as countrymen and 
 friends. They placed at our disposal three cells, each provided 
 with a bed — a rare piece of furniture in the East — a chair, and a 
 table. Our Arabs took up their quarters with the horses in the 
 large inner courts of the monastery. We were served with a supper 
 of fresh fish, and vegetables grown amongst the rocks of the moun- 
 tain. We passed a delightful evening after so many fatigues, seated 
 on the wide balconies which command the sea and the caverns 
 of the prophets. A calm moonshine glittered on the waves, the 
 murmur and freshening scent of which reached us at our elevation. 
 We determined on passing the following day in this asylum, to 
 rest our horses, and refit our stock of provisions. We were about 
 to enter a new country, where we should find neither town nor 
 village, and very seldom springs of sweet water. We had the 
 prospect of five days in the desert. 
 
 October 22. — A day of rest, passed at the monastery of Mount 
 Carmel, or in going over the scenes of the mountain and the 
 grottos of Elias and the prophets. The principal of these grottos, 
 evidently cut out of the hardest rock by the hand of man, is a 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 1S9 
 
 chamber of prodigious height ; the only view from it is over the 
 boundless sea, and the only noise that is heard comes from the 
 breakers continually dashing against the ledges of the promontory. 
 Tradition recounts that this was the school in which Elias taught 
 the knowledge of the mysteries and of sacred poesy. The place was 
 admirably chosen ; and the voice of the aged prophet, the instructor 
 of an innumerable generation of prophets, must have had a ma- 
 jestic echo in the hollow bosom of the mountain, which he illustrated 
 by so many prodigies, and to which he has left his name ! The 
 history of Elias is one of the most marvellous relations of sacred 
 antiquity ; he is the giant of the sacred bards. Recalling his life, 
 and his terrible vengeance, it seems as if this man had the thunder 
 of the Lord for a soul, and that the element on which he was borne 
 to heaven was the one in which he was brought forth. It forms a 
 fine lyric or epic feature in the poem of the ancient mysteries of 
 Judaic civilisation. On the whole, the era of the prophets, con- 
 sidering it historically, is one of the least intelligible in the existence 
 of this fugitive race. We discern, however, especially in the epoch 
 of Elias, the intent of that singular organisation of the body of 
 prophets. It was evidently a saintly and lettered class, always in 
 opposition to the kings ; sacred tribunes of the people, exciting or 
 calming them by songs, parables, or denunciations ; raising factions in 
 Israel, as eloquence and the press inflame them amongst us ; com- 
 bating with each other, sometimes with the sword of the tongue, at 
 others with stonings and weapons ; exterminating each other from 
 the face of the earth, as we see Elias destroying them by hundreds ; 
 then yielding in their turn, and giving place to other leaders of the 
 people. Never has poetry, properly so called, played so grand a 
 part in the political drama, or in the destinies of civilisation. Reason 
 or passion, as they were false or true prophets, spoke by their 
 mouths only in the energetic and harmonious language of images. 
 They were not orators, as at Athens or Rome; an orator is too 
 much a mortal ! — theirs were hymns and lamentations : the poet is 
 divine! What an ardent, impassioned, and wild imagination does 
 it not suppose in a people under such dominion of the poetic 
 word ! — and must we not be astonished that, independently of the 
 high religious import these effusions bear, they should be so perfect, 
 so inimitable a monument of genius and elegance ? The rewards of 
 poets then were society itself: their inspiration submitted the 
 people to them ; they drew them, at their pleasure, to crime or 
 heroism ; they made kings tremble, or cast cinders on their heads ; 
 or, awakening patriotism in the hearts of their countrymen, they 
 made them triumph over their enemies, or recalled to them, in exile 
 and slavery, the hills of Sion, and the freedom of the children of 
 God. I am surprised that amongst all the great dramas that mo- 
 dern poetry has drawn from the history of the Jews, it has never 
 yet conceived the marvellous action of the prophets. It is a beau- 
 tiful song of oecumenical history. 
 Same date. — I am returned from a solitary walk over the odo- 
 
190 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 riferous slopes of Carmel. I was seated under an arbutus, a little 
 above the perpendicular path which reaches to the top of the 
 mountain, and finishes at the convent, contemplating the sea, which 
 separates me from so many things and beings that I have known 
 and loved, but which does not part me from their memory. I re- 
 called my past life; I remembered similar hours spent on so many 
 different shores, and with such dissimilar reflections ; I asked my- 
 self if it were indeed I who was there, at the isolated peak of Mount 
 Carmel, a few leagues from Arabia and the desert, and wherefore I 
 was there, and whither I went, whither returned, and what hand 
 conducted me ; and what it was that 1 sought, knowingly or unknow- 
 ingly, in these perpetual wanderings through the world. I could 
 scarcely make of myself a single being, in such opposite and unfore- 
 seen phases of my short existence ; but the connected, lucid, and 
 immediate impressions of all the individuals whom I have loved and 
 lost, all centered in the same breast with a profound sorrow, and 
 proved too well that the unity which I discovered not in my life, 
 was sufficiently sensible in my heart! — and I felt my eyes grow 
 moist in pondering on the past, where I already saw five or six 
 tombs in which my happiness was so many times engulfed! Then 
 following my instinct, when my feelings become too powerful, and 
 are ready to turn my brain, I raised them in a pious flight towards 
 God, towards that Infinite Being who receives, absorbs, and restores 
 all. I prayed to him, I submitted myself to his will, always be- 
 neficent. I said to him, 1 All is good, since you have willed it : look 
 on me still; continue to lead me by your ways, and not by mine; 
 conduct me whither you will, and as you will, provided I feel 
 myself conducted by you ; provided you reveal yourself from time 
 to time to my darkness by one of those brightenings of the soul 
 which show us, like the lightning, a momentary horison in the midst 
 of our profound night ; provided I feel myself sustained by that 
 immortal hope which you have left on earth, like the voice of those 
 who are no more ; provided I find them again in you, and they 
 know me again, and we love each other in that ineffable union we 
 shall form — you, they, and we! This is sufficient for me still to 
 advance, to march even to the end, in this road which seems so 
 endless; but grant that the path be not too rough for feet already 
 wounded!' 
 
 I arose more buoyant, and set myself to collect some handfuls of 
 the sweetly-smelling herbs with which Carmel is all perfumed. The 
 fathers in the convent make from them a sort of tea, more strongly 
 scented than the mint and sage of our gardens. I was disturbed in 
 my reflections and herborising by the steps of two asses, whose iron 
 shoes echoed upon the smooth rock of the pathway. Two females, 
 enveloped from head to foot in long white cloaks, were seated on the 
 asses; a young man held the bridle of the foremost of these animals, 
 and two Arabs marched behind, bearing on their heads large bas- 
 kets of reeds, covered over with napkins of embroidered muslin. It 
 was M. Malagamba, his mother, and his sister, who were ascending 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 191 
 
 to the monastery to offer me provisions for the journey, which they 
 had prepared during the night. One of the baskets was filled with 
 little loaves, yellow as gold, and of an exquisite flavour — a precious 
 gift in a country where bread is unknown. The other was filled 
 with fruits of all kinds, with some bottles of excellent wine of 
 Cyprus and Lebanon, and with innumerable sweetmeats, the delight 
 of the Orientals. I received with gratitude the present of these 
 amiable women. I sent the Arabs forward with the baskets to the 
 monastery, and we seated ourselves to converse for a moment on 
 the misfortunes of Madame Malagamba. The place was charming ; 
 it was under two or three great olive-trees, which overshadow one 
 of the basins which the spring of the prophet Elias has worn, as it 
 falls from rock to rock, into a small ravine of the mountain. The 
 Arabs had stretched the carpets of the asses on the bank which sur- 
 rounds the spring, and the two ladies, who had cast back their long 
 veils over their shoulders, and were seated on the rustic divan on 
 the edge of the water, in their richest and most brilliant costume, 
 formed a group worthy the eye of a painter. I was myself seated 
 opposite to them, on a ledge of the rock from which the spring was 
 tumbling. Many tears flowed from the eyes of Madame Malagamba 
 as she related to me the period of her prosperity, her fall into mis- 
 fortune, her present distresses, her flight from Acre, and her ma- 
 ternal anxieties for the prospects of her son and her charming 
 daughters. 
 
 Mademoiselle Malagamba listened to this recital with the tranquil 
 indifference of earliest youth. She amused herself by collecting a 
 nosegay from the flowers on which she was seated ; only when the 
 voice of her mother faltered as she spoke, and tears rolled from her 
 eyes, she threw her arm around the neck of her mother, and wiped 
 away her tears with the muslin kerchief, embroidered with silver, 
 which she held in her hand; then, when a smile returned to the 
 visage of her mother, she resumed her infantine distraction, and 
 began anew the assortment of her nosegay. I promised these unfor- 
 tunate females to remember them, and their unexpected hospitality, 
 on my return to Europe, and to solicit from my friends at Turin 
 some advancement for the young consular agent at Caypha. Hope, 
 although very distant and uncertain, returned to the heart of 
 Madame Malagamba, and the conversation took another turn. We 
 spoke of the manners of the country, and of the monotonous life l<?d 
 by the Arab women, whose habits the European females resident in 
 Arabia are obliged also to follow. But Mademoiselle Malagamba 
 and her mother had never experienced any other sort of life, and 
 were surprised at the contrary account I gave them of affairs in 
 Europe. To live for a single man, and with a single thought, in the 
 privacy of their apartment ; to pass the day on a sofa plaiting their 
 hair, or arranging in graceful order the numerous jewels with which 
 they decorate themselves ; to breathe the fresh air of the mountain 
 or the sea, from the top of a terrace, or through the lattices of a 
 grated window ; to make a few turns beneath the orange and pome- 
 
i92 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 granate-trees of a small garden, and to sit in a reverie on the edge of 
 a basin, which the spouting water stirs with its murmur; to tend the 
 household, and make with their own hands the bread-paste, the 
 sherbet, and the sweetmeats ; once a week to pass the day at the 
 public bath, in company with all the young girls of the town, and 
 sing a few stanzas from the Arabian poets, accompanying themselves 
 on the guitar — such is the entire existence of females in the East. 
 Society does not exist for them ; therefore they have none of the 
 factitious passions of self-love which society produces; they are 
 wholly devoted to love when they are young and beautiful, and after- 
 wards to domestic cares and to their children. Are such customs as 
 valuable as others? 
 
 Whilst we were thus talking on chance topics, my dragoman, a 
 young man, born in Arabia, and well versed in Arabic literature, had 
 been searching for me round the convent, and discovered me seated 
 near the fountain. He brought to me another young Arab, who had 
 learnt my arrival at Caypha, and had come from St Jean d'Acre to 
 make accpiaintance with a poet from the west. This young man, 
 born in Lebanon, and educated at Aleppo, was already celebrated for 
 his poetic talent. I had myself often heard of him, and I had got 
 several of his compositions translated for me. He brought me some 
 pieces, the translation of which I shall afterwards give. He seated 
 himself beside us near the fountain, and we conversed a long time, 
 with the assistance of my dragoman. However, the day was drop- 
 ping, and it behoved us to separate. ' As we are both poets,' said I 
 to him, ' and as hazard lias brought us together from two such oppo- 
 site points of the world on so delightful a spot, in so sweet an hour, 
 and in presence of so ravishing a beauty, we ought to celebrate by 
 some verses, each in his own tongue, our meeting, and the impres- 
 sions which the moment inspires.' He smiled, and drew from his 
 girdle the inkstand and pen of reed, which an Arab writer no more 
 quits than the trooper his sword. We both retired a few paces to 
 meditate on our verses. He had finished long before me. I need 
 not say that all language suffers when put into another tongue ; but 
 here is the translation of his poetry : — 
 
 ■ In the gardens of Caypha there is a flower which the rays of the 
 sun seek through the arbours of palm-leaves. 
 
 This flower has eyes more soft than the gazelle, eyes which re- 
 semble a drop of water from the sea in a shell. 
 
 This flower has so delicious a fragrance, that the chief who flics 
 .before the lance of another tribe, on his mare more rapid than the 
 fall of waters, feels it in his flight, and stops to inhale it. 
 
 The gust of the simoom destroys all other perfumes on the clothes 
 of the traveller, but it cannot remove from the heart the odour of 
 this wonderful flower. 
 
 We find it on the banks of a stream, which flows without a 
 murmur at its feet. 
 
 Young maiden, tell me the name of thy father, and I wiH tell thee 
 the name of this flower,' 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 193 
 
 The following are my verses, which I caused to be translated into 
 Arabic by my dragoman : — 
 
 Clear-mirrored fount ! when on thy verdant ledge 
 
 The pensive Lilla comes her form to lay, 
 And casts her bending image o'er thy edge, 
 
 Like star of midnight in a tideless bay, 
 
 A gentle shiver curls thy sleeping waves, 
 
 No more thy bed of sand or reeds is seen, 
 But joyful light thy liquid bosom paves, 
 
 And heaven is sought but in thy glassy sheen. 
 
 Thou'rt but a shade of lovely things the while, 
 Of eyes than thine own border-flowers more blue, 
 
 Of teeth of pearl, that 'tween two rose-lips smile, 
 And globes, by pure sighs moved, of snowy hue ; 
 
 Hair twined with flowers, and bending with their weight, 
 
 And corals, heightening every native charm — 
 Bright pearls, which one might think to seize on straight, 
 
 Like sands of gold, by plunging in the arm. 
 
 .Source of this shade, my hands are o'er thee placed, 
 Lest all should be dispelled by some chance blast, 
 
 And, envious of the bank, my lips would taste 
 The happy waves through which thy shape has past. 
 
 But Lilla, laughing, seeks her mother's side, 
 
 And then the fount is but a small dark pool : 
 In vain I taste it — bitter is its tide, 
 
 Tarnished by vase-stirred sand, of insects full. 
 
 What thou dost for these waters, sweet young flower, 
 
 My soul has ever felt from beauty's might : 
 While basking in its smile, joy rules the hour, 
 
 But when its glance is veiled, then cometh night ! 
 
 It was rather unfortunate that the young girl for whom we made 
 verses in Arabic and French understood neither language, and had 
 acquired but an indifferent portion of Italian. 
 
 October 23. — At sunrise we quitted, fresh and active, the convent 
 of Mount Carmel, and its two excellent monks, and we proceeded by 
 the precipitous paths which lead from the peak to the sea. There 
 we entered the desert, which stretches between the Syrian Sea, the 
 coasts of which are in general flat, sandy, and indented with small 
 bays, and the mountains which continue the ridge of Carmel. These 
 mountains sink by insensible degrees as they approach Galilee ; they 
 are black and bare ; the rocks stand out from the covering of soil 
 and shrubs which still remains ; their appearance is sad and sombre ; 
 they have only their glittering reflection, and the ideal majesty of 
 the past. The chain, which continues about ten leagues, is broken at 
 intervals, and some short valley is opened to the eye ; at the bottom 
 or on the sides of one of these valleys we perceive distinctly the 
 ruins of a fortified castle, and a large Arab village, stretching under 
 the walls of the castle ; the smoke from the houses rises, and is wafted 
 along the sides of Carmel, and rows of camels, black goats, and red 
 
 VOL. i. m 
 
lamartine's 
 
 cows, wind down from the village to the plain which we are travers- 
 ing. Some Arabs on horseback, armed with lances, and simply clad 
 in their white woollen cloak, with their legs and arms bare, march at 
 the head and on the sides of these pastoral troops, which are led to 
 the only spring which we have met for four hours. The wells were 
 formerly discovered, and dug by the inhabitants of the towns situated 
 on the sea-shore : the present race of Arabs have abandoned these 
 towns ages ago ; the fountain alone remains, and they make this 
 journey of an hour or two every day, to fetch water, and let the 
 cattle drink. "We marched all the day over the remains of walls 
 and mosaics, which break through the sand ; the route is strewed 
 with ruins, which attest the splendour and immense population of 
 these shores in remote times. 
 
 We had seen since the morning, in the horizon before us, on the 
 edge of the sea, a prodigious column, on which the rays of the sun 
 were glittering, and which seemed to grow larger, and spring from 
 the waves, in proportion as we approached. On drawing near, we 
 find that this column is a confused mass of magnificent ruins, belong- 
 ing to different eras : we distinguish, first of all, an immense wall, 
 perfectly similar, from its form and the chiselling of its stones, to a 
 , portion of the Coliseum at Rome. This wall, of a prodigious height, 
 comes out alone, in a slanting direction, upon a heap of other ruins 
 of Greek and Roman construction, and we soon discover behind it 
 the elegant and open remains of a Moorish monument, a church, or 
 a mosque, or perhaps both in turn ; then a series of other remains of 
 divers ancient buildings yet standing, and in good preservation. 
 The sandy road which our guides pursued led us pretty near this 
 curious relic of the past, the existence, name, and date of which we 
 were completely unacquainted with. About half a mile from this 
 group of monuments the sea-coast rises, and the sand turns to rock ; 
 this rock has been cut by the hand of man on all sides for about a 
 mile in circumference. It might be called a primitive town, scoojjed 
 out of the rock, before mankind had learnt the art of raising stones 
 from the ground, and erecting dwellings on its surface ; it is, in fact, 
 one of those subterranean towns of which the earliest histories speak, 
 or at least one of those vast necropolises, the cities of the dead, which 
 in every direction undermined the earth or the rocks, in the vicinity 
 of the immense cities of the living : but the form of the rocks, and of 
 the numberless caverns cut in their sides, indicates rather, in my 
 opinion, the abodes of a living people. These caverns are of great 
 extent, with elevated entrances; several broad steps lead to these 
 entrances ; openings are pierced also in the rock, to give light to the 
 habitations, and these entrances and openings, doors and windows, 
 open upon streets deeply cut in the bowels of the hill. "NVe tracked 
 several of these deep and wide streets, in which the ruts mark the 
 traces of chariot wheels. A multitude of eagles and vultures, Bud 
 innumerable flocks of starlings, started at our approach from the 
 shade of these hollowed rocks. Climbing - plants, wall - flowers, 
 clusters of the myrtle and the fig, have taken root in the soil of 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 195 
 
 these stone streets, and carpet the long avenues. In some places 
 the ancient inhabitants had entirely levelled the hill, and dug canals, 
 to bring water from the sea, and open the prospect upon a part of 
 the gulf which is formed behind the town. It is a landscape of an 
 entirely novel character, at once solemn and harsh, as we look upon 
 the rock — smiling and bright, when we gaze upon the aerial streaks 
 on the blue ocean, and upon the multitude of plants springing spon- 
 taneously from the crevices of the granite. 
 
 We winded for some time through these wonderful labyrinths, and 
 arrived at last at the foot of the great wall and the Moorish monu- 
 ments, which we had before us : there we stopped an instant to de- 
 liberate. These ruins have an evil reputation ; bands of Arab rob- 
 bers frequently conceal themselves there to pillage and massacre 
 caravans. We had been warned at Caypha to avoid them, or to 
 pass them in battle array, and permitting none of our men to stray 
 from the body of the caravan. Curiosity had prevailed; we had 
 been unable to resist the desire of visiting monuments of which 
 ancient and modern history knows nothing. We were ignorant 
 whether they were deserted or inhabited. When arrived near the 
 outer wall which still encircles them, we perceived a breach by 
 which we might penetrate. At the same moment a group of Arabs 
 on horseback appeared, lance in hand, upon the sand which was yet 
 between us and the opening, and came down upon us. We were 
 taken by surprise, but were, however, ready ; we had in our hands 
 our double-barrelled guns primed and cocked, and pistols in our 
 belts. We advanced upon the Arabs ; they stopped short. I sepa- 
 rated from the caravan, giving orders for them to remain under 
 arms, and I advanced with my two companions and my dragoman. 
 We opened a parley with them, and the scheik, with his principal 
 officers, escorted us themselves as far as the breach, and gave orders 
 to the Arabs inside to respect us, and to permit us to examine the 
 monuments. I nevertheless judged it prudent to take only a part of 
 our troop into the interior ; the rest remained encamped at a gun- 
 shot from the hill, ready to come to our aid if we should fall into an 
 ambuscade. This precaution was not useless, for we found within the 
 walls a population of two or three hundred Arabs or Bedouins, in- 
 cluding women and children. There was only one passage to get 
 out of the ruins, and we might have been easily taken and butchered, 
 if the barbarians had not been held in awe by the force which stayed 
 outside, and which they supposed more considerable than it was in 
 reality. We had taken care not to deploy our whole body, and 
 some moukres were kept back on purpose, stationed on a detached 
 hillock where they might be seen. 
 
 As soon as we had got through the breach, we found ourselves in 
 a labyrinth of paths turning round the crumbling ruins of the great 
 wall, and the other ancient edifices that we successively discovered. 
 These paths or streets had no regular formation, but the steps of the 
 Arabs, the camels, and the goats had beaten them at hazard amongst 
 the rubbish. The families of the tribe had built nothing themselves ; 
 
19S 
 
 lamartine'.s 
 
 they Lad simply taken advantage of all the cavities which the dis- 
 placing of monstrous blocks had caused here and there, to shelter 
 themselves within, some under the tops of columns or capitals, 
 arrested in their full by other ruins, and others under an awnino- of 
 black goat-skin stretched from one pillar to another, and thus form- 
 ing a roof. The scheik himself, his wives and children, who occu- 
 pied doubtless the palace of the village, had their abode at the en- 
 trance of the town, amidst the ruins of a Roman temple upon a very 
 high elevation, standing above the path by which we entered. Their 
 dwelling was formed by an immense block of sculptured stone, which 
 hung almost perpendicularly, supported at one of its angles by other 
 blocks, rolled pell-mell together, and stopping each other, as it were, 
 in their fall. This confused mass of stones seemed in reality as if 
 giving way, and about to crush the women and children of the scheik, 
 who showed their heads above us, thrust out of this artificial cavern. 
 The females were not veiled ; they had no other garment than a 
 chemise of blue cotton, which left the neck and legs uncovered : this 
 chemise is bound round the body by a belt of leather. They 
 appeared to us handsome, notwithstanding the rings which pierced 
 their nostrils, and the fantastic tatooings with which their cheeks 
 and throats were furrowed. The children were naked, sitting on or 
 bestriding the blocks of chiselled stone which formed the terrace of 
 this frightful dwelling; and some black goats, with long pendant 
 ears, had climbed to the side of the children, up the wall of the 
 grottos, and gazed at us passing, or bounded over our heads, clear- 
 ing, from block to block, the deep path in which we were walking. 
 We saw some camels lying here and there in the cool hollows 
 formed in the interstices of the ruins, and showing their pensive and 
 tranquil heads over the trunks of the shivered columns and capitals. 
 At every step the scene was novel, and drew our attention more 
 powerfully. A painter would have found a thousand subjects of an 
 unrecognised picturesque in the ever-varying and striking manner 
 in which the dwellings of the tribe were mingled and confounded 
 with the remains of theatres, baths, churches, and mosques, which 
 strew this spot of earth. The less of human labour in working an 
 asylum amidst this chaos of a desolate town, the more the habita- 
 tions spring from the strange accidents of the monuments in their 
 fall, so much is the poetry and imposing effect of the scene en- 
 hanced. Women were milking their she-goats on the steps of an 
 amphitheatre ; flocks of sheep were jumping one by one from the 
 deep window of an emirs palace, or of a Gothic church, of the time 
 of the crusades. Some Arabs, seated cross -legged, were smoking 
 their pipes under the carved arch of a Roman fabric, and the 
 camels had their straps attached to the Moorish piazzas of a harem 
 gateway. 
 
 We descended from our horses, to visit in detail the principal re- 
 mains. The Arabs opposed great obstacles when we testified an in- 
 clination to enter the circuit of a temple at the end of the town, upon 
 a rock near the edge of the sea. We had a new dispute at each 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 court, at each wall that wo had to get over to reach it ; we were 
 obliged to employ even threats to force them to yield up the pas- 
 sage. The women and children retired, pouring on us a flood of 
 imprecations ; the scheik drew back a moment, and the other Arabs 
 testified by their features and gestures the strongest marks of dis- 
 content : but the air of indecision and ill-disguised timidity which we 
 detected in their manners encouraged us to insist ; and we entered, 
 partly by leave, and partly by force, into the interior of this last and 
 most astounding of the monuments. I cannot tell what it is ; there 
 is something of every order in its construction, form, and ornaments : 
 I am inclined to believe that it is an ancient temple converted by 
 the crusaders into a church at the time when they had possession 
 of Csesarea in Syria and its neighbouring coasts, and that the Arabs 
 have at a later period turned it into a mosque. Time, which sports 
 with the productions and thoughts of men, now changes it to dust, 
 and the knee of the camel bends upon those flags on which the 
 knees of three or four generations in religion have bent in their 
 turns before different gods. The foundations of the edifice are 
 evidently of Grecian architecture, in the era of its decline ; at the 
 spring of the arches it takes the Moorish fashion ; windows origi- 
 nally Corinthian have bee a changed with much art and taste into 
 Moorish windows in ogive, divided by light columns joined to each 
 other ; what remains of the arches is bordered with arabesques of 
 exquisite fineness and delicacy. The edifice has eight sides, and 
 each of its projecting angles caused by this octagon form contained 
 most probably an altar, if we should judge from the niches which 
 decorate the walls where such altars must have been erected. The 
 centre part of the monument was also occupied by a principal altar : 
 it is easily perceived, from the elevation of the ground in this por- 
 tion of the temple. This elevation would be caused by the steps 
 which ran round the altar. The walls of this church are half fallen, 
 down, leaving to the eye vistas upon the sea, and the reefs which 
 skirt it. Climbing-plants hang in leafy and flowery tufts from the 
 tops of the broken arches, and birds with scarlet necks, and flocks 
 of small blue swallows, were chirping in these aerial arbours, or 
 fluttering along the cornices. Nature takes up her hymn where 
 man has ended his. 
 
 On leaving this unknown temple, we passed on foot through the 
 different alleys of the village, tumbling at each step over curious 
 relics, and discovering unlooked-for scenes amidst this medley of 
 savage manners and the beautiful testimonials of extinct civilisation. 
 We saw a great number of Arab women and girls occupied, in the 
 small enclosures of their huts, on the different employments of a 
 pastoral life. Some were weaving stuffs of goat hair ; others were 
 engaged in grinding barley or baking rice. They are in general 
 very pretty, tall, strong, the complexion burnt by the sun, but with 
 all the appearance of vigour and health. Their black hair was 
 covered with strings of silver piastres ; they had ear-rings and neck- 
 laces enriched with the same ornament. They uttered yells of 
 
19S 
 
 LAMARTINKS 
 
 surprise as they saw us pass, and followed us beyond their houses. 
 None of the Arabs offered us the least present ; we did not deem it 
 expedient to offer any ourselves ; and we departed through the 
 outer wall with precaution. Not an individual of the tribe followed 
 us, and we went to pitch our tents about a mile from the great 
 wall, at the bottom of a small gulf, likewise encircled by ancient 
 walls, it having formerly formed the harbour of this unknown town. 
 The heat being extreme, we bathed in the sea, behind an old mole, 
 which the waves have not yet completely swamped, whilst our saiis 
 prepared our tents, gave the horses a feed of barley, and lighted a 
 fire against an arch, which had doubtless served as a gate to the 
 port. 
 
 The Arabs call this place by a name which signifies cut rock. The 
 crusaders style it in their chronicles Castel Peregrino (Castle of 
 Pilgrims) ; but I have not been able to discover the designation of 
 the intermediate town, Greek, Jewish, or Roman, to which the great 
 ruins, which were so attractive to us, belonged. On the following 
 day we continued to skirt the shores of the sea as far as Caesarea, 
 where we arrived towards the middle of the day ; in the morning, 
 we had crossed a river which the Arabs called Zirka, which is the 
 river of crocodiles, according to Pliny. 
 
 Caesarea, the ancient splendid capital of Herod, has not a single 
 inhabitant ; its walls, reared by Saint Louis during his crusade, are 
 nevertheless unbroken, and would still be available as excellent 
 fortifications to a modern town.* We passed the deep ditch which 
 surrounds them, by a stone bridge, nearly in the middle of the en- 
 closure, and we penetrated into the maze of stones, of uncovered 
 vaults, of ruined edifices, of marble and porphyry fragments, with 
 which the site of the ancient town is thickly strewed. We roused 
 three jackals from their lair in the rubbish amongst which our horses' 
 feet rang in echoes ; we sought for the fountain which had been 
 mentioned to us, and found it with difficulty at the eastern ex- 
 tremity of the ruins. There we encamped. Towards evening, a 
 young Arab herd arrived with a numerous flock of cows, sheep, and 
 goats ; he consumed nearly two hours constantly pumping water from 
 the fountain for these animals, who waited in patience for their turn, 
 and retired in order, after having satisfied their thirst, as if they had 
 been led by shepherds. The boy, perfectly naked, was mounted on 
 an ass ; he was the last to leave the ruins, and he told us that he thus 
 came every day, about two leagues, to water the flocks of his tribe, 
 Avhich was established in the mountain. This was the only incident 
 that met us at Caesarea, in that city where Herod, according to 
 Josephus, had accumulated all the wonders of Grecian and Konian 
 art, and where he had cut an artificial harbour, which served for 
 shelter to all the marine of Syria. Caesarea is the town in which 
 Saint Paul was held a prisoner, and made, in his defence, and in that 
 of youthful Christianity, that beautiful speech which is preserved in 
 
 * [C.xsarea stands on the coast of the Mediterranean, about twenty-live miles 
 south from Acre] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 199 
 
 the 26th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. Cornelius the centurion 
 and Philip the evangelist were from Csesarea, and it was likewise 
 from the port of Csesarea that the apostles embarked, on their voyage 
 to Greece and Italy, to sow the Gospel. 
 
 We passed the evening in going through the ruins of the town, 
 and in collecting fragments of sculpture, which we were afterwards 
 obliged to leave on the spot, from deficiency of means for transport. 
 A beautiful night was passed under shelter of the aqueduct of 
 Caesarea. 
 
 The route continued over a sandy desert, covered in some places 
 with shrubs, and even with thickets of holly-oaks, which served for 
 pasture to the Arabs. M. de Parseval fell asleep on his horse, and 
 the caravan got in advance of him. When we perceived that he had 
 fallen behind, two musket-shots were heard in the distance ; we set 
 off in a gallop to go to his assistance, firing off pistols to scare the 
 Arabs : he had fortunately not been attacked, having only fired his 
 two shots at the gazelles which were scouring the plain. We ar- 
 rived in the evening, without having found a single drop of water, 
 near the Arab village of El-Mukhalid. An immense sycamore, 
 thrown like a natural tent over the side of a naked and pulverous 
 hill, enticed us to its shade. Our Arabs went to the village to 
 inquire the direction of the fountain, which was pointed out to them. 
 We all ran there, drank, bathed our heads and arms, and returned 
 to our camp, where the cook had lighted a fire at the foot of the 
 tree. Its trunk is already calcined by the successive fires of the 
 thousands of caravans which have in their turns enjoyed its shade. 
 All our tents and all our horses were collected beneath its prodi- 
 gious branches. The scheik of El-Mukhalid came to present me 
 melons ; he seated himself under my tent, and asked me for news of 
 Ibrahim Pacha, and for remedies for his wives and for himself. I 
 gave him some drops of eau-de-Cologne, and invited him to sup with 
 us. He accepted : we had the greatest difficulty in the world to get 
 quit of him. 
 
 The night is suffocating. I cannot remain in the tent; I arise 
 and go to seat myself near the fountain, under an olive-tree. The 
 moon lightens all the chain of the mountains of Galilee, which grace- 
 fully waves at the horison, about two leagues from the place in which 
 I am encamped. It is the most beautiful outline of a horison that 
 has ever attracted my observation. The first shoots of Persian lilac, 
 which droop in clusters in spring-time, have not a more pure violet 
 hue than these mountains at the hour in which I contemplate them. 
 As the moon scales the heavens, and draws nearer, their tints 
 darken, and grow more purple ; they appear, in motion, like heavy 
 waves seen in a beautiful sunset at sea. All these mountains have, 
 furthermore, a name and a place in the first history which our infant 
 eyes have perused on the lap of our mothers. I know that Judea 
 is there, with its ruins and its prodigies ; that Jerusalem is seated 
 behind one of those hills ; that I am separated from it by only a few 
 hours' march ; that I thus draw nigh to one of the most desired 
 
200 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 objects of my long journey. I en joy this reflection, as man always 
 enjoys it, every time he is about to consummate any design, however 
 insignificant, to which some passion has excited him. I remain an 
 hour or more imprinting these outlines, these tints, this transparent 
 and rosy sky, this solitude, this silence, on my recollection. The 
 dampness of night falls and wets my mantle ; I return 10 the tent, 
 and sleep. 
 
 It was scarcely an hour that I had slept when I was awakened by 
 a slight noise ; I raised myself on my elbow, and looked around me. 
 One of the corners of the tent was raised, to let the night breeze 
 have entrance: the moon fully lighted the interior. I saw an 
 enormous jackal advancing cautiously, and looking towards me 
 with his fiery eyes. I seized my musket ; the movement alarmed 
 him, and he scampered off in a gallop. I again fell asleep. Awak- 
 ened a second time, I saw the jackal at my feet, poking his snout 
 into the folds of my mantle, and on the point of seizing my beautiful 
 greyhound, which slept on the same mat with me — a charming 
 animal, which has not quitted me a day for eight years, and which I 
 would defend as a part of my life at the peril of existence. I had 
 fortunately covered it up with a skirt of the mantle, and it slept so 
 profoundly, that it had heard nothing, felt nothing, and suspected not 
 the danger it was running : one second later, the jackal had borne 
 it away, and slaughtered it in its burrow. I uttered a scream, and 
 my companions awoke. I was already out of the tent, and had fired 
 oft" my musket ; but the jackal was fled, and in the morning no trace 
 of blood bore witness to my vengeance. 
 
 We depart with the first rays which tinge the hills of Judea ; we 
 follow the undulating ridge out of sight of the sea. The heat fatigues 
 us greatly, and the most profound silence reigns during the march. 
 At eleven o'clock we arrive, overcome with thirst and weariness, on 
 the steep banks of a river, which slowly rolls its gloomy waters in a 
 deep hollow, lined with tall reeds ; the waters are not perceptible 
 until they are reached. Troops of wild buffaloes are lying among 
 the reeds and in the river, and show their heads above the stream. 
 They pass the scorching hours of the day thus motionless: they gaze 
 at us without stirring. We pass the river at a ford, and attain a for- 
 saken khan. This river is at present named by the Arabs Xahr-e/- 
 Arsoaf. The ancient Apollonia should be placed near here, unless 
 its position be determined by another river, which we passed an hour 
 afterwards, and which is now called Nahr-el-P<.ir<i<. 
 
 We lay down on our mats in the cool and dark vaults which alone 
 remain of the old khan. Scarcely were we seated round a dish of 
 cold rice, which the cook had brought us for breakfast, than an 
 enormous serpent, eight feet long, and thick as the arm, glided out 
 of a hole in the old wall which overshadowed us, and came rolling 
 amongst our legs. We hastened to fly towards the entrance of the 
 vault; but it was there before us, and slowly disappeared, making its 
 tail vibrate like the string of a bow amongst the reeds growing on 
 the banks of the river. Its skin was of the most beautiful deep blue. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 201 
 
 AVe felt repugnance in resuming our place of rest, but the heat was 
 so excessive that we were obliged to submit ; and we slept on our 
 saddles, careless as to any similar visits that might interrupt our re- 
 pose. At four o'clock in the afternoon we remount our horses. I 
 perceive upon a height at a little distance from the river an Arab 
 horseman, with a gun in his hand, and accompanied by a young slave 
 on foot. The Arab appeared to be hunting ; he stopped his horse 
 every moment, and looked at us defiling, with an air of doubt and 
 hesitation. All at once he puts his mare in a gallop, comes up to me, 
 and addressing me in Italian, asks me if I am not the traveller who 
 is at present journeying through Arabia, and whose speedy arrival at 
 Jaffa the European consuls have announced. I tell him my name ; 
 he jumps from his horse, and comes to kiss my hand. 'I am,' said 
 he to us, ' the son of M. Damiani, French vice-consul at Jaffa. In- 
 formed of your arrival by letters brought from Sai'de by an English 
 vessel, I came some days ago to hunt gazelles on this route, in order 
 to find you, and conduct you to my father's house. Ours is an 
 Italian name ; our family is originally from Europe, but from time 
 immemorial has been established in Arabia. We are Arabs, but we 
 have French hearts, and should regard it as a disgrace and an insult 
 to our feelings if you accept hospitality in any other house than ours. 
 Recollect that we have met you first, and that, in the East, he who 
 first meets a stranger has the privilege of being his host. I tell you 
 of this, because many other families of Jaffa have been informed of 
 your journey by letters brought in the same ship, and they will come 
 to meet you as soon as my slave shall have proclaimed your arrival 
 in the town.' 
 
 Scarcely had he ended his discourse, than he said a few words in 
 Arabic to the young slave, who, mounting his master's mare, dis- 
 appeared in the twinkling of an eye behind the sand-hills which 
 bounded the horison. I gave M. Damiani one of my led horses, 
 which accompanied me without being bestrode, and we slowly took 
 the road to Jaffa, which we did not yet perceive. After two hours' 
 march, we saw on the other side of a river which remained for us to 
 cross about thirty horsemen, clad in the richest costumes, armed 
 with glittering weapons, and mounted upon Arab chargers of fault- 
 less beauty, prancing on the strand of the river. They were urging 
 their horses even into the water, uttering cries, and firing pistols as 
 a salute to us. They were the sons, relations, and friends of the 
 principal inhabitants of Jaffa, who had come to meet us. Each of 
 them came up to me, and delivered his compliment, to which I re- 
 plied through the medium of my dragoman, or in Italian, to those 
 who understood it. They ranged themselves around us, and flying 
 here and there upon the sand, they presented us with the spectacle 
 of throwing the djerid, in which the Arabs exert all the vigour of 
 their horses and all the dexterity of their bodies. W e drew near to 
 Jaffa, and the town began to rise before us, on a hill which reaches 
 to the sea. The first glance of it is magical, when approached from 
 this side of the desert. The foundations of the town to the west are 
 
^02 
 
 lamartlne's 
 
 bathed by the sea, which is always rolling large foaming w aves on 
 the rocks which surround the harbour ; on the north, by which side 
 we arrived, it is encompassed with delicious gardens, which seem to 
 spring by enchantment from the desert to crown and overshadow its 
 ramparts. We proceed beneath the lofty and odorous branches of a 
 forest of palms, of pomegranates loaded with their red berries, of 
 marine cedars with jagged leaves, of citrons, olives, figs, and lemons, 
 large as the walnut-trees of Europe, and stooping beneath their fruits 
 and blossoms. The atmosphere is but a perfume raised and spread 
 by the breeze from the sea ; the ground is white with orange-blos- 
 soms, which the wind sweeps like the dead leaves of autumn with 
 us. From point to point, Turkish fountains of various -coloured 
 marble, with their brass cups attached by chains, offer their limpid 
 water to the wayfarer, and are always surrounded by a group of 
 women, who wash their feet, and pour the water into pitchers of 
 ancient models. The town lifts its white minarets, its indented ter- 
 races, its balconies in Moorish ogive, from out the midst of this sea 
 of sweet-scented plants ; whilst to the east it rises immediately from 
 the pale sand, which stretches behind it over the immense desert 
 separating it from Egypt. 
 
 Near one of these fountains we discerned a third cavalcade, at the 
 head of which was advancing M. Damiani the elder, mounted on a 
 white mare. He is consular agent for several European nations, and 
 is one of the most important personages in Jaffa. The grotesque- 
 ness of his costume made us smile : he was dressed in an old sky- 
 blue robe, lined with ermine, and bound by a sash of crimson silk ; 
 his bare legs issued from wide pantaloons of dirty muslin ; and he 
 was crowned by an enormous three-cornered hat, worn smooth by 
 time, and greased with sweat and dust, attesting numerous services 
 during the Egyptian campaign. But the cordial and patriarchal 
 welcome of our old vice-consul stopped the smile on our lips, and 
 gave place to the gratitude we expressed to him. He was accompa- 
 nied by several of his sons-in-law, sons, and grandsons, all on horse- 
 back like himself. One of his grandsons, twelve or fourteen years 
 old, who frisked round his grandsire on an Arab mare without a 
 bridle, presented the most admirable picture of a boy that I have 
 seen in my life. 
 
 M. Damiani went before, and conducted us, through a thick crowd 
 pressing around our horses, to the door of his house, where our other 
 newly-accmired friends bade us farewell, and left us to the care of our 
 host. The house of M. Damiani is small, but admirably situated at 
 the top of the town, commanding three sea views along the coasts of 
 Gaza and Askalon towards Egypt, and the shore of Syria on the 
 north. The rooms are surmounted by open terraces, on which the 
 sea-breeze plays, and whence we discover, ten leagues at sea, the 
 smallest sail that crosses the Gulf of Damietta. The rooms have no 
 windows, as the climate renders them superfluous. The atmosphere 
 lias always the warmth of our finest days in spring; an ill-fixed 
 shutter is the only rampart interposed between the weather and the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 203 
 
 inhabitants. The birds of the air partake these abodes, which man 
 has prepared for himself; and in the saloon of M. Damiani hundreds 
 of small swallows, with red necks, were perched beside the porcelain 
 and silver cups, and the stalks of pipes arranged on the wooden 
 shelves running round the room. They were flying all day above 
 our heads, and came, during supper, clustering on the branches of 
 the brass lamp which lighted the repast. 
 
 The family of M. Damiani is composed of himself — something 
 between the patriarch and the Italian merchant, but the patriarch 
 greatly predominant — of Madame Damiani the elder, a handsome 
 Arab woman, the mother of twelve children, but still preserving, in 
 her shape and complexion, the brilliancy and freshness of Turkish 
 beauty ; of several young daughters, almost all remarkably pretty ; 
 and three sons, the eldest of whom we already knew. The two 
 others were equally obliging and useful. The females did not appear 
 in the apartments ; they only showed themselves once in dresses of 
 ceremony, and bespangled with their richest jewels, at a repast of 
 which they partook with us. The remainder of the time they were 
 occupied in preparing our food, in a small inner Court, where we saw 
 them as they came and went. The young men, educated in the 
 respect which Oriental customs teach sons to evince towards then* 
 father, never sat down with us at table. They stood behind their 
 father, watching that the guests were well provided for. 
 
 We had scarcely entered the house, before we received visits from 
 a great number of the inhabitants, who came to congratulate us, and 
 tender their services. Coffee and pipes were brought, and the even- 
 ing was passed in conversations extremely interesting to us, whom 
 curiosity so much excited. The governor of Jaffa, whom I had sent 
 to compliment by my interpreter, was himself not long in coming to 
 pay us a visit. He was a young and handsome Arab, clothed in the 
 most brilliant costume, whose manners and language bespoke his 
 elevation of mind and elegant usages. I have seen very few appear- 
 ances so beautiful as his. His black beard fell down in shining folds, 
 and spread out like a fan over his breast; his hand and fingers, 
 glittering with enormous diamonds, were perpetually playing with 
 his beard, and passing and repassing through it, to smooth and 
 arrange it. His look was haughty, mild, and open, like that of all 
 the Turks in general. We feel that these men have nothing to hide ; 
 they are frank because they are powerful, and they are powerful 
 because they never rely on themselves and a vain skill, but always 
 on the image of God, who directs all — on that Providence which they 
 call fatality. Place a Turk amongst ten Europeans, you will always 
 recognise him by his lofty aspect, by the gravity impressed on his 
 features by habit, and by the noble candour of his expression. The 
 governor had received from Mahomet Ali and Ibrahim Pacha letters 
 which strongly recommended me to him. I have these letters. I 
 gave him another, which I carried with me from Ibrahim, to read. 
 This is the sense of it : — 
 
 ' 1 am informed that our friend [here my name] is arrived from 
 
204 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 Prance, with his family and several travelling companions, in order 
 to traverse the countries subject to my arms, and to learn our laws 
 and manners. My desire is, that thou and all my governors of towns 
 or provinces, the commanders of my fleets, the generals and officers 
 in command of my armies, will give him all marks of friendship, will 
 render him all the services that my affection for him and for his 
 nation call for from me ; you will provide him, if he desires it, with 
 houses, horses, victuals, such as he and his suite may be in need of. 
 You will procure for him means to visit all the parts of our domi- 
 nions which he may desire to see ; you will give him escorts as nume- 
 rous as his safety, for which you will answer with your head, shall 
 demand; and even if he should find any difficulty in penetrating 
 certain provinces, by the acts of the Arabs, you will cause your 
 troops to march to guard his excursions,' &c. 
 
 The governor put this letter to his forehead, after having read it, 
 and returned it to me. He asked me what he could do to obey the 
 injunctions of his master, and wished to be made acquainted with 
 the places I desired to visit. I named Jerusalem and Judea. At 
 these words he, his officers, the Messieurs Damiani, with the fathers 
 of the convent of the Holy Land at Jaffa, who were present, cried 
 out, and told me that the thing was impossible ; that the plague had 
 just broken out, with the most alarming virulence, at Jerusalem, at 
 Bethlehem, and on all the route ; that it was even at Ramla, the first 
 town we had to pass in going to Jerusalem ; that the pacha had just 
 ordered quarantine on all that came out of Palestine ; that, suppos- 
 ing that I should be sufficiently rash to penetrate there, sufficiently 
 happy to escape the plague, I should not, perhaps, be able to return 
 into Syria for several months ; in fine, that the convents in which 
 strangers receive hospitality in the Holy Land were all closed, that 
 we would not be received in any of them, and that there was an 
 absolute necessity for postponing the journey that I projected into 
 the interior of Judea to another epoch and a more favourable 
 season. 
 
 This intelligence afflicted me excessively, but did not shake my 
 resolution. I answered the governor, that although I was born in 
 another religion than his, I did not the less adore the sovereign will 
 of Alia ; that in his creed it was called fatalism, and in mine provi- 
 dence, but that these two different words gave expression to but 
 one meaning: 'God is great — God is the master!' (Alia kerimf); 
 that I had come from a great distance, over many seas, mountains, 
 and plains, to visit the springs whence Christianity had flowed over 
 the world, to see the holy town of the Christians, and compare sites 
 with history ; that I was too far advanced to recoil, and postpone to 
 the uncertainty of times and things a project almost accomplished ; 
 that the life of man was but a drop of water in the ocean, a grain of 
 sand in the desert, and was not worth the trouble of counting ; that, 
 furthermore, what was written was written, and that if Alia wished 
 to preserve me from the plague rn the midst of the infected in Judea, 
 it was equally easy for him as to save me from the waves in the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 205 
 
 midst of the tempest, or from the balls of the Arabs on the banks 
 of the Jordan ; that, in consequence, I persisted in my wish to pene- 
 trate into the interior, to enter Jerusalem itself, whatever peril I 
 might encounter ; but what I decided for myself, I neither could nor 
 would for others ; and that I left all my friends, all my servants, all 
 the Arabs who accompanied me, masters of themselves, to follow me 
 or to remain at Jaffa, according to the inclination of their hearts. 
 The governor then cried out against my submission to the Avill of 
 Alia, and told me that he would not allow me to expose myself alone 
 to the dangers of the route and the plague, that he would choose out 
 of the troops in garrison at Jaffa some courageous and disciplined 
 soldiers, whom he would place entirely at my command, and who 
 would guard my caravan during the march, and my tents during the 
 night, in order to preserve us from contact with the infected. He 
 likewise despatched, on the very instant, a horseman to the governor 
 of Jerusalem, who was his friend, to announce to him my journey, 
 and to recommend me to him; and he then retired. We afterwards 
 held a consultation, my friends and myself ; our domestics even 
 were called to the council, to decide upon what each would do. 
 After some hesitation, all resolved with unanimity to tempt fortune, 
 and to run the chance of the plague, rather than renounce the pro- 
 ject of seeing Jerusalem. Our departure was fixed for the second 
 day from this. We slept on the mats and divans of M. Damiani's 
 saloon, and we awoke to the chirping of the numberless swallows 
 flying over our heads in the room. 
 
 The day was passed in returning the visits we had received to 
 the governor, and to the superior of the convent o ? the Holy Land 
 at Jaffa — a venerable Spanish monk, who has lived in Jaffa since the 
 time the French were there, and who certified to us the truth of the 
 poisoning of the infected. 
 
 Jaffa, or Yaffa, the ancient Joppa of the Scriptures, is one of the 
 earliest and most celebrated ports in the universe. Pliny speaks of 
 it as an antediluvian city. It was there, according to tradition, that 
 Andromeda was chained to the rock, and exposed to the monster of 
 the deep ; it was there Noah built the ark ; it was there that the 
 cedars of Mount Lebanon were landed, by order of Solomon, to serve 
 in the building of the Temple. Jonas the prophet embarked there 
 862 years before Christ. Saint Peter there resuscitated Tabitha. 
 The town was fortified by Saint Louis in the time of the crusades. 
 In 1799, Bonaparte took it by assault, and massacred the Turkish 
 prisoners. It has a bad harbour, for small vessels only, and a very 
 dangerous road, as we ourselves found on our second voyage at sea. 
 The population of Jaffa, composed of Turks, Arabs, Armenians, 
 Greeks, Catholics, and Maronites, may be estimated at from five to 
 six thousand souls. Each communion has its own church. The 
 Latin convent is a magnificent building. It was undergoing an 
 additional embellishment at the period of our visit, but we did not 
 partake the hospitality of its brotherhood. Their extensive apart- 
 ments were not thrown open for us, or for any of the strangers whom 
 
206 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 we met at Jaffa. They are empty, whilst the pilgrims obtain with 
 difficulty shelter in some miserable Turkish khan, or the burthen- 
 some hospitality of some poor Jewish or Armenian roof. 
 
 Immediately from the walls of Jaffa the great desert of Egypt 
 opens. Having decided upon proceeding to Cairo by this route, I 
 despatched a courier to El-Arich to hire dromedaries to carry us 
 through the desert. The journey from Jaffa to Cairo can thus be 
 accomplished in twelve or fifteen days ; but it is beset with difficul- 
 ties and privations. The orders of the governor of Jaffa, and the 
 kindness of the principal inhabitants of the town, in communication 
 with those of Gaza and El-Arich, materially mitigated them for me. 
 The governor sent us some horsemen, and eight foot soldiers, 
 selected from the bravest and best - disciplined of the Egyptian 
 troops that remained in garrison. They took up their quarters that 
 very night at our gate. At break of day we were on horseback. 
 We found at the gate of the town leading to Ramla a crowd of per- 
 sons, of all the denominations in Jaffa, on horseback. They per- 
 formed the djerid around us, and accompanied us as far as a splendid 
 fountain, overshadowed by sycamores and palms, which we reached 
 after an hour's march. They there discharged their pistols in our 
 honour, and resumed the road to the town. It is impossible to 
 describe the freshness and magnificence of the vegetation which 
 appears on both sides of the road on leaving Jaffa. On the right 
 and on the left it is one continued orchard of all the fruit-trees and 
 flowering shrubs of the East, divided into portions by hedges of 
 myrtle, jessamine, and pomegranates, and irrigated by streams of 
 water, flowing from the handsome Turkish fountains of which I have 
 already spoken. In each of these enclosures is an open pavilion or 
 a tent, under which the families to whom they belong pass a few 
 weeks in spring and autumn. Three stakes and a piece of cloth 
 form a country-house for these fortunate families. The women 
 sleep on mats or cushions under the tents, and the men lie in the 
 open air, under the arch of citrons and pomegranates. The water- 
 melons and figs, of thirty-two different kinds, which shade these en- 
 chanted spots, furnish food for the table, increased at rare intervals 
 by a lamb brought up in the family, and which is sacrificed, as in 
 Biblical times, on days of solemnity. Jaffa is the place in all the 
 East which a lover of nature and solitude would select to pass his 
 winters. The climate is an indecisive medium between the devour- 
 ing heats of Egypt and the autumnal rains of the coasts of Syria. If 
 I could choose my habitation, I would reside at the foot of Lebanon, 
 at Saide, Beirout, or Latakia, during the spring and autumn ; in the 
 heights of Lebanon during the heats of summer, cooled by breezes 
 from the sea and from the valley of cedars, and by the vicinity of 
 the snows ; and amidst the gardens of Jaffa in the winter. Jaffa 
 has something in its landscape more impressive, solemn, and varie- 
 gated, than any that I have beheld. The eye rests only upon a 
 boundless sea, blue as the sky above it, upon the immense flats of 
 the Egyptian desert, where the horison is intercepted only by the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 207 
 
 figure of a camel, advancing with a cloud of sand, and upon the 
 green and golden branches of the numberless orange-groves crowd- 
 ing round the town. The costumes of the inhabitants and travel- 
 lers who fill the roads are picturesque and interesting. There are 
 Bedouins, from Jericho or Tiberias, clad in large plaids of white 
 wool ; Armenians in long robes striped with blue and white ; and 
 Jews from all parts of the earth in every variety of dress, distin- 
 guished by their long beards and noble and majestic features— a 
 royal people, ill at ease in their slavery, in whose eyes you read the 
 remembrance and conviction of high destinies, beneath the apparent 
 humility of their deportment and the lowliness of their present lot. 
 There are also Egyptian soldiers in red jackets, reminding one of 
 our French conscripts by the vivacity of their eye and the alertness 
 of their steps. In conclusion, there are Turkish agas passing with 
 haughty looks along the road, mounted on horses of the desert, and 
 followed by Arabs and black slaves; poor families of Greek pil- 
 grims seated in a corner, eating out of a wooden bowl boiled rice or 
 barley, which they husband with care for the journey to the Holy 
 City ; and of miserable J ewish women, only half-clothed, and toiling 
 beneath the prodigious weight of pocks of rags, and driving before 
 them asses, bearing panniers crammed with children of all ages. 
 
 We journeyed on in the gayest mood, trying occasionally the 
 speed of our horses against that of the Arab steeds bestrode by 
 the Messieurs Damiani and the sons of the Sardinian vice-consuL 
 These were two young men, sons of a rich Arab merchant of 
 Eamla, now established at Jaffa, who had agreed to accompany 
 us as far as Ramla, and they had sent their slaves forward to pre- 
 pare their father's house and supper for us. We were also accom- 
 panied by another individual, who had voluntarily joined our 
 caravan, and who astonished us by the strange magnificence of 
 his European costume. He was a short young man, of from twenty 
 to twenty-five years old, with a jovial and ludicrous cast of features., 
 but subtile and intellectual. He wore an immense turban of yellow 
 muslin, a green coat cut in the form of our court dresses, with a stand- 
 ing collar and wide skirts, embroidered with broad lacings of gold on 
 all the seams ; close pantaloons of white velvet, and boots turned 
 down, ornamented with a pair of spurs fastened by silver chains. A 
 kangiar served him as a hunting-knife, and a pair of pistols, incrusted 
 with silver chasings, were stuck in his belt, and rattled against his 
 breast. He had come from Italy in his infancy, and had been cast, 
 by I know not what stroke of fortune, into Egypt, but had resided 
 for some years at Jaffa or Ramla, exercising his profession among 
 the scheiks and Bedouins of the mountains of Judea, who had not 
 yet made his fortune. His conversation greatly amused us, and I 
 should have wished to take him with me to Jerusalem, and to the 
 mountains of the Dead Sea, which he appeared to know perfectly ; 
 but having lived in the East for many years, he had contracted the 
 invincible terror, common amongst the Franks, for the plague, and 
 my offers failed to seduce him. 4 In times of plague,' said he to me, 
 
20S lamartine's 
 
 ' I am no longer a physician ; I am acquainted with but one remedy 
 for it — to get away quick enough, to go far enough, and to remain 
 long enough, to prevent the disease reaching you.' He seemed to 
 look upon us with pity, as victims predestined to find death at 
 Jerusalem, and out of the great number of persons composing our 
 caravan, he reckoned he should see very few on our return. * A 
 few days ago,' said he, ' I was at Acre ; a traveller returning from 
 Bethlehem knocked at the door of the convent of the brotherhood 
 of Saint Francis, which was opened to him. There were seven in- 
 mates ; on the second day the gates of the convent were built up 
 by order of the governor. The pilgrim and the seven monks were 
 all dead within twenty-four hours.' 
 
 We now began to perceive the tower and minarets of Eamla, 
 which rose before us out of a wood of olive-trees, the trunks of 
 which were as large as those of our most aged oaks. Eamla, an- 
 ciently Rama Ephraim, is the ancient Arimathaaa of the New Testa- 
 ment; it contains about 2000 families. Philip the Good Duke of 
 Burgundy founded a Latin convent there, which still subsists. The 
 Armenians and Greeks also possess convents for the succour of 
 pilgrims of their nations going to the Holy Land. The old churches 
 have been converted into mosques ; in one of the mosques is the 
 tomb, in white marble, of the Mameluke Ayoud-Bey, who fled from 
 Egypt on the invasion of the French, and died at Eamla. On 
 entering the town, we inquired if the plague had already extended 
 its ravages so far, and we learnt that two monks, arrived from 
 Jerusalem, had just died of it ; the convent was under quarantine. 
 Our friends from Jaffa conducted us to their house, situated in the 
 middle of the town. An Arab, who had been a tinker, as we were 
 told, but an amiable and excellent man, occupied half the house, 
 and exercised the functions of consular agent for I know not what 
 European nation ; this gave him the right of having a European 
 flag on his roof, the most certain safeguard against the (wanies 
 (exactions) of the Turks and Arabs. A good supper awaited us, 
 and we had the pleasure of finding chairs, beds, tables, and other 
 European utensils, whilst we brought with us a store of fresh bread, 
 for which we were indebted to the kindness of our hosts. 
 
 On the following morning we took leave of all our Jaffa and Eamla 
 friends, who were to accompany us no farther, and we departed 
 with our solitary escort of Egyptian troopers and foot soldiers. I 
 thus arranged the order of march : two horsemen about fifty paces 
 in advance of the caravan, to keep off the Arabs or Jewish pilgrims 
 whom we might meet, and hold them at a distance from our men 
 and horses ; on our two flanks, to the right and left, the foot soldiers, 
 with ourselves marching one by one in a line, and the baggage placed 
 in the midst. A small troop of our best horsemen formed the rear- 
 guard, with orders to permit neither man nor beast to fall behind. 
 On the appearance of any suspicious-looking Arabs, the caravan 
 was to come to a halt, and place itself in order of battle, whilst the 
 troopers, the interpreters, and myself, were to make the necessary 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 2C9 
 
 observations. In this manner we had little to fear from the Bedouins 
 and the plague, and I can aver that this order of inarch was ob- 
 served by our Egyptian soldiers, Turkish horsemen, and my own 
 Arabs, with a scrupulous obedience and attention, which would 
 have done honour to the best -disciplined corps in Europe. "We 
 preserved it for more than twenty-five days en route, and in the 
 most embarrassing positions. I had never any occasion to address 
 a reprimand to a single individual ; it was to these precautions we 
 were indebted for safety. 
 
 A short time after sunset, we arrived at the end of the plain of 
 Ramla, close to a fountain hollowed in the rock, which watered a 
 small enclosure of gourds. We were at the foot of the mountains of 
 J udea ; a little valley a hundred paces broad opened on our right, 
 into which we advanced. It is here that the Arab brigands of the 
 mountains commence their dominion. As the night was closing in, 
 we judged it prudent to fix our camp in this valley ; we pitched our 
 tents about 200 paces from the fountain. We set an advanced guard 
 upon a knoll which commanded the road to Jerusalem, and, whilst 
 supper was preparing, we went in pursuit of the partridges on some 
 hills in view of our tents. We shot some of them, and disturbed in 
 the bosom of the rocks a multitude of small eagles at roost. They 
 arose winding and shrieking above our heads, and came back again 
 after we had fired at them. All animals are alarmed at the flame 
 and explosion of firearms ; the eagle alone appears to hold them in 
 disdain, and sport with the peril, either because it is ignorant of it, 
 or braves it. I admired, from the top of one of these hills, the 
 picturesque appearance of our camp, with the pickets of Arab horse- 
 men on the knoll, the horses scattered around our tents, the moukres, 
 or grooms, seated on the ground cleaning the harness and arms, and 
 the light from a fire shining through the canvas of a tent, and 
 spreading its tiny smoke in the breeze. How I should enjoy this 
 nomade life under such a sky, if I could bear with me all those 
 whom I love and regret on earth ! The whole world belongs to pasto- 
 ral and wandering tribes, such as the Arabs of Mesopotamia. There 
 is more of poetry in one of their migrations than in whole years of 
 our town-existences. By seeking too much from civilised life, man 
 nails himself to localities ; by detaching himself from them, he will 
 lose innumerable superfluities which usage has converted into neces- 
 sities. Our houses are voluntary prisons. I should wish that life 
 was a perpetual journey like this ; and if I were not bound to 
 Europe by the affections, I would extend it as long as my strength 
 and fortune lasted. We were on the confines of the tribes of Ephraim 
 and Benjamin. The well near which our tents were fixed is still 
 called the Well of Job. 
 
 We departed before daylight, and followed for two hours a narrow, 
 barren, and rocky valley, celebrated for Arab depredations. Of all 
 the surrounding country, it is the most exposed to their attacks ; 
 they can approach by a variety of small winding gorges concealed 
 behind the uninhabited hills, lie in ambush behind the rocks and 
 
 vol. i. N 
 
210 
 
 LAMARTINE's 
 
 shrubs, and fall unexpectedly on the caravans. The famous Abou- 
 gosli, chief of these mountainous Arab tribes, holds the key of the 
 defiles leading to Jerusalem ; he opens or blocks them at his plea- 
 sure, and seizes travellers for ransom. His capital is a few leagues 
 from us, at the village of Jeremiah.* We expected every instant 
 to see his bands, but we met no one except a young aga, a relation 
 of the governor of Jerusalem, mounted on a beautiful marc, and 
 accompanied by seven or eight horsemen. He saluted us with 
 politeness, and drew up with his suite to permit our passing, with- 
 out coming in contact with our horses or garments. 
 
 About an hour from Jeremiah the valley contracts still more, and 
 the trees meet with their branches over the road. There are an 
 ancient fountain and the remains of a ruined kiosk. We ascended 
 for an hour by a steep and broken path hollowed in the rock, wind- 
 ing through woods, and all at once perceived the village and church 
 of Jeremiah at our feet, on the other side of the hill. The church, 
 now a mosque, appeared to have been built with splendour, in the 
 epoch of the kingdom of Jerusalem under the Lusignans. The 
 village is composed of from forty to fifty houses, hanging on the 
 slopes of two hillocks which skirt the valley. Some scattered fig- 
 trees and vineyards display a degree of cultivation, flocks are grouped 
 around the houses, and some Arabs, clothed in handsome robes, are 
 smoking their pipes on the terrace of the principal dwelling, about 
 a hundred paces from the road we are descending. Fifteen or 
 twenty horses, saddled and bridled, are tied in the courtyard. As 
 soon as the Arabs descry us, they come down from the terrace, 
 mount on horseback, and slowly advance towards us. We meet them 
 on a large open spot in front of the village, shaded by five or six 
 beautiful fig-trees. 
 
 They were the renowned Abougosh and his family. ' He, along 
 with his brother, came towards me ; his followers remained in the 
 background. I instantly made mine halt also, and went forward 
 with my interpreter. After the accustomed salutations and endless 
 compliments, which precede all conversations with the Arabs, 
 Abougosh asked me if I were not the Frank emir, whom his friend, 
 Lady Stanhope, the queen of Palmyra, had put under his protection, 
 and in whose name she had sent to him the superb vest of cloth 
 of gold which he wore, and which he displayed with pride and grati- 
 tude. I Avas quite ignorant of this gift of Lady Stanhope, made ?o 
 obligingly in my name; but I replied that I was certainly the stranger 
 whom that illustrious lady had confided to the generosity of her 
 friends in Jeremiah, and that I was about to visit the whole of 
 Palestine where the sway of Abougosh was owned, and begged him 
 to give the necessary orders, so that Lady Stanhope might have no 
 reproaches to make him. At these words he got off horseback, as 
 
 * [Travellers generally call the chief village or capital of Abougosh Karialoonah ; 
 but it is situated in the valley where Jeremiah the prophet is understood to have 
 composed his Lamentations, and it is on this account probably that M. de Lamar- 
 tine has preferred the appellation of Jeremiah.] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 211 
 
 well as his brother ; he called to some of his suite, and ordered them 
 to bring mats, carpets, and cushions, which he caused to be spread 
 under the branches of a large fig-tree in the very field where we 
 were, and besought us with so much earnestness to dismount, and 
 seat ourselves on this rustic divan, that it was impossible for us to 
 refuse. As the plague prevailed at Jeremiah, Abougosh, who knew 
 that Europeans were exposed to quarantine, was careful not to touch 
 our clothes, and fixed his divan, and that of his brother's, opposite us 
 at a certain distance ; as for us, we accepted only the straw and rush 
 mats, because they are held not to communicate infection. Coffee 
 and sherbet were brought us. We conversed on general topics 
 a pretty long time, and Abougosh then begged me to withdraw my 
 suite, as he did his own, in order to communicate to me some secret 
 intelligence, which I cannot here impart. After a confidential con- 
 ference of some minutes, he recalled his brothers, and I my friends. 
 ' Do they know my name in Europe ? ' he asked me. ' Yes,' I re- 
 plied; 'some say that you are a robber, pillaging and massacring 
 caravans, carrying Franks into slavery, and the ferocious enemy 
 of Christianity ; whilst others maintain that you are a valiant and 
 generous chief, repressing the robberies of the mountaineers, mak- 
 ing the roads sure, protecting caravans, and the friend of all the 
 Franks who are worthy your attention.' ( And you,' said he to me 
 laughing, ' what will you say of me V c I will say what I have seen,' 
 I answered — ' that you are as powerful and hospitable as a prince 
 of the Franks, that you are calumniated, and that you deserve to 
 have all the Europeans for friends, who, like me, have experienced 
 your good-will and the protection of your sword.' Abougosh ap- 
 peared delighted. He and his brother asked me afterwards a great 
 number of questions as to our European usages, our habiliments, and 
 our arms, which they greatly admired ; and we then separated. At 
 the moment of leaving him, he gave orders to one of his nephews 
 and some horsemen to place themselves in the van of our caravan, 
 and not to quit me all the time that I remained at Jerusalem, or in 
 the environs. I thanked him, and we parted. 
 
 Abougosh reigns in reality over about 40,000 Arabs in the moun- 
 tains of Judea, from Eamla to Jerusalem, from Heron to the moun- 
 tains of Jericho. This dominion, which has descended in his family 
 for several generations, is secured only by his power. In Arabia 
 they do not discuss the origin or legitimacy of government ; they 
 recognise and obey it whilst it exists. A family is more ancient, 
 more numerous, richer, and braver, than others; the chief of this 
 family naturally becomes paramount in his tribe; the tribe itself 
 being better governed, more skilfully or valiantly led to war, attains 
 incontestible supremacy. Such is the origin of all the dominations 
 of chiefs or tribes which are acknowledged in the East. The sway 
 is extended and perpetuated as a natural consequence ; all proceeds 
 from the family — and once the fact of this ascendancy recognised 
 and incorporated into manners and customs, there is nothing to con- 
 test it ; obedience becomes a filial and religious duty. It requires 
 
212 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 great revolutions and continued misfortunes to overthrow a family ; 
 and this nobility, which may be styled self - created, is preserved 
 through ages. We do not perfectly comprehend the feudal system 
 until after visiting these countries ; we there see how all those 
 families were formed in the middle ages, all those local lordships 
 which ruled over castles, villages, and provinces. It is the first step 
 in civilisation. As society advances, these petty powers are absorbed 
 in larger ; municipalities arise to protect the rights of towns against 
 the waning power of the feudal families. Great kingdoms are then 
 consolidated, which destroy in their turn the useless municipal 
 privileges, and other social phases open out with innumerable phe- 
 nomena, the whole of which are yet unknown to us. 
 
 We were already far from Abougosh and his subjects of organised 
 brigands. His nephew marched before us on the route to Jerusalem. 
 At about a mile from Jeremiah he quitted the road, and turned to 
 the right into rocky paths, which cut a mountain covered with myrtle 
 and turpentine-trees. We followed after him. The news from 
 Jerusalem, as given us by Abougosh, were such, that it was abso- 
 lutely impossible for us to enter it. The plague was increasing 
 every hour ; sixty to eighty deaths occurred daily ; all the hospitals 
 and convents were closed. We had come to the resolution of going 
 first of all to the desert of St John the Baptist, about two leagues 
 from Jerusalem, on the most precipitous mountains of Judea, to ask 
 an asylum for a few days at the convent of Latin monks who reside 
 there, and afterwards to act according to circumstances. It was 
 into the route towards this solitude, that Abougosh's nephew led us. 
 After marching for two hours through frightful roads, and under a 
 devouring sun, we found, on the other side of the mountain, a small 
 spring and the shade of some olives, where we came to a halt. The 
 position was sublime. We looked over the black and deep valley of 
 turpentines, where David slew the Philistine giant with his sling. 
 The situation of the two armies is so apparent in the encircling of 
 the valley, and in the slopes and disposition of the ground, that it is 
 impossible for the eye to hesitate. The dry torrent, on whose banks 
 David picked up the stone, drew its chalky line through the middle 
 of the narrow valley, and pointed out, as in the recital of the Bible, 
 the separation of the two armies. I had neither the Bible nor any 
 book of travels in my hand, nor any person to give me an account 
 of the place, and the ancient name of the valley and the mountains ; 
 but my boyish imagination had so vividly, and with such truth, con- 
 ceived the form of the localities, the physical aspect of the scenes of 
 the Old and the New Testament, from the descriptions in the holy 
 books, that I recognised at a glance the valley of turpentines and the 
 battle-field of Saul.* When we got to the convent, I had only to 
 hear the exactitude of my ideas confirmed by the fathers. My 
 
 * [It is called the valley of Elali in the Bible. ' And Sail] and the men of Israel 
 ■were gathered together and pitched by the valley of El ah, and set the hattlc in array 
 against the Philistine-*; and the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, 
 and Israel stood on a mountain on the other side, and there was a valley between 
 them.'] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 213 
 
 fellow-travellers could not believe it. The same thing had occurred 
 to me at Sephora, in the midst of the hills of Galilee. I had pointed 
 out with my finger, and called by its name, a hill surmounted by a 
 ruined castle as the probable place of the Virgin's birth. On the 
 following day, the same was repeated with respect to the residence 
 of the Maccabees at Modin ; on passing the foot of a sandy mountain, 
 with the remains of an aqueduct on the top, I recognised it as the 
 tomb of the last illustrious citizens of the Jewish people; and I judged 
 correctly without knowing it. The imagination of man is more ac- 
 curate than is understood ; it does not always dream, but proceeds by 
 instinctive assimilations of things and ideas, which give to it results 
 more sure and clear than science and logic. Except the valleys of 
 Lebanon, the ruins of Balbek, the shores of the Bosphorus at Con- 
 stantinople, and the first view of Damascus from the heights of 
 Anti-Lebanon, I have never encountered a scene the first glance at 
 which was more a recollection ! Have we lived twice or a thousand 
 times ? Is our memory but a dulled mirror, which the breath of 
 God makes bright? Or rather, have we in our imagination a power 
 of presentiment, and of seeing before we see in reality ? Questions 
 not to be solved ! 
 
 At two o'clock in the afternoon we descended the steep slopes 
 of the vale of turpentines, passed the dry bed of the torrent, and 
 mounted, by steps cut in the rock, to the Arab village of St John 
 the Baptist, which we had seen before us. Some Arabs, with fero- 
 cious countenances, looked at us from the terraces of their houses ; 
 the women and children crowded round us in the narrow streets of 
 the village ; and the monks, alarmed at the tumult which they 
 descried from their roof, at the multitude of our horses and men, 
 and of the plague which we might be bringing in our train, refused 
 to open the iron gates of the monastery. We turned back again, to 
 proceed to encamp on a hill near the village, cursing the hard-hearted 
 monks. I sent my dragoman to speak with them again, and to ad- 
 dress to them the reproaches they so richly merited. During this 
 interval the whole population came down from the roofs, the 
 scheiks surrounded us, and mingled their savage yells with the 
 neighing of our affrighted horses: a horrible confusion reigned in 
 the whole caravan, and we cocked our guns. The nephew of 
 Abougosh, who had mounted to the roof of a house near the convent, 
 harangued in turn the monks and the people. At length we ob- 
 tained, by a capitulation, entry to the convent ; a small iron door was 
 opened for us, through which we passed, one by one, in a stooping 
 posture, and we unloaded our horses, to enable them to follow us. 
 The nephew of Abougosh and his Arab troop remained outside, and 
 encamped at the gate. The monks, pale and agitated, trembled at 
 the idea of touching us : we reassured them, by giving our word that 
 Ave had not come in contact with any person since we left Jaffa, and 
 that we should not enter Jerusalem as long as we remained in the 
 asylum we borrowed from them. Upon this assurance, their ex- 
 cited countenances resumed tranquillity; they led us to the vast 
 
'2U 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 corridors of the monastery, and introduced each of us into a small 
 cell, provided with a bed and a table, and ornamented with a fair 
 Spanish engravings of pious subjects. They made our soldiers, 
 Arabs, and horses take up their quarters in an uncultivated garden 
 of the convent ; barley and straw were thrown to them from the 
 walls, whilst sheep and a calf, sent as presents by Abougosh, were 
 killed for us in the street. During the time that my Arab cook, 
 in conjunction with the serving-monks, prepared our meal in the 
 kitchen, each of us retired to his cell to catch a moment's repose, 
 or contemplate the extraordinary prospect which surrounds the 
 monastery. 
 
 The convent of St John in the desert is a branch of the Latin 
 convent of the Holy Land at Jerusalem. Those monks whose age, 
 infirmities, or more intense desire for solitude, fit for coenobites of a 
 severer cast, are sent to this house. It is a large and handsome 
 building, surrounded by gardens dug in the rock, with courtyards 
 and presses to make the excellent wine of Jerusalem. There were 
 twenty monks when we came there ; the greatest number were old 
 Spaniards, who had passed the largest portion of their lives in the 
 exercise of the functions of a priest, either at Jerusalem, Bethlehem, 
 or some of the other towns of Palestine. Some were novitiates, but 
 recently arrived from their convents in Spain ; the eight or ten days 
 that we passed with them impressed us with high conceptions of 
 their character, their charity, and the purity of their lives. The 
 superior, especially, was the most perfect model of Christian virtues : 
 simplicity, mildness, humility, unshaken patience, a kindness always 
 full of grace, a zeal always in place, indefatigable attentions to the 
 brotherhood and to strangers, without distinction of rank or wealth, 
 an enlightened faith, active and contemplative at the same time, 
 serenity in disposition, speech, and countenance, which no contra- 
 diction could disturb. He presented us with one of those rare 
 examples of what the perfection of the religious principle can pro- 
 duce on the mind of man ; the mortal was there only in his visible 
 form, the soul was already transformed into something superhuman, 
 angelic, deified, which shuns admiration whilst commanding it. YVe 
 were all equally struck, masters and domestics, Christians or Arabs, 
 with the pervading sanctity of this excellent monk : his mind ap- 
 peared possessed by all the fathers and ^brethren of the convent ; for, 
 in different degrees, we perceived in all a portion of the qualities 
 of the superior, and this abode of charity and peace left in us an 
 undying recollection. The monkish state in the present age has 
 always appeared to me contrary to reason and common sense ; but a 
 consideration of the convent of St John the Baptist would tend to 
 destroy these ideas, if it were not an exception, and if what is repug- 
 nant to nature, to family, and social ties, ever could be a justifiable 
 institution. As for the convents of the Holy Land, they are not 
 exactly to be viewed in this light ; they are useful to the world by 
 the asylum which they afford to pilgrims from the West — by the 
 example of Christian "virtues they may give to people who know not 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 215 
 
 these virtues — and, finally, by the connection which they alone keep 
 up between certain portions of the East and the nations of the West. 
 
 The fathers disturbed us towards evening, and conducted us tofthe 
 refectory, where our servants and theirs had prepared our repast. 
 The meal, like that of every day we spent in the convent, consisted 
 of omelets, of pieces of mutton strung on an iron skewer, and roasted 
 before the fire, and of a rice pilau. We tasted, for the first time, 
 the excellent white v/ine made from the vines in the vicinity ; it is 
 the only wine known in Judea. The brotherhood of St John the 
 Baptist are the only persons who know how to make it, and they 
 furnish all the convents in Palestine. I bought a small cask of it, 
 which I sent to Europe. During the repast, all the monks walked 
 up and down the refectory, conversing in turns with us ; the superior 
 watched that nothing was wanting to us, served us often with his 
 own hands, and went to fetch us, from the repositories of the con- 
 vent, liqueurs, chocolate, and all the dainties still remaining from 
 the last cargo despatched from Spain. After supper, we accompanied 
 them to the terrace of the monastery ; it is the habitual promenade 
 of the monks in times of plague, and they frequently remain thus 
 shut up for several months in the year. ' But,' said they to us, 
 * this seclusion is less painful than you may think, for it gives us the 
 right of shutting our gates to the Arabs of the country, who torment 
 us at all other times with their visits and demands. When the 
 quarantine is removed, the convent is always full of these insatiable 
 people, and we prefer the plague to the necessity of entertaining 
 them.' I easily believed them, when I had myself come to know 
 these Arabs. 
 
 The village of St J ohn in the desert is situated on a detached hill, 
 surrounded on all sides by deep and gloomy precipices, the bottoms 
 of which arc hidden from sight, falling down the almost perpen- 
 dicular rock beneath the windows of the convent. The rocks are 
 scooped into deep caverns by nature herself, which the ascetics of 
 the first ages dived into to lead the life of eagles or pigeons. Here 
 and there on slopes, somewhat less grim, vine-plants are seen twining 
 up the trunks of small fig-trees, and creeping along the rock. Such 
 is the appearance of all these solitudes. A gray tint, speckled with 
 yellowish-green, covers the whole landscape ; from the roof of the 
 convent, the eye plunges on all sides into bottomless abysses. A 
 few mean dwellings of Mohammedan and Christian Arabs are 
 scattered on the peaks under the shadow of the monastery. These 
 Arabs are the most ferocious and perfidious of mortals. They 
 acknowledge the authority of Abougosh, at whose name the monks 
 grow pale. They could not understand by what seduction or in- 
 fluence that chief had welcomed us so frankly, and given his own 
 nephew for our guide; they suspected in it some high diplomatic 
 purpose, and never ceased inquiring about my protection from the 
 tyrant of their tyrants. On the approach of night, we descended, 
 and passed the evening in agreeable conversation with the amiable 
 superior and the good Spanish fathers. They were strangers to 
 
2IG lamartixe's 
 
 everything ; no intelligence from Europe pierces these inaccessible 
 mountains. They were perfectly at a loss to comprehend the recent 
 French devolution. 'But,' said they at the conclusion of our rela- 
 tion, 'provided the king of France be a Catholic, and lie protects 
 the convents of the Holy Land, all is right.' They showed lis their 
 chapel, a beautiful small nave, built on the spot where the fore- 
 runner of the Christ was born, ornamented with an organ, as 
 well as with several mediocre paintings of the Spanish school. 
 
 In the morning we could not resist the desire of gaining at least 
 a distant glimpse of Jerusalem. We made our arrangements witii 
 the monks : it was agreed that we should leave at the monastery a 
 part of our people, horses, and baggage ; that we should take with 
 us only the horsemen of Abougosh, the Egyptian soldiers, and the 
 Arab domestics, who were indispensable, to take charge of our 
 saddle-horses ; that we should not enter the town ; that we should 
 content ourselves with making the circuit of it, avoiding all contact 
 with the inhabitants; and that if, by accident or otherwise, such 
 contact should occur, we would not again seek to enter the convent, 
 but should withdraw our effects and people, and encamp in the 
 environs of Jerusalem. These conditions were accepted, and with- 
 out other guarantee than our word and veracity, we departed. 
 
 JERUSALEM. 
 
 On the 2Sth October, at five o'clock in the morning, we prepare to 
 leave the desert of St John the Baptist. We await the dawn on 
 horseback, in the court of the convent, enclosed with high walls, in 
 order that Ave might avoid coming in the dark upon the infected 
 Arabs and Turks of the village and of Bethlehem. At half-past five 
 we are on our march. We scale a mountain beset with enormous 
 gray rocks, detached in blocks, as if parted with the hammer. A few 
 creeping vines, with the yellow leaves of autumn, hang along the 
 small cleared spots in the intervals of the rocks, and immense pro- 
 trusions of stone, similar to those spoken of in the Song of Songs, 
 rise up amidst these vines. Fig-trees, the branches of which are 
 already despoiled of their leaves, are sprinkled on the edges of the 
 vines, and their blackened fruit is strewed upon the rocks. On our 
 right, the desert of St John, in which the voice— the voice crying in 
 the wilderness — is re-echoed, sinks into a terrific abyss between five 
 or six high black mountains, and in the intervals left by their stony 
 peaks, the horison of the Egyptian Sea, covered with a gloomy 
 vapour, opens to our eyes. On our left, and quite near to us, is the 
 ruin of an ancient tower or castle, on the point of a lofty knoll, 
 which is crumbling into decay like all around it. Other ruins, like 
 the arches of an aqueduct, are seen descending from this castle down 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 217 
 
 the slopes of the hill ; some vines are growing from their feet, and 
 easting on the falling arches their pale and yellow tinge. One or 
 two turpentine-trees spring isolated from amidst these ruins. It is 
 Modin, the palace and tomb of the last heroic men of sacred history 
 . — the Maccabees. We leave behind us these remains glittering in the 
 highest rays of morning. These rays are not confounded in a vague 
 confusing light, in a dazzling and universal radiancy, as in Europe ; 
 they break from the tops of the mountains which hide Jerusalem 
 from us, like streaks of fire variously tinted, united at their centre, 
 and diverging in the atmosphere as they depart from it. Some are 
 of a gently-silvered azure, others of a dull white ; now of a delicate 
 vermilion, growing faint at the edges ; now of a burning red, like the 
 flames of a conflagration, divided, and yet harmoniously agreeing, by 
 their successive and merging tints. They resemble a dazzling rain- 
 bow, whose arch is broken and mingled in the atmosphere. This is 
 the third time that this beautiful phenomenon of the rising or the 
 setting of the sun has offered itself to us in this guise since we have 
 been in the mountainous regions of Galilee and Judea; it is the 
 dawn or twilight as the old masters represent them, which seem 
 false to those who have not seen the reality. As the day advances, 
 the distinct brightness, and the azured or heated hue of each of 
 these luminous streaks, diminish, and are lost in the general glare ; 
 and the moon, which hung above our heads,yet red and fiery, wanes, 
 assumes the colour of pearl, and sinks into the depth of heaven, 
 like a silver ring disappearing as it descends into deep water. 
 
 After ascending a second mountain, higher and more naked still 
 than the first, the horison expands all at once upon the right, and 
 gives a view of the whole space which stretches between the last 
 peaks of Judea on which we stand and the high mountainous chain 
 of Arabia. This space is already overspread with the fleecy and 
 waving light of morning. Beyond the lesser hills, beneath our feet, 
 broken and split into gray and crumbling blocks of rock, the eye 
 distinguishes nothing but this dazzling expanse, so similar to a vast 
 sea, that the illusion was perfect ; and it appears to us as if we can 
 discern those patches of deep shade, and those smooth and silvery 
 sheets, that the rising sun brightens or darkens on a calm sea. On 
 the edge of this imaginary ocean, a little on the left, and about a 
 league from us, the sun glitters on a square tower, on a lofty mina- 
 ret, and on the broad yellow walls of some buildings which crown 
 the summit of a low hill, the hill itself concealing from us their base; 
 but from the spires of the minarets, the battlements of the more ele- 
 vated walls, and the black and blue summits of the domes rising 
 behind the tower, and the great minaret, we recognise a town of which 
 we can perceive only the more elevated part, and which descends 
 down the sides of the hill : it can be none other than Jerusalem. 
 We believed ourselves much farther removed from it, and each of 
 us, afraid to inquire of our guide, lest the illusion should be de- 
 stroyed, enjoyed in silence this first glance cast stealthily upon the 
 town ; and all conveyed to me the name of Jerusalem ! 
 
218 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 It was so ; it stood out, sombrely and heavily, from the blue depths 
 of heaven and the black sides of the Mount of Olives. We reined 
 in our horses to behold it in this mysterious and awe-inspiring ap- 
 pearance. Each step that we had to make in descending into the 
 deep and gloomy valleys which were below our feet, would conceal 
 it again from our eyes. Beyond those lofty walls and domes, a high 
 and broad hill arose upon a second outline, darker than that which 
 bore and concealed the town, bounding and terminating our horison. 
 The sun left in the shade its western side, but settling with its ver- 
 tical rays on its peak, like a large cupola, it appeared to make its 
 transparent summits float in the air, and the uncertain limit of earth 
 and sky was marked only by a few large black trees, planted on the 
 most elevated point, through which the rays of the sun were passing 
 — it was the Mount of Olives ! It was those very olives themselves, 
 the venerable witnesses of so many days, written on earth and in 
 heaven, watered by Divine tears, and by the bloody sweat, and by so 
 many other tears and agonies since the night which has consecrated 
 them ! We had a confused view of some others forming dark spots 
 on the declivities, and then the walls of Jerusalem intercepted the 
 horison, and hid the foot of the Sacred Mount. 
 
 Nearer to us, and immediately beneath our eyes, was nothing but 
 a stony wilderness, which serves as an approach to the city of stones. 
 These immense imbedded stones, of a uniform ashy gray, extend 
 from the spot where we stood to the gates of Jerusalem. Hills sink 
 and rise, narrow valleys encircle and wind amongst their roots, and 
 even expand here and there, as if to deceive the eye of man, and 
 promise him vegetation ; but all is of stone, hills, valleys, and plains. 
 There is a layer, ten or twelve feet thick, of bedded rocks, with 
 intervals between them, large enough only for reptiles to creep, or 
 to break the leg of a camel plunging down. If we represent to our- 
 selves high walls of colossal stones, like those of the Coliseum or the 
 great Roman theatres, falling in a single piece, and covering with 
 their enormous and sunken sides the earth which sustains them, we 
 shall have an exact idea of the layer and description of rock which 
 is everywhere gathered on these nearest ramparts of the city of the 
 desert. The nearer we approach, the more the stones crowd together, 
 and rise, like perpetual avalanches, ready to fall upon the wayfarer. 
 The last steps that are made before opening upon Jerusalem are 
 hollowed through a dismal and immovable avenue of these rocks, 
 which rise ten feet above the head of the traveller, and permit only 
 a sight of the sky immediately above. 
 
 We were in this last and mournful avenue, and marched in it for 
 a quarter of an hour, when the rocks, retiring on a sudden to the 
 right and left, brought us face to face with the walls of Jerusalem, 
 upon which we verged before we were aware. A space of a hundred 
 paces was alone between us and the gate of Bethlehem. This inter- 
 val, barren and undulating, like the banks winch surround fortified 
 places in Europe, extended to the right into a narrow vale, sinking 
 in a gentle slope, and to the left were five old olive trunks, half 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 219 
 
 bent beneath the weight of age and of the sun ; trees that might be 
 called petrified, like the sterile soil from which they sprang with 
 such effort. The gate of Bethlehem, commanded by two towers, 
 with Gothic battlements, deserted and silent as the gates of a ruined 
 castle, was open before us. We remained a few minutes in motion- 
 less contemplation ; we burned with desire to pass it, but the plague 
 was at its highest state of intensity in the city ; and we had been 
 received at the convent of St John the Baptist on the most express 
 and formal promise not to enter it. We did not enter ; but turning 
 to the left, we slowly descended, skirting the high walls built behind 
 a deep ravine or ditch, in which we perceived from time to time the 
 stone foundations of Herod's ancient enclosure. At every step we met 
 Turkish burial-places, whitened with tombstones, surmounted by a 
 turban. These cemeteries, which every night the plague was peopling, 
 were filled here and there with groups of Turkish and Arab women, 
 weeping for their husbands or their fathers. Some tents were fixed 
 on the tombs, and seven or eight women, seated, or on their knees, 
 holding beautiful infants to the breast, were uttering at intervals 
 harmonious lamentations, funeral songs, or prayers, the religious 
 melancholy of which accorded wonderfully with the desolate scene 
 before our eyes. These women were without veils: some were 
 young and pretty. They had at their sides baskets full of artificial 
 flowers, and painted in brilliant colours, which they planted round 
 the tombs, watering them with their tears. They bent down from 
 time to time towards the earth, recently disturbed, and chanted to 
 the dead some verses of their lament, appearing to speak to him in a 
 low voice ; then remaining silent, with the ears close to the monu- 
 ment, they had the appearance of waiting and listening for a reply. 
 These groups of women and children, seated there the whole day to 
 weep, were the only sign of life and human occupancy that appeared 
 to us in our circuit round the walls. No noise, no smoke arose ; and 
 some pigeons, flying from the fig-trees to the battlements, and from 
 the battlements to the edges of the sacred pools, gave the only move- 
 ment, the sole murmur, in this mournful compass. Half-way down 
 the descent which conducted us to Kedron and the foot of the 
 Mount of Olives, we saw a deep, open grotto, not far from the ditch 
 of the town, under a hillock of yellow rock. I would not stop at 
 it ; I wished to see Jerusalem, and nothing but J erusalem, entirely, 
 and with uninterrupted purpose, together with its valleys and hills, 
 its Jehoshaphat and its Kedron, its temple and its sepulchre, its 
 ruins and its horison ! 
 
 We afterwards passed before the gate of Damascus, a beautiful 
 monument of the Arab taste, flanked with two towers, opened by a 
 broad, high, and elegant ogive, and surmounted by battlements in 
 arabesque, in the form of stone turbans. Then we doubled, to the 
 right, the angle of the walls, which form on the northern side a 
 regular square, and having on our left the deep and gloomy valley 
 of Gethsemane, the bottom of which is occupied and filled by the 
 dry torrent of Kedron. We followed, to the gate of St Stephen, a 
 
220 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 narrow path, touching the walls, interrupted by two pools, in one of 
 which Christ cured the palsy. This pathway hangs upon the edge 
 of a narrow margin, which surmounts the precipice of Gethsemane 
 and the valley of Jehoshaphat : at the gate of St Stephen it is in- 
 terrupted in its course by the perpendicular terraces which bore 
 Solomon's temple, and sustain at present Omar's mosque ; and a 
 rapid and wide declivity sinks all at once to the left towards the 
 bridge which crosses Kedron, and leads to Gethsemane and the 
 Garden of Olives. We passed tins bridge, and dismounted once 
 more from our horses in front of a charming edifice, of the compo- 
 site order, but of a severe and antique character, which is, as it 
 were, buried in the lowest depths of the valley of Gethsemane, and 
 fills its entire breadth. It is the assigned tomb of the Virgin, the 
 mother of Christ ; it belongs to the Armenians, whose convents -were 
 the most ravaged by the plague. We did not therefore enter the 
 sanctuary of the tomb. I contented myself with falling on my kuees 
 upon the marble step of the outer court of this handsome temple, 
 and invoking the blessing of her whom every mother early teaches 
 her child to piously and affectionately worship. On rising, I per- 
 ceived behind me an enclosure of about an acre in extent, touching 
 on one side the high bank of the brook Kedron, and rising gently on 
 the other to the base of the Mount of Olives. A low wall of stones, 
 without cement, surrounded this field, and eight olive-trees, sepa- 
 rated from each other thirty or forty paces, covered it almost entirely 
 with their shade. These olives are some of the largest trees of the 
 species that I have ever met with ; tradition carries their age to the 
 memorable date of the Saviour's agony, who had selected them to 
 hide his divine anguish. Their appearance would confirm, if neces- 
 sary, the tradition which consecrates them : their prodigious roots, 
 like the accumulations of centuries, have lifted up the earth and 
 stones which covered them, and rising several feet above the level 
 of the soil, offer to the pilgrim natural scats, on which he can kneel 
 or sit, to gather the holy thoughts which descend from their silent 
 branches. A knotty trunk, grooved and hollowed by age into, as it 
 were, deep wrinkles, rises like a large column from these groups of 
 roots, and, as if overcome and bent by the weight of years, leans to 
 the right or to the left, and droops its vast interwoven branches, 
 which the axe has a hundred times pruned, to restore to youthful 
 vigour. These old and ponderous branches, which are bent down- 
 wards, bear others of less mature age, which stand erect towards 
 heaven, and send out shoots, one or two years old, topped by clusters 
 of leaves and small blue olives, which fall like celestial relics on the 
 foot of the Christian traveller. I separated from the caravan, which 
 had halted round the Virgin's tomb, and I seated myself for a 
 moment on the roots of the most lonely and aged of these olives ; 
 its branches intercepted the view of the walls of Jerusalem, and its 
 large trunk concealed me from the observation of the shepherds who 
 were feeding their flocks on the slopes of the Mount of Olives. I 
 could only see the deep and rugged ravine of Kedron, and the tops 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 221 
 
 of some other olives, which fill up the breadth of the valley of Je- 
 hoshaphat. Not a murmur arose from the waterless brook ; not a 
 leaf shook upon the tree : I closed my eyes, and carried back my 
 thoughts to that night, the eve of the redemption of the human race, 
 in which the Divine Messenger had drained the dregs of the cup of 
 agony, before receiving death from the hands of men, as the reward 
 of his celestial revelation. I asked my part of that salvation which 
 he had borne to the world at so high a sacrifice ; I represented to 
 myself the flood of anguish which must have poured upon the heart 
 of the Son of Man, when he contemplated at one view all the 
 miseries, darknesses, woes, vanities, and wickednesses in the lot of 
 mortals ; when he wished to remove that load of crimes and griefs 
 under which all humanity, bowed down and groaning, passes into 
 the narrow vale of tears ; when he found that not even truth and 
 consolation could be imparted to mankind, but at the price of his 
 life ; when, recoiling with affright from the shadow of death, which 
 he already felt upon him, he said to his Father, ' Let this cup pass 
 from me !' And I, a miserable, ignorant, insignificant mortal, could 
 also cry at the foot of the tree of human weakness, ' Oh Lord ! let 
 all these cups of bitterness be put away from me, and be poured by 
 you into that cup already drained for us all ! He had the force to 
 drink it to the dregs. He had known and seen you; he knew 
 wherefore he was about to drink it; he knew the immortal life 
 that awaited him in the depths of his three days' tomb ; but I, oh 
 Lord, what know I but the wo which tears my heart, and the 
 hope which he has taught me ! ' 
 
 I arose and gazed in admiration on this spot, divinely predestined 
 and chosen for the most agonizing scene in the passion of the Sa- 
 viour. It was a valley, narrow, entombed, and deeply sunk ; closed 
 on the north by the gloomy and bare ridges which bore the tombs 
 of the kings ; overshadowed on the west by the sombre and colossal 
 walls of a city of iniquities ; overcast on the east by the peaks of 
 the Mountain of Olives, and traversed by a torrent which rolled its 
 bitter and yellow waters over the broken rocks of the valley of 
 Jehoshaphat. At a few paces distant, a black and naked rock stood 
 out like a promontory from the foot of the mountain, and, suspended 
 over Kedron and the vale, bore some old tombs of kings and 
 patriarchs, carved in huge and fantastic architecture, and shot out 
 like the bridge of death over the vale of tears ! At that period, 
 doubtless, the slopes of the Mount of Olives, now nearly bare, were 
 irrigated by the water of the pools and the yet flowing stream of 
 Kedron. Gardens of pomegranates, oranges, and olives, covered 
 with a thicker shade the confined valley of Gethsemane, which is 
 hollowed, like a nest of sorrow, in the narrowest and darkest depth 
 of Jehoshaphat. The Man of opprobrium, the Man of grief, might 
 hide himself there amongst the roots of trees, and the rocks of the 
 torrent, under the triple shadow of the city, the mountain, and the 
 night. He might hear from there the stealthy steps of his mother 
 and his disciples, who were in search of their Son and their 
 
222 
 
 laiiartixe's 
 
 Master; the confused noises, the brutish acclamations of the city, 
 which arose above his head, in stupid joy at having vanquished truth 
 and chased away justice; and the murmuring of Kedron which 
 flowed beneath his feet, and which -was soon to see its city over- 
 thrown, and its springs destroyed, by the ruin of a wicked and blind 
 nation. Could the Saviour have chosen a more fitting place for his 
 tears ? Could he have moistened with his bloody sweat a land more 
 ploughed with miseries, more soaked with sadness, more drowned 
 with lamentations ? 
 
 I remounted my horse, and in a quarter of an hour I climbed up 
 the Mount of Olives, turning my head every instant to see something 
 more of the valley and the city : every step that my horse made on 
 the path leading up the mount disclosed to me a quarter, an edifice 
 more of Jerusalem. I reached the summit, crowned by a mosque 
 in ruins, covering the place where Christ ascended into heaven after 
 the Resurrection. I descended a little on the right of this mosque to 
 arrive at two broken columns, lying on the ground at the feet of 
 some olive-trees, upon a level, which looks at the same time on 
 Jerusalem, Sion, and the valleys of Saint -Saba, which lead to the 
 Dead Sea. The Dead Sea itself was glittering between the peaks of 
 the mountains and the vast horison, furrowed with numerous ridges 
 terminating at the mountains of Arabia. Here I seated myself: 
 behold the scene before me ! 
 
 The Mount of Olives, on the summit of which I am sitting, 
 descends in a sudden and steep declivity to the deep abyss which 
 divides it from Jerusalem, and which is called the valley of Jeho- 
 shaphat. From the bottom of this gloomy and narrow vale, whose 
 naked sides are streaked with white and black stones, the dismal 
 stones of death, arises an immense and broad hill, whose precipitous 
 inclination resembles that of a high tottering rampart : no tree can 
 fix its roots, not even moss can hang its filaments ; the declivity is 
 so steep, that the soil and the stones are perpetually sinking down, 
 and nothing is presented to the eye but a surface of dry and withered 
 earth, like heaps of ashes. About the middle of this hill, or natural 
 rampart, high and strong walls of broad stones, unchiselled on their 
 exterior, are planted — their Roman and Hebraic foundations con- 
 cealed under the ashes which are collected round their bases— and 
 elevated fifty, a hundred, and farther on, two and three hundred feet 
 high. The walls are pierced by three gates, two of which arc built 
 up ; and one of them, open before us, seems as void and deserted 
 as if it gave entrance to an uninhabited town. The walls rise also 
 above these gates, and support a wide and extensive terrace, which 
 stretches two- thirds of the length of Jerusalem, on the side which 
 looks to the east; this terrace, computed by the eye, may be 1000 
 feet long, and 600 to 700 wide ; it is almost perfectly level, except at 
 its centre, where it sinks insensibly, as if to recall to the eye the 
 shallow valley which formerly separated the Hill of Sion from the 
 city of Jerusalem. This magnificent platform, doubtless prepared by 
 naturc, but evidently finished by the hand of man, was the sublime 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 223 
 
 pedestal on which arose the Temple of Solomon ; it bears at the pre- 
 sent day two Turkish mosques ; the one, El-Sakara, in the centre of 
 the platform, on the very site where the temple must have stood ; 
 the other, at the south-east extremity of the terrace, touching the 
 walls of the town. The mosque of Omar, or El-Sakara, an admir- 
 able edifice of Arabian architecture, is of immense dimensions, with 
 eight sides, and built of stone and marble. Each front is orna- 
 mented with seven arcades terminated in ogive ; above this first 
 range a terraced roof stretches, whence springs another tier of nar- 
 rower arcades, crowned by a graceful dome covered with copper, 
 formerly gilded with gold. The walls of the mosque are decorated 
 with a blue enamel ; to the right and to the left extend broad par- 
 tition walls, terminated by light Moorish colonnades, corresponding 
 to the eight doors of the mosque. Beyond these detached colon- 
 nades the platform continues, and terminates on one of its sides at 
 the north part of the town, on the other at the walls on the "south. 
 Lofty cypress-trees, scattered as if by chance, olives, and green 
 plants growing here and there between the mosques, heighten the 
 effect of their elegant architecture, and the dazzling colour of their 
 walls, by their pyramidal form and sombre verdure. 
 
 Above the two mosques and the site of the temple, all Jerusa- 
 lem stretches out, and spouts up, if I may say so, before us, without 
 the eye losing a roof or a stone, like the plan of a town in relief 
 which an artist exhibits on a table. The city, not as it has been re- 
 presented to us, a shapeless and confused heap of ruins and ashes, on 
 which a few Arab huts are erected, or Bedouin tents planted— not 
 like Athens, a chaos of dust and crumbled walls, in which the tra- 
 veller vainly seeks the outline of edifices, the track of streets, the 
 image of a town — but a city brilliant in aspect and colouring !— offer- 
 ing nobly to the eye its unbroken and embattled walls, its blue 
 mosque with white colonnades, its thousands of resplendant domes, 
 on which the rays of an autumnal sun fall and are reflected in 
 dazzling vapour ; the facades of houses, tinted by the suns of summer 
 with the yellow and golden hue of the edifices of Paestum or of 
 Bome, its old towers, the guardians of its walls, in which not a 
 stone, not a loophole, not a battlement, is deficient ; and from the 
 midst of this ocean of houses, and multitude of little domes sur- 
 mounting them, a black and elliptic dome larger than the others, 
 towered over by another white dome — it is the Holy Sepulchre and 
 Calvary. They are confounded, and, as it were, drowned, in the 
 immense labyrinth of domes, edifices, and streets which surround 
 them ; and it is thus difficult to account for the site of Calvary and 
 that of the Sepulchre, which, according to the ideas given us by the 
 Gospel, should be found upon a detached hill, beyond the walls, and 
 not in the centre of Jerusalem ! The city, contracted on the site of 
 Sion, has been doubtlessly enlarged towards the north, to embrace 
 within its compass the two spots which cause its shame and glory — 
 the place of punishment of the Just, and that of the Besurrection of 
 the God in man ! 
 
224 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 Sucli is the town from the height of the Mount of Olives. It has 
 no horison behind it, neither to the west nor to the north. The 
 outlines of its walls and towers, the points of its numerous minarets, 
 the arches of its shining domes, stand out naked and bluntly on the 
 blue sky of the East, and the city, thus borne and presented on its 
 wide and elevated site, appears still to glitter in all the ancient 
 splendour of its prophecies, or to wait but a word to start in full 
 lustre from its seventeen successive ruins, and to become that yew 
 Jerusalem which rises from the wilderness brilliant with brightness.* 
 It is the most wondrous vision that the eye can have of a town 
 which is no more ; for it seems yet to be, and to shine as a town 
 full of youth and life ; but if we regard it with greater attention,, 
 we feel that it is, in fact, but a beautiful image of the city of David 
 and of Solomon. No noise is heard from its squares and streets : 
 no longer are there roads which lead to its gates from the east and 
 the west, from the north and the south ; there are only a few paths 
 winding at hazard amongst the rocks, in which we meet some half- 
 clad Arabs mounted on their asses, and some Damascus camel- 
 drivers, or some women from Bethlehem or Jericho, bearing on their 
 heads a pannier of Engaddi grapes, or a basket of pigeons, which 
 they go to sell at morning under the turpentine-trees beyond the 
 gates of the city. We were seated all day in front of the principal 
 gate of Jerusalem ; we made the circuit of the walls in passing 
 before all its other gates. No one entered, no one came out ; the 
 beggar even was not seated in the gateway ; the sentinel did not 
 show himself on his post: we saw nothing, we heard nothing: the 
 same blank, the same silence at the portals of a city, with thirty 
 thousand souls, during twelve hours of the day, as if we had passed 
 before the dead walls of Pompeii or Herculaneum ! We saw but 
 four funeral parties issue in silence from the Damascus gate, and 
 wind along the walls towards the Turkish cemeteries ; and from the 
 gate of Sion, as we passed it, only a poor Christian, dead that morn- 
 ing of the plague, whom four grave-diggers were carrying to the 
 burying-place of the Greeks. They went close past us, cast the 
 body of the infected on the ground wrapped in his clothes, and set 
 themselves in silence to dig his last bed under the feet of our 
 
 * [It is very necessary to recollect that the Jerusalem i f the present day does not 
 perhaps possess a single dwelling or piece of wall which belonged to th.- ancient 
 city, so much has it been altered and destroyed. After its last great destruction 
 under the Roman emperor, Adrian, in the year 118, it was rebuilt in a new style: 
 and about the year 300, when Constantino was converted to Christianity, the city 
 was greatly extended by that monarch and his mother Helena. By this last-men- 
 tioned pious woman a number of Christian churches were erected, and at this time 
 the spots celebrated in the Cospcl history began to be consecrated and dignified 
 with chapels and shrines, so that the original appearance of many of them was 
 lost. The Saracens and Turks afterwards effaced many of the works of Helena : 
 but latterly, by the plantation of monasteries in Palestine, and the flocking 
 thither of pilgrims, almost all the spots consecrated by the sufferings of Christ have 
 been re-adorned, and are now under the roofs of religious structures. This altera- 
 tion of the original aspect of these Scriptural scenes lias been condemned by every 
 traveller who has written on the subj -et. The present settled population of Jeru- 
 salem—Turks, Jews, and Christians— is reckoned at about 15,000.] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 225 
 
 horses. The ground all around the town had been recently dis- 
 turbed for similar burials, which the plague was every day mul- 
 tiplying; and the only noise heard beyond the walls of Jerusalem 
 was the monotonous wailing of the Turkish women who were la- 
 menting their dead. I know not if the plague was the sole cause 
 of the desertion of the roads, and of the profound silence around 
 Jerusalem and within it. I do not believe it was, because the Arabs 
 and Turks do not attempt to escape the inflictions of the Almighty, 
 convinced that they can reach them everywhere, and that no route 
 avoids them. A sublime conviction on their part, but one which 
 leads to disastrous consequences ! 
 
 To the left of the platform of the temple and the walls of Jeru- 
 salem the hill which sustains the town sinks all at once, widens and 
 extends in gentle slopes, supported at intervals by terraces of loose 
 stones. On its summit, some hundreds of paces from Jerusalem, 
 are a mosque and a group of Turkish edifices, nearly similar to a 
 European village overtopped by its church and its steeple. It is 
 Sion ! It is the palace ! It is the tomb of David ! It is the place of 
 his inspirations and of his enjoyments, of his life and of his repose ! 
 A place doubly sacred to me, whose heart this divine songster has 
 so often touched, and whose imagination he has so often charmed. 
 He is the first of sentimental poets ! — the king of lyrics ! Never 
 has the human chord resounded with harmony so stirring, so pene- 
 trating, and so solemn ! Never has the poetic thought been raised 
 so high, or sung so justly ! Never has the soul of man expanded 
 before men and before God in expressions and sentiments so tender, 
 so sympathetic, and so bewildering ! All the most secret agonies of 
 the human heart have found voice and utterance on the lips and on 
 the harp of this man ! And if we go back to the remote period in 
 which such psalms were sung on earth, if we reflect that the lyric 
 poetry of the most civilised nations then celebrated only the praises 
 of wine, love, blood, and the victories of the muses, and the coursers 
 in the games of Elis, we are impressed with a profound astonishment 
 at the mystic accents of the kingly prophet, who speaks to the Lord- 
 Creator as friend to friend, who understands and lauds his won- 
 drous deeds, who applauds his justice, who implores his mercy, and 
 seems an anticipating echo of the evangelical poetry, repeating the 
 gentle words of the Saviour before hearing them. Prophet or not, 
 according as he may be considered by the philosopher or the Chris- 
 tian, none can refuse to the poet-king an inspiration which was 
 given to no other mortal ! Read Horace or Pindar after a psalm ! 
 For myself, I cannot ! 
 
 I, a humble poet, in a time of decay and silence, I would, if I had 
 lived at Jerusalem, have chosen the spot for my residence, and the 
 tomb for my repose, precisely where David has chosen his at Sion. 
 It has the most beautiful prospect of Judea, of Palestine, and of 
 Galilee. Jerusalem is on the left, with the temple and its buildings, 
 on which the eyes of the king or the poet could fall without being 
 seen from them. Before him the fertile gardens, stretching down the 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
226 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 expiring slopes, might conduct him to the bed of the torrent, whose 
 foam and murmur were dear to him. Beyond, the valley opens and 
 widens ; fig-trees, pomegranates, and olives, overshadow it. It was 
 upon some of these rocks, suspended over the flowing water, in some 
 of these re-echoing grottos, cooled by the water-air, at the foot of 
 some of these turpentine-trees, the ancestors of that which shades 
 myself, that the sacred poet doubtless came to catch the whisper 
 which inspired him so melodiously ! May I not find it also to ex- 
 press the sadness of my heart, and of that of the human race in this 
 unsettled age, as he sang his hopes in an age of youthfulness and 
 faith ? But there is no longer poetry in the heart of man, for des- 
 pair is not tuneful. Unless a new inspiration shall descend upon 
 our gloomy times, the lyres will remain mute, and man will pass 
 in silence between two gulfs of doubt, without having loved, or 
 prayed, or sung ! 
 
 But I return to the palace of David. The view plunges on the 
 ravine, at that time verdant and irrigated, of Jehoshaphat; a wide 
 opening in the hills to the east leads from slope to slope, from ridge 
 to ridge, to the basin of the Dead Sea, which reflects the evening 
 rays, in its heavy and dull waters, like a thick Venetian glass, which 
 imparts a leaden tint to the light which falls upon it. It is not 
 what the imagination has figured to itself, a petrified lake in a 
 mournful and monotonous landscape. It is from here one of the 
 most beautiful of the Swiss or Italian lakes, its tranquil waters re- 
 posing under the shadow of the high mountains of Arabia, which 
 stretch, like other Alps, out of sight behind it, between the elevated, 
 pyramidal, indented, and glittering peaks of the concluding moun- 
 tains of Judea. Such is the prospect from Sion ! 
 
 There was another scene in the landscape of Jerusalem that I 
 would have engraved in my memory, but I have neither pencil nor 
 inspiration. It is the valley of Jehoshaphat — a valley celebrated 
 in the traditions of three religions, in which the Jews, the Chris- 
 tians, and the Mohammedans agree in placing the terrible scene 
 of the last judgment — a valley which has already witnessed on its 
 banks the greatest scene in the evangelical drama — the tears, the 
 agonies, and the death of the Saviour ! — a valley through which the 
 prophets have passed, in their turns, uttering a cry of wo and terror, 
 which seems still to echo ! — a valley which is destined to hear the 
 stupendous noise of the torrent of souls rolling before God, and 
 coming of themselves to their fatal judgment ! * 
 
 * [The valley of Jehoshaphat, though only a narrow rocky glen, is one of the most 
 interesting localities in the immediate neighbourhood of Jerusalem. It lies on the 
 east of the city, and through it flows the small rivulet or brook Kedron, a tributary 
 of the Dead Sea, which lies some miles distant in an easterly direction. ■ Stopping 
 for a moment among the tombs in the Turkish burying-ground, we descended to- 
 wards the bridge across the brook Kedron, and the mysterious valley of Jehoshaphat. 
 Here I was indeed among the hallowed places of the Bible. Here all was as nature 
 had left it, and spared by the desecrating hand of man j and as I gazed upon the vast 
 sepulchral monuments, the tombs of Abraham, Zechariah, and Jehoshaphat, and the 
 thousands and tens of thousands of Hebrew tombstones covering the declivity of the 
 mountain, I had no doubt I was looking upon that great gathering-place where, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 227 
 
 Same day. — We returned to the convent of St John in the wilder- 
 ness without having violated any stipulation in the compact con- 
 cluded with the monks. We were received with a confidence and 
 reliance which affected us ; for if we had not been men of honour, 
 if one of our Arabs only had escaped our watchfulness, and had 
 communication with those who bore the infected all around us, we 
 should have brought death perhaps to the whole community. 
 
 October 29. — At five o'clock in the morning, we departed from the 
 wilderness of St John, with all our horses, escort, Arabs of Abougosh, 
 and four horsemen, sent by the governor of Jerusalem. We pitch 
 our camp at two gunshots from the walls, on the side of the Turkish 
 burial-ground, all covered with little tents, in which the women come 
 to lament. These tents are full of women, children, and slaves, 
 bearing baskets of flowers, which they plant for the day around the 
 tombs. Our horsemen from Naplous alone enter the city, to in- 
 form the governor of our arrival. Whilst they carry our message, 
 we remove our shoes, boots, and cloth gaiters, which are susceptible 
 of catching infection, and we cover our feet with morocco Turkish 
 shoes ; we rub ourselves with oil and garlic, a preservative which 
 I have thought of, from the well-known fact at Constantinople that 
 the dealers and carriers of oil are less subject to the plague. In 
 half an hour we perceive, issuing from the Bethlehem gate, the hiaya 
 of the governor, the interpreter of the convent of Latin monks, five 
 or six horsemen, clad in brilliant costumes, and carrying gold or 
 silver -headed canes, our own Naplous troopers, and some young 
 pages on horseback. We go forward to meet them; they form a 
 circle round us ; and we enter the Bethlehem gate. Three plague 
 corpses issued from it at the same moment, and their bearers dispute 
 with us for an instant the passage under the sombre arch of the 
 gate. Immediately after clearing it, we find ourselves in a suburb 
 composed of small and wretched houses, and of some uncultivated 
 gardens, the walls of which have fallen down. We follow for a 
 moment the broadest road in this suburb ; it leads us to one or two 
 petty streets equally gloomy, narrow, and filthy ; we perceive in 
 these streets only the carriers of the dead, who pass with hasty 
 steps, or range themselves against the walls, at the command, and. 
 under the raised sticks of the governor's janissaries. Here and 
 there are some dealers in bread and fruits, covered with rags, seated 
 on the doorway of small shops, with their baskets on their knees, 
 and crying their merchandise after the manner of market people 
 in our great towns. From time to time a woman veiled appears at 
 the wooden bars of a window, or a boy opens a low and dark door, 
 and goes to purchase for the family the day's provision. The streets 
 are everywhere obstructed with rubbish, heaps of filth, and, above 
 all, with loads of blue cloth, or stuff shreds, which the wind sweeps 
 
 three thousand years ago, the Jew buried his dead under the shadow of the temple of 
 Solomon, and where, even at this day, in every country where his race is known, 
 it is the dearest wish of his heart that his bones may be laid to rest among those of 
 his long-buried ancestors.'— Stephens's Incidents of Travel.'] 
 
228 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 about like dead leaves, and with which we are unable to avoid con- 
 tact. It is from the filth and rags with which the streets of eastern 
 towns are covered that the plague is chiefly communicated. Hitherto 
 wc had seen nothing in the streets of Jerusalem which proclaimed the 
 residence of a nation — no symptom of wealth, activity, or life : the 
 exterior aspect had deceived us, as we had been so frequently before 
 deceived in other towns of Greece and Syria. The most miserable 
 hamlet on the Alps or Pyrenees, the most obscure alleys of our 
 suburbs, abandoned to the lowest classes of the population, have 
 more cleanliness, luxury, and elegance, than the deserted streets of 
 the queen of cities. We only met a few Bedouins, mounted on Arab 
 mares, whose feet slid or plunged into the holes with which the 
 pavement is well supplied. These men have not the noble and 
 chivalric air of the Arab scheiks of Syria and Lebanon ; they have, 
 on the contrary, the ferocious countenance, the vulture eye, and the 
 costume of brigands. 
 
 "We were stopped in our progress through streets similar to each 
 other in all particulars, from time to time, by the interpreter of the 
 Latin convent, who, showing us a Turkish house in ruins, an old gate 
 of worm-eaten wood, or the remains of a Moorish window, said to us, 
 1 There is the house of Veronica — there the gate of the Wandering 
 Jew — there the window of the Praetor;' words which only excited 
 in us a painful impression, belied as they were by the evidently 
 modern appearance, and by the palpable improbability of such 
 arbitrary demonstrations — pious frauds, of which no one is guilty, 
 because they date from a remote period, and they have been re- 
 peated perhaps for ages to the pilgrims, whose ignorant credulity had 
 first originated them. We were shown at last the roof of the Latin 
 convent, but we could not enter. The monks keep quarantine ; the 
 monastery is closed in times of plague. A small house, which 
 depends on it, alone remains open for strangers, under the direction 
 of the monk, who is priest, or rector, of Jerusalem; it possesses but 
 one or two rooms, which are occupied ; and we pass on. We are led 
 into a small square court, surrounded on all sides by high arcades 
 surmounted by terraces. It is the court of a convent. The monks 
 come out upon the terraces, and converse a few moments with us in 
 Spanish and Italian. None of them speak French ; those whom we 
 see are almost all aged men, with a mild, venerable, and contented 
 aspect. They welcome us with gaiety and cordiality, and appear 
 greatly to regret that the prevalent calamity interdicts all communi- 
 cation with guests, exposed as we are to take and impart the plague. 
 We give them news from Europe, and they offer us all the comforts 
 that the country affords. A butcher kills sheep for us in the court. 
 They lower us fresh bread by a cord from the terrace. We receive 
 from them by the same means a store of crosses, chaplets, and other 
 pious curiosities, of which they always keep abundant supplies. We 
 hand them, in exchange, some alms, and letters with which their 
 friends in Cyprus and Syria had charged us for them. Every object 
 that passes from us to them is first subjected to a rigorous fumigation, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 229 
 
 then plunged into a pitcher of cold water, and at last hoisted to the 
 top of the terrace in a brass basin suspended by a string. These 
 poor monks appear more terrified than we at the danger which 
 surrounds them. They have so often had experience that a slight 
 neglect in the observation of the sanitary rules carries off in a few 
 hours an entire convent, that they adhere to them with scrupulous 
 fidelity. They are unable to comprehend how we should throw our- 
 selves voluntarily, and with gay hearts, into this ocean of contagion, 
 a single spray from which turns them pale. The priest of Jeru- 
 salem, on the contrary, forced by his duty to partake the risks of 
 his parishioners, wishes to persuade us that there is no plague. 
 After half an hour's conversation with these monks, the bell calls 
 them to mass. We return them our thanks ; they give us their good 
 wishes for a safe journey. We send to our camp the stores and 
 provisions we have obtained, and leave the court of the convent. 
 
 After traversing some other streets similar to those which I have 
 just described, we come upon a small square, looking to the north 
 upon a corner of the Hill of Olives. On our left, some steps of 
 descent lead us to a courtyard, on which stands the front of the 
 Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre 
 has been so often and so well described, that I will not describe it 
 afresh. It is, especially on the exterior, a vast and splendid monu- 
 ment of the Byzantine era ; its architecture is solemn, imposing, and 
 rich for the period in which it was constructed ; it is a worthy me- 
 mento raised by the piety of men over the tomb of the Son of Man. 
 Comparing this church with any of the same epoch, we find it supe- 
 rior in every respect. St Sophia, much more colossal, is also much 
 more barbaric in its form ; it is but a mountain of stones, flanked 
 by hills of stones. St Sepulchre, on the contrary, is an airy and 
 chiselled cupola, in which the artistic and graceful workmanship of 
 the doors, windows, capitals, and cornices, gives to the mass the in- 
 estimable value of skilful labour ; in which the stone has been carved 
 to be rendered worthy of making part of a monument, elevated to 
 the grandest of human ideas ; in which the very belief that has 
 reared it is written in the details, as well as in the entirety of the 
 edifice. It is true that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is not 
 such, at the present day, as St Helena, mother of Constantine, con- 
 structed it ; the kings of Jerusalem retouched and embellished it with 
 the ornaments of that architecture, half-western, half-Moorish, the 
 taste and models for which they had picked up in the East. But such 
 as it now is, on its exterior, with its Byzantine body, and Greek, Gothic, 
 and Arabic decorations — with its very rents, the marks of time and 
 barbarism, remaining on its facade — it presents no repugnant contrast 
 to the thoughts we bear to it, or to the thoughts which it expresses; 
 we do not experience, on beholding it, that distressing impression of 
 a grand conception ill executed, of a sublime recollection profaned 
 by the hands of men; on the contrary, we exclaim involuntarily, 
 ' This is what I expected ! Man has done all he could. The monu- 
 ment is not worthy of the tomb, but it is worthy of the mortal race, 
 
230 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 anxious to do honour to the great sepulchre.' We enter the arched 
 and sombre vestibule of the nave with ihis solemn feeling. 
 
 On entering the vestibule, which opens directly on the court, we 
 perceive to the left, in the hollow of a wide deep niche, the divan 
 which the Turks have there established ; they are the guardians of 
 the Holy Sepulchre, and they alone have the right of opening and 
 shutting it. When I passed, five or six venerable Turks, with long 
 white beards, were sitting cross-legged on this divan, covered with 
 rich Aleppo carpets ; coffee-cups and pipes were beside them on the 
 carpets ; they saluted us with dignity and grace, and gave orders to 
 one of the watchers to accompany us into all parts of the church. I 
 saw nothing in their countenances, their words, or their gestures, of 
 that irreverence with which they are accused. They do not enter 
 the church ; they remain at the door ; they speak to the Christians 
 with the gravity and respect which the place and the object of the 
 visit require. Possessors, by right of conquest, of the sacred monu- 
 ment of the Christians, they do not destroy it ; they cast not its ashes 
 to the winds; they preserve it; they maintain order, regularity, and 
 a silent reverence in it, which the Christian communions, who dis- 
 pute amongst themselves, are very far from guarding. They watch, 
 in order that the relic, common to all that bears the name of Chris- 
 tian, may be preserved for all, in order that each communion may 
 enjoy in its turn the opportunity of worship at the Holy Tomb. 
 Without the Turks, this tomb, which is claimed by the Greeks, the 
 Catholics, and the innumerable ramifications of the Christian idea, 
 would have been a hundred times an object of contest amongst these 
 rival and bitter creeds, would have passed in exclusive possession 
 from the one to the other, and would, without question, have been 
 interdicted to the enemies of the triumphant communion. I see 
 nothing in this to accuse and malign the Turks. The pretended 
 brutal intolerance of which the ignorant accuse them, is only mani- 
 fested in forbearance and respect for what other men venerate and 
 adore. Wherever the Mussulman perceives the idea of God in the 
 mind of his fellow-creature, he bows, and respects. He believes that 
 the idea sanctifies the form. They are the only tolerant people. 
 Let Christians interrogate and ask themselves, in good faith, what 
 they would have done if the destinies of war had delivered to them 
 Mecca and the Kaaba ? Would they have allowed the Turks to 
 come from all parts of Asia and Europe to venerate in peace the 
 monuments preserved of Islamism ? 
 
 At the bottom of the vestibule we found ourselves under the large 
 cupola of the church. The centre of this cupola, which the local 
 traditions assert is the centre of the world, is occupied by a small 
 monument, as one precious stone is enchased in another. This in- 
 terior monument is an oblong square, adorned with pillars, a cornice, 
 and cupola of marble, the whole in bad taste, and of a laboured 
 fantastic design. It was reconstructed in 1817 by a European 
 architect, at the expense of the Greek Church, which now possesses 
 it. All around this interior erection the great external cupola ex- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 231 
 
 tends without obstruction. We make the circuit freely, and find 
 between the pillars large and deep chapels, which are each conse- 
 crated to one of the mysteries of Christ's passion. They all contain 
 some real or supposititious evidences of the scenes of the Redemption. 
 The part of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which is not under 
 the cupola is exclusively reserved to the sect of Greeks ; a separation 
 of painted wood, covered with the pictures of the Greek worship, 
 divides one nave from the other * Notwithstanding the absurd pro- 
 fusion of bad paintings, and of all sorts of ornaments with which the 
 walls and the altar are surcharged, the whole has a solemn and re- 
 ligious effect ; we feel that adoration in various forms has possessed 
 this sanctuary, and accumulated all that superstitious but fervent 
 generations have believed most precious before God. A staircase 
 cut in the rock leads to the top of Calvary, where the three crosses 
 were planted. Thus Calvary, the Sepulchre, and several other sites 
 of the action of the Redemption, are found gathered under the roof 
 of a single edifice of moderate extent. This appears little conform- 
 able to the recitals of the Evangelists, and we are very far from ex- 
 pecting to find the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea cut in the rock be- 
 yond the walls of Sion, fifty paces from Calvary, the place of execu- 
 tions, and contained within the enclosure of modern walls ; but such 
 are the traditions, and they have prevailed.^ The mind does not 
 contest, on such a scene, a few paces of difference between historical 
 probabilities and traditions, nor whether it were here or there, since 
 it is certainly not far from the positions pointed out. After a mo- 
 ment of profound and silent meditation in each of these sacred 
 places, induced by the recollection which it individually recalled, we 
 descended again to the enclosure of the church, and we entered the 
 interior monument, which serves as a stone curtain or covering to 
 the sepulchre itself. It is divided into two small sanctuaries. In 
 the first is shown the stone on which the angels were seated when 
 they answered the holy women : 4 He is not there ; he has risen.' 
 The second and last sanctuary contains the sepulchre, yet covered 
 with a sort of sarcophagus of white marble, which surrounds and en- 
 tirely conceals from the eye the substance of the primitive rock, out 
 
 * [On the 12th of March 1808 a great portion of the edifice was destroyed by fire, 
 which consumed the Armenian chapel, the cells of the Franciscans, the chapel of 
 the Virgin, and the great dome. It likewise destroyed many of the fine marble 
 columns and mosaic works of its founder, St Helena. The sepulchre itself was not 
 injured. The present building was commenced immediately afterwards, and finished 
 in September 1810. It happened that, at the time of the conflagration, the funds of 
 the Terra Santa [Roman Catholic missionaries] were very low, and that at this 
 epoch the attention of the Church of Rome was otherwise engaged, and the devo- 
 tional fervour of Christians in Europe (according to the report of the monks) some- 
 what relaxed. The consequence was, that the Greeks, backed by their co-religionists, 
 the Russians, having offered to defray the expenses of reconstruction, were put in 
 possession of what was esteemed the most valuable portions of the edifice.— Robinson's 
 Travels in Palestine and Syria.'] 
 
 f [The first founders of the church, in order to reduce the rocky inequalities of 
 Calvary to a plain area, were obliged to cut away several parts of the rock and to 
 elevate others, taking care that none of those parts of the hill which were reckoned 
 to be more immediately concerned in our Lord's passion should be altered or 
 diminished. — The same authority.] 
 
232 
 
 lamaktixe's 
 
 of which the tomb was hollowed. Gold and silver lamps, kept per- 
 petually burning, light this chapel, and frankincense is burned night 
 and day. The air is warm and scented. We entered it one by one, 
 separately, without permitting any of the servants of the temple to 
 follow us. We were separated by a curtain of crimson silk from the 
 first sanctuary. We were unwilling that observation should inter- 
 rupt the solemnity of the place, or the intensity of the impressions 
 which it might inspire in each, according to his tone of mind, and 
 according to the measure and nature of his belief in the great event 
 which this tomb recalls : each of us remained in it a quarter of an 
 hour, and no one came out with dry eyes. 
 
 Whatsoever was the form which internal meditation, the perusal 
 of history, the effects of time, the changes in the human heart and 
 mind, might have given to the religious sentiment within him; 
 whether he had preserved the very letter of Christianity, the teaching 
 of his mother ; whether he possessed but a philosophic Christianity, 
 according to its spirit ; whether Christ were to him a crucified God ; 
 whether he saw in Him only the most holy of men apotheothised for 
 his virtue, inspired by supreme truth, and dying to testify to his 
 Father ; whether Jesus were in his eyes the Son of God, or the Son of 
 Man; Divinity made man, or humanity made Divine — Christianity is 
 still always the religion of his remembrances, his heart, and his 
 imagination ; and let it be ever so evaporated in the whirlwind of 
 the age and of life, so that the mind which has once imbibed it pre- 
 serves but the first impression, the visible appearance of the places 
 and monuments of his original creed must renew in him all such feel- 
 ings, and make him shudder with solemn awe. For the Christian or 
 the philosopher, for the moralist or the historian, this sepulchre is the 
 boundary which separates two worlds, the ancient and the modern ; 
 it is the departing point of an idea which has revived the world, of a 
 civilisation which has changed all things, of a word which has echoed 
 throughout the globe. This sepulchre is the tomb of the old world, 
 and the cradle of the new. Upon no rock here below has so vast a 
 superstructure been founded ; no tomb has been so fruitful ; no 
 doctrine buried three days, or three ages, has shivered in so- 
 triumphant a manner the stone that man had rolled upon it, and 
 given the lie to death by so astounding and eternal a resurrection ! 
 
 I entered in my turn, and the last, into the Holy Sepulchre, my 
 mind besieged by these overwhelming ideas, my heart moved by 
 such inward emotions as remain mysteries between man and his- 
 soul, between the reflecting insect and the Creator. These emotions 
 cannot be written down ; they exhale amidst the smoke of the con- 
 secrated lamps, amidst the perfume of the censers, amidst the vague 
 murmur of sighs; they fall with the tears which start to the eyes at 
 the recollection of the first names we have lisped in our infancy, of 
 the father and the mother who taught us them, of the brothers, the 
 sisters, and the friends with whom we hummed them. All the pious 
 thoughts which have stirred the soul in all the epochs of life, all the 
 prayers which have sprung from the heart and the lips, in the name 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 233 
 
 of Him who teaches us to pray to his Father and ours ; all the joys 
 and afflictions of which these prayers were the expression reawaken 
 in the receptacles of the heart, and produce, by their vibration and 
 tumultuousness, that overpowering of the intellect, and that melting 
 of the heart, which find no words, but are resolved into moistened 
 eyes, a heaving chest, a forehead lowly bent, and a mouth which 
 silently presses the sepulchral stone. I remained thus a long time, 
 praying to Heaven, to the Father, in the very place where the most 
 divine of prayers first mounted to Heaven ; praying for my father 
 here below, for my mother in another world, for all those who are, 
 or who are not, with whom the invisible link has never been broken. 
 The communion of love never dies ; the names of all the beings whom 
 I have known, loved, by whom I have been loved, passed from my 
 lips in the prayer at the Holy Sepulchre. Last of all, I prayed for 
 myself; my prayer was ardent and vigorous. I asked for truth and 
 courage before the tomb of Him who brought the greatest truth 
 into the world, and died with the most perfect devotedness to that 
 truth of which God had constituted him the Word. I will for ever 
 remember the words which I murmured in that critical moment of 
 my moral life. Perhaps I was favourably heard : a powerful ray of 
 reason and conviction fell upon my mind, and separated more dis- 
 tinctly the light from the darkness, error from truth. There are 
 moments of life when the thoughts of men, long vague and doubtful, 
 unsettled as the waves, at length reach a point at which they are 
 stayed, and returned upon themselves in new conformations, and in 
 a direction contrary to that which has impelled them there. This 
 was for me one of those moments: he who dives into hearts and 
 thoughts knows it, and I myself will comprehend it one day. It was 
 a mystery in my life which will be revealed hereafter. 
 
 Same date. — On leaving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, wo 
 follow the Mournful Way, of which M. de Chateaubriand has given 
 so poetical an itinerary. Nothing imposing, nothing proved, nothing 
 probable ; ruins of modern construction pointed out by the monks to 
 pilgrims as the undoubted vestiges of the different stations of Christ*. 
 The eye cannot entertain even a doubt, and all confidence in these 
 local traditions is preliminarily destroyed by the history of the first 
 years of Christianity, in which Jerusalem did not preserve one stone 
 upon another, and in which the Christians were afterwards banished 
 from the city for many years. Jerusalem, with the exception of its 
 pools and the tombs of the kings, does not contain a single monu- 
 ment of any of those great events ; some sites are of course ascer- 
 tainable, such as the position of the temple, marked by its terraces,, 
 and bearing at present the immense and beautiful mosque of Omar- 
 el-Sakara., the Mount of Sion occupied by the Armenian convent,, 
 and the Tomb of David. But it is only with history in the hand, 
 and with a critical eye, that the greater part of the sites can be as- 
 certained with sure precision. Except the terraced walls over the 
 valley of Jehoshaphat, not a stone gives evidence of its era by its 
 form or colour; the whole is reduced to powder, or modern. The 
 
234 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 mind wanders in uncertainty over the city, without knowing where 
 to settle ; but the city, taken altogether, marked by the circumscribed 
 hill which bears it, by the different valleys which encircle it, and 
 especially by the deep vale of the Kedron, is a monument as to which 
 the eye cannot be deceived. It is surely there that Sion was placed : 
 a strange and unfortunate situation for the capital of a great people ! 
 — it is rather the fortress of a small tribe, chased from the earth, and 
 taking refuge with its God and its temple upon a soil which none 
 was interested to dispute with it, upon rocks which no roads could 
 render accessible, in waterless valleys, in a rude and unfruitful cli- 
 mate, having for horison nothing but mountains calcined by the in- 
 ternal fire of volcanos, the mountains of Arabia and Jericho, and a 
 tainted sea, without shore and without navigation — the Dead Sea ! 
 Such Judea, such the home of that people whose destiny has been 
 to be proscribed at every epoch of their history, and from whom the 
 nations have wrested even this capital of their proscriptions, perched 
 like an eagle's nest on the top of this group of mountains ; and yet 
 this people carried with them the grand idea of the unity of God, 
 and the truth of this elementary conception sufficed to separate them 
 from other nations, and to render them proud of their persecutions, 
 and resolute in their saving doctrines. 
 
 Same date. — After having gone through the different quarters of 
 the city, all equally dismantled with those by which we had entered, 
 we descended in the direction of the famous mosque which holds the 
 place of Solomon's Temple. The governor of Jerusalem has Ins 
 seraglio in a building adjoining the gardens and walls of the mosque. 
 We went to make him our visit of thanks. The court of the seraglio 
 was surrounded by grated dungeons, in which we perceived some rob- 
 bers of Jericho and Samaria, who Iran awaiting their deliverance, 
 or the sword of the pacha. Troopers, seated at the feet of their 
 horses, scheiks of the desert, and Arabs from Naplous, were grouped 
 here and there upon the steps, or under the corridors, waiting the 
 hour of audience. The governor having learnt our arrival, sent to 
 us his son, with a request to enter. This young man, about thirty 
 years of age, was the most handsome of the Arabs, and perhaps of 
 men, whom I have seen in the course of my life. Vigour, graceful- 
 ness, intelligence, and mildness were mingled with such harmony in 
 his features, and were expressed in his blue eye with such attractive 
 evidence, that we stood quite amazed at his appearance. He was of 
 Samaria. The governor of Jerusalem, his father, is the most power- 
 ful of the Naplous Arabs. Persecuted by Abdallah, pacha of Acre, 
 and often at war with him, during the dominion of the Turks he had 
 been forced to fly with his family to the mountains beyond the Dead 
 Sea : the victory of Ibrahim Pacha over Abdallah had restored him 
 to his country. He had recovered his riches and influence, he had 
 chased his enemies from the land ; and the pacha of Egypt, to supply 
 the deficiency of Egyptian troops in Judea, had intrusted to him the 
 government of Jerusalem aud Samaria. He had no other troops but 
 some hundreds of horsemen, of his own tribe, by whose aid he main- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 235 
 
 tained tranquillity, and the sway of Ibrahim, over all the surround- 
 ing population. 
 
 We entered the divan, a large saloon without any ornament but a 
 few carpets upon mats, with pipes and coffee-cups on the ground. 
 The governor, surrounded by a great number of slaves, by armed 
 Arabs, and by some secretaries on their knees, writing on their 
 hands, was engaged in administering justice and despatching orders. 
 He arose at our approach, and came towards us. He caused the 
 carpets of the divan to be removed, as they are susceptible of im- 
 parting infection, and Egyptian mats, which do not communicate it, 
 were substituted. We seated ourselves, and pipes and coffee were 
 presented to us. My dragoman made the governor the usual com- 
 pliments ; and I thanked him myself for all the pains he was good 
 enough to take in order that strangers like ourselves might visit, 
 without danger, the places consecrated by their religion. He an- 
 swered me, with a smile, that he had only performed his duty ; that 
 the friends of Ibrahim were his friends ; that he was answerable for 
 every hair in their heads ; that he was ready not only to do for me 
 what he had already done, but also to march himself, if I wished it, 
 with his troops, and accompany me wherever my curiosity or my 
 religion inspired me with the desire of going within the limits of his 
 government ; that such was the order of the pacha. He afterwards 
 inquired from us news of the war, and as to the interest that the 
 powers of Europe took in the fortune of Ibrahim. I answered him 
 in a manner to satisfy his secret inclinations — ' that Europe admired 
 in Ibrahim Pacha a conquering civiliser ; that on this account it took 
 an interest in his victories ; that it was time that the East should 
 participate in the benefits of a better administration ; that the pacha 
 of Egypt was the armed missionary of European civilisation in Arabia"; 
 that his bravery, and the tactics he had learnt from us, insured him 
 a certain victory over the Grand Yizier, who was advancing against 
 him into Caramania ; that, according to all appearance, he would gain 
 a great victory, and march upon Constantinople ; that he would not 
 enter it, because the Europeans would not yet permit him, but that 
 he would make peace with their mediation, and retain Arabia and 
 Syria in permanent sovereignty.' This prophecy touched the heart 
 of the old rebel of Naplous ; his looks drank up my words ; and his 
 son and friends stretched their heads over mine, so as not to lose a 
 syllable of the conversation, which was to them an augury of a long 
 and peaceable possession of rule over Samaria. When I saw the 
 governor in so happy a humour, I signified to him my desire not to 
 enter the Mosque of Omar, as I knew that such a proceeding was 
 opposed to the manners of the country, but to contemplate the 
 exterior. 
 
 f If you require it,' answered he, 'all shall be opened to you; but I 
 should run the risk of deeply enraging the Mohammedans of the city. 
 They are still ignorant ; they believe that the presence of a Chris- 
 tian within the circuit of the mosque would cause them to incur great 
 dangers, for a prophecy has declared that everything that a Chris- 
 
236 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 tian sliall ask of God in the interior of El-Sakara he will obtain ; and 
 they do not doubt that a Christian would pray from God the ruin of 
 the religion of the prophet, and the extermination of the Moslems. 
 For myself, I believe it not ; all men are brothers, since they adore, 
 each in his own tongue, the common Father; He does not give to 
 some at the expense of others ; He makes the sun shine on the 
 worshippers of all prophets ; men know nothing, but God knows all : 
 Allah kerim! 1 — ('God is great!') — and he bowed his head, smiling. 
 
 ' God preserve me,' said I to him, ' from abusing your hospitality, 
 and exposing you to danger in order to satisfy a traveller's vain 
 curiosity ! If I were in the mosque of El-Sakara, I would pray not 
 for the extermination of any people, but for the enlightenment and 
 the happiness of all the children of Allah.' 
 
 At these words we arose ; he conducted us through a corridor to 
 a window of his seraglio which opened upon the exterior courts of 
 the mosque. We could not so well seize the whole of the building 
 from this position as may be done from the top of the Mount of 
 Olives ; we saw only the walls of the cupola, some Moorish porticos 
 of the most elegant architecture, and the tops of the cypresses which 
 grow in the interior gardens. I took leave of the governor, inform- 
 ing him that my project was to pass eight or ten days encamped in 
 the environs of the city, and to depart to-morrow on an excursion to 
 the Dead Sea, to the Jordan, to Jericho, and even to the foot of the 
 mountains of Arabia-Petrrea ; that I should return several times into 
 the interior of Jerusalem ; and that I had nothing to ask from him 
 but a sufficient number of horsemen to guarantee our safety in the 
 different excursions that we proposed to make in Judea. "We went 
 out of the city by the Bethlehem gate, near which our tents were 
 fixed, and in the evening wc visited all the remarkable or conse- 
 crated spots around the city walls. 
 
 Same date* — The evening was passed in going over the slopes 
 which extend to the south of Jerusalem, between the tomb of David 
 and the valley of Jehoshaphat. These slopes are the only part out- 
 side the city which has any appearance of a trifling vegetation. At 
 sunset I seated myself in front of the Mount of Olives, four or five 
 hundred feet above the fount of Siloam, near where were the gar- 
 dens of David. Jehoshaphat was at my feet ; the high terraces of 
 the temple were a little above me on the left; I saw the beautiful 
 cypresses which raise their pyramidal heads above the porticos of 
 the mosque El-Aksa, and the dome-like orange-trees which over- 
 shadow the fountain of the temple called the Orange Fountain. This 
 fountain recalled to my memory one of the most delightful Oriental 
 traditions, invented, transmitted, or preserved by the Arabs. It is 
 thus they recount that Solomon chose the site of the temple : — 
 
 4 Jerusalem was a ploughed field ; two brothers possessed that 
 part of the ground where the temple is now erected. One of these 
 brothers was married, and had several children ; the other lived 
 alone ; they cultivated in common the field which they had inherited 
 from their mother. The time of tho harvest being come, the two 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 237 
 
 brothers bind their sheaves, and place them in two equal heaps, which 
 they leave on the field. During the night, the brother who was un- 
 married said to himself, " My brother has a wife and children to 
 succour; it is not just that my portion should be as great as his ; I 
 will take from my heap some sheaves, and add them to his ; he will 
 not perceive it, and will not thus be able to refuse." And he did 
 as he had determined. The same night the other brother awoke, 
 and said to his wife, " My brother is young, and lives alone compa- 
 nionless ; he has no person to assist him in his labour, or console him 
 in his fatigue ; it is not just that we should take from the common 
 field as many sheaves as he ; let us rise and carry secretly to his 
 heap a certain number of sheaves ; he will not take notice of them 
 to-morrow, and therefore cannot refuse to take them." And they 
 did as they had determined. In the morning each of the brothers 
 went to the field, and was much surprised to see that the two heaps 
 were still equal ; neither of them could inwardly give account of this 
 prodigy. They did the same thing for several nights in succession ; 
 but as each of them bore to his brother's heap the same number of 
 sheaves, the heaps always remained equal, until one night both 
 placed themselves on watch to ascertain the cause of the miracle, 
 and met each other carrying the sheaves destined for the other. 
 
 'Now the place where so good a thought had entered the heads of 
 two men at one time, and had been so perseveringly pursued, must 
 be a place agreeable to God, and men blessed it, and chose it to 
 build thereupon the house of God.' 
 
 What a charming tradition ! How it breathes the simple goodness 
 of patriarchal manners ! How ancient and natural is the inspiration 
 which falls on men to consecrate to God a place in which virtue has 
 germinated on the earth ! I have heard amongst the Arabs hun- 
 dreds of legends of this nature. The atmosphere of the Bible is 
 breathed in all parts of the East. 
 
 The aspect of the valley of Jehoshaphat is conformable to the des- 
 tination which Christian ideas assign it. It is like a vast sepulchre, 
 too narrow, however, for the multitudes of the human race that are 
 there to be gathered. Surmounted on all sides by mournful monu- 
 ments ; entombed at its southern extremity in the rock of Siloa, all 
 pierced by sepulchral caves like a withered honeycomb ; having, for 
 its dismal terminations, the tombs of Jehoshaphat and of Absalom, 
 cut like pyramids in the living rock, and overshadowed on one side 
 by the black ridges of the Mount of Offences, on the other by the 
 walls of the demolished temple ; it was a place naturally exciting a 
 holy terror, and destined, at an early date, to become the place of 
 execution for a large city, and in which the imagination of the pro- 
 phets might place, without effort, the scenes of death, resurrection, 
 and judgment. We figure to ourselves the valley of Jehoshaphat as 
 a vast hollow in the mountains, through which the Kedron, a large 
 and black torrent, with mournful waters, flows in a dismal murmur ; 
 in winch wide gorges, open to the four winds, expand to give en- 
 trance to the four torrents of the dead, pouring from the east, the 
 
233 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 west, the north, and the south ; with enormous slopes stretching, as 
 in an amphitheatre, to give space to the innumerable children of 
 Adam coming to assist, each for himself, in the final catastrophe of 
 the grand drama of humanity : nothing of all this ! The valley of 
 Jehoshaphat is only a natural moat hollowed between two hills, a few 
 hundred feet high, one of which bears Jerusalem, and the other the 
 peak of the Mount of Olives ; the ramparts of Jerusalem crumbling 
 down have filled up the greater part of it ; there is no gorge at its 
 termination ; the Kedron, which issues from the ground some paces 
 above the valley, is but a torrent formed in winter by the dripping 
 of the rains from some olive fields below the tombs of the kings, and 
 is crossed by a bridge in the middle of the valley opposite one of the 
 gates of Jerusalem ; it is a few paces across, and the valley at that 
 spot is not wider than its stream. This waterless brook simply 
 marks out a steep bed of white shells at the bottom of the ravine. 
 In a word, the valley of Jehoshaphat is perfectly similar to a moat 
 cut at the foot of the lofty fortifications of a large town, into which 
 the sewer of the town disgorges, during winter, its putrefactions, on 
 which a few poor people of the suburbs dispute for a speck of earth 
 to plant cabbages, and where the goats and asses without owners go 
 to browse, on its steep sides, the grass poisoned by filth and dust. 
 Sprinkle this ground with tombs belonging to all the creeds on earth, 
 and you will have before your eyes the Yale of Judgment. 
 
 Same date. — Behold the fountain of Siloam, the only spring in the 
 valley, the source of inspiration to kings and prophets ! I do not 
 know how so many travellers have had difficulty in discovering it, and 
 continue to dispute amongst themselves as to the site it occupies. It 
 is there, quite full of limpid and pleasant water, freshening the 
 heated and dusty air of the valley with its watery exhalation, having 
 twenty steps cut in the rock, on whose summit stood the palace of 
 David. These steps, worn by the tread of women coming from the 
 village of Siloa to fill their pitchers, are slippery as marble. I went 
 down them, and seated myself for a moment on the moist flags ; 
 I listened to the gentle dripping of the spring, I washed my hands 
 and face in its waters, and I repeated the verses of Milton, to 
 invoke, in my turn, his inspirations so long ago silenced. It is the 
 only place in the environs of Jerusalem where the traveller can 
 moisten his finger, quench his thirst, and rest his head under the 
 shadow of the cool rock, and of two or three tufts of verdure. 
 Some small gardens, planted with pomegranates and other small 
 trees by the Arabs of Siloa, form around the fountain thickets of 
 pale verdure. It nourishes them with its superfluous waters. The 
 valley of Jehoshaphat finishes there. Beyond, a small plain with 
 a gentle slope draws the eye into the wide and deep gorges of the 
 volcanic mountains of Jericho and Saint-Saba, and the Dead Sea 
 closes the prospect. 
 
 Banks of tfie Jordan beyond the ]->lain of Jericho, some leagues from 
 the falling of the river into- the Dead Sea. — Yesterday, the 30th 
 October, we left Jerusalem at seven in the morning, with the whole 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 239 
 
 caravan — namely, six soldiers of Ibrahim Pacha, the nephew of 
 Abougosh and four of his horsemen, and eight mounted Arabs of 
 Naplous, sent by the governor of Jerusalem. We made the circuit 
 of the town, descended to the bottom of the vale of Jehoshaphat, 
 mounted again as we went along the Mount of Olives, leaving on 
 our right the Hill of Offences, and traversed, at its southern extre- 
 mity, the mountainous chain which continues that of the Mount of 
 Olives. We arrived at the village of Bethany, yet peopled by some 
 Arab families, and we distinguished there the remains of a Christian 
 monument. There was a good spring. An Arab drew water for an 
 hour to satisfy the horses, and to fill the jars hung from the saddles 
 of our mules. There was no more water as far as Jericho, ten or 
 twelve hours' march. We left Bethany at four in the afternoon. 
 We had a descent of two hours by a wide road, with artificial slopes 
 cut in the precipitous sides of mountains succeeding each other 
 without interruption. This is the only trace of a road which I have 
 seen in the East. It was the route to Jericho, and the fertile fields 
 watered by the Jordan. It led to the possessions of the tribes of 
 Israel, who had amongst them the whole course of that river, and 
 the plain of Tiberias, as far as the environs of Tyre and the foot of 
 Lebanon. It conducted into Arabia, Mesopotamia, and through them 
 into Persia and India, countries with which Solomon had established 
 his great commercial relations. It was he doubtless who made this 
 road. It was likewise by this route that the Jewish people passed at 
 first when they descended from Arabia Petrsea, passed the Jordan, 
 and came to take possession of their heritage. After departing from 
 Bethany, we met neither houses nor cultivation ; the mountains are 
 completely bare of vegetation ; nothing but rock, or the dust of rock ; 
 a blackish ashy colour prevails, like a windingsheet for the dead, 
 over the whole of this land. From time to time the mountains are 
 broken, and split into narrow and deep gorges — abysses to which no 
 path conducts, in which the eye can distinguish nothing but the in- 
 cessant repetition of the same scenes that surround it. Almost all 
 these mountains have a volcanic appearance; the stones, rolled 
 on their sides or on the road, by the winter rains, resemble blocks 
 of lava hardened and cracked by centuries. Occasionally in the dis- 
 tance we see on some hill-tops that slight yellowish and sulphureous 
 tint which we perceive on Vesuvius and iEtna. It is impossible to 
 hold out long against the dismal and horrible impression that this 
 landscape produces. It oppresses the heart, and afflicts the eyes. 
 When on the summit of one of these mountains, and the horison 
 opens for an instant to the vision, as far as the eye can reach we 
 see only the black chains, the conical or broken peaks, piled one 
 above the other, and standing out of the raw-blue of heaven; a 
 boundless labyrinth of avenues, of mountains in all forms, torn, 
 broken, split into gigantic portions, connected with each other by 
 chains of hills similar to themselves, with bottomless ravines, where 
 we expect at least to hear the noise of a torrent, but in which all is 
 still and silent, and only rarely is descried a tree, a plant, a flower, 
 
240 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 a little moss ; the ruins of a world laid in ashes, the outburst of a 
 land on fire, petrified into waves of gravel and stone. 
 
 At the bottom of the ravine we found the walls of a ruined cara- 
 vanserai, and a spring, protected by a small wall, loaded with sen- 
 tences from the Koran. The spring trickled drop by drop into the 
 stone basin ; our Arabs in vain applied their lips to it. "We let our 
 horses rest a moment under shelter of the caravanserai. We had 
 been descending for so long a time, that we believed ourselves on the 
 level of the plain of Jericho and of the Dead Sea. We again re- 
 sumed our route, exhausted with the heat and fatigue of the journey. 
 Our Arab troopers flattered us with the hope of getting in a few 
 hours to Jericho ; but the day was sinking every minute, and twilight 
 added its horrors to the gloom of the ravines in which we toiled. 
 After an hour's march at the bottom of this valley, we found our- 
 selves once more upon the steep declivities of a fresh chain of moun- 
 tains, which seemed to us the last before coming upon the plain of 
 Jericho. The night entirely hid the prospect from us; we had just 
 light enough to distinguish at our feet the appalling precipices down 
 which the least false step of our horses would hurl us. Our jars 
 were exhausted ; we were parched with thirst ; one of our troopers 
 from Samaria told the dragoman that he knew a spring in the 
 neighbourhood ; we decided upon halting where we were if a little 
 water could in reality be obtained. After attempting for about half 
 an hour, the Samaritan returned, and said that he had not been able 
 to find the spring. It was necessary to march on ; there yet re- 
 mained a four-hours' journey. We placed the Arabs from Naploua 
 at the head of the caravan. Each horseman was ordered to follow, 
 step by step, him who preceded, without losing track. The most pro- 
 found silence reigned throughout the company; the night had be- 
 come so dark, that it was impossible to see even the head of our 
 horses; each followed his companion by the noise of his steps. At 
 every instant the whole caravan was stopped, from the foremost 
 ranks probing the road, for fear of being precipitated into the abyss. 
 "VYe all got off horseback to grope our way better; we were twenty 
 times obliged to stop, on account of exclamations issuing from the 
 front or the rear of the caravan; a horse had tumbled, or a man 
 had fallen. We were often on the point of stopping altogether, and 
 waiting, motionless in our places, until this long and dreary night 
 had passed; but the van kept moving, and it was necessary to follow. 
 After three hours had been spent in this anxious condition, we 
 heard loud cries and musket-shots at the front of the caravan ; we 
 imagined that the Arabs of Jericho had attacked us, and we prepared 
 to fire at hazard ; but being passed from mouth to mouth, the intel- 
 ligence came to us that the Naplousians were shouting for joy, and 
 had fired off their pieces because we had cleared the bad part of the 
 road. We felt, in fact, the route becoming a little more level under 
 our feet, and I jumped on horseback. My young Arab stallion, 
 smelling water not far off, grew restive, and in the strife fell with me 
 into a hollow. The night was so dark, that no one saw my predica- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 241 
 
 ment; I kept bold, however, of the bridle, and reseating myself in 
 the saddle, I let the animal follow his instinct, ignorant whether I 
 were on the edge or in the bottom of a ravine, hollowed in the plain. 
 He shot forward in a gallop, neighing, and stopped not until he 
 reached the banks of a wide stream, of little depth, and lined with 
 prickly shrubs. Whilst he was slaking his thirst, I heard on my 
 left the shouts and pistol-shots of the Arabs, who had just dis- 
 covered my disappearance, and were seeking me in the plain. I 
 saw a light glittering through the leaves of the shrubs ; I urged my 
 horse towards it, and in a few minutes I found myself at the door of 
 my tent, pitched on the edge of this very rivulet. It was already 
 midnight; we ate a morsel of bread steeped in water, and slept with- 
 out knowing where we were, unable to conceive by what prodigy 
 we had emerged so suddenly from the solitude, without shade or 
 spring, on a brook which, by the light of our torches, and the fires of 
 the Arabs, appeared to us like an Alpine stream, with its drooping 
 willoAvs and its tufts of reeds and cresses. 
 
 If Tasso had possessed, as M. de Chateaubriand pretends, a local 
 inspiration whilst composing his ' Jerusalem Delivered ' (and I con- 
 fess that, great admirer as I am of Tasso, it is not on this account I 
 should praise him, for it is impossible to have worse conceived the 
 localities, and more mistaken manners than he has done ; but what 
 signify localities and manners ? — poetry does not lie in them — it is in 
 the heart) ; but if he had been so inspired, it would have been, 
 beyond doubt, on the banks of this stream he had made Hermione 
 arrive, flying on her courser, abandoned to himself, and let her meet 
 that Arcadian, and not Arab, shepherd, of whom he has given so 
 ravishing a description. 
 
 We awoke, like her, to the warbling of a thousand birds fluttering 
 on the branches of the trees, and the roaring of the waters over 
 their bed of flints. We issued from our tents to observe the spot to 
 which the night had brought us. The mountains of Judea, which we 
 had traversed the previous day T , were to the east of us, about a 
 league from our camp ; their chain, everywhere sterile and indented, 
 stretched out of sight to the south and north, and at intervals we 
 perceived vast gorges, which opened on the plain, from which were 
 pouring the nocturnal vapours like large billows, and spreading 
 in sheets of mist over the undulating sands of the shores of the lake 
 Asphaltides. To the west, a wide desert of sand separated us from 
 the banks of the Jordan, which we were unable to discern, from the 
 Dead Sea, and from the blue mountains of Arabia Petra?a. These 
 mountains, viewed at this hour and distance, seemed to us, from 
 the playing of the shadows on their tops, and in their intervening 
 valleys, to be strewed with cultivation, and covered with immense 
 forests ; the chalky ravines which intersected them gave an idea of 
 the fall and dazzling effect of waters from a cascade. There was 
 nothing of the sort, however; when I approached them, I found that 
 they presented, on a larger scale, the same barren and withered 
 aspect as the mountains of Judea. Around us all was smiling and 
 
 vol. i. p 
 
242 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 fresh, though uncultivated ; water gives animation to everything, 
 even to the desert ; and the dwarfish trees, which were scattered, 
 like artificial shrubberies, in small groups upon its banks, recalled to 
 us the sweetest spots of our own country. 
 
 We mounted our horses ; we could not be more than an hour from 
 Jericho, but we perceived neither walls nor smoke in the plain, and 
 we knew not very well in what direction to proceed, when a troop 
 of Bedouins, mounted on superb horses, came out from between two 
 hills, and advanced curvetting towards us. It was the scheik, and 
 the principal inhabitants of Jericho, who, informed of our approach 
 by an Arab of the governor of Jerusalem, sought us in the desert, 
 to place themselves in our suite. "We were acquainted with the 
 Arabs of the desert of Jericho only by the reputation for ferocity 
 and brigand habits which they enjoy in all Syria, and we were not 
 too sure at first whether they came as friends or enemies ; but 
 nothing, during several days that they remained with us, denoted 
 any evil intention on their part. Overawed by terror at the name 
 of Ibrahim, whose emissaries they conceived us to be, they gave us 
 all that their country afforded — a free desert, water from their foun- 
 tains, and a little barley and doura for our horses. I thanked the 
 scheik and his friends for the escort which they came to offer us ; 
 they joined our troop, and flying here and there on the flanks, amongst 
 the hillocks of sand, appeared and disappeared with the swiftness of 
 the wind. I remarked a horse distinguished for its shape and fleet- 
 ness, bestrode by the scheik's brother, and I empowered my drago- 
 man to purchase it for me at whatever cost. But as such offers 
 cannot be made directly without committing a species of outrage on 
 the delicacy of the owner of the horse, it required several days' 
 negotiation to render me possessor of this beautiful animal, which I 
 designed for my daughter, and which, in fact, I gave to her. 
 
 JERICHO. 
 
 After an hour's march, we were, beyond all doubt, at the foot of 
 the ramparts of Jericho. These ramparts were twenty feet high, 
 and fifteen or twenty broad, formed of fagots of thorns piled one 
 above the other, and arranged with admirable care to prevent the 
 passage of man or beast. They were fortifications which might not 
 have fallen at the sound of the trumpet, but which a spark of the 
 shepherd's fire, or the fox of Samson, would have consumed* This 
 fortress of dried thorns had two or three wide gates always open, 
 
 * [According to the accounts of travellers, Jericho is now a mean hamlet, of no 
 kind of importance. ' It consists,' Fays Mr Stephens, ' of fifty or sixty miserable 
 Arab houses, the walls of which on three sides are of stones, piled up like the stcne- 
 fences of our farmers, most of them not so high as a man's head, and the front and 
 top either entirely open, or covered with brash.*] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 243 
 
 which the Arab sentinels doubtless watched during the night. On 
 passing before these gates, we saw on the roofs of some mud huts all 
 the women and children of the city of the wilderness, grouped in 
 attitudes the most picturesque, pressing and leaning upon each other 
 to see us pass. These women, whose shoulders and legs were naked, 
 had for their only garment a piece of blue cotton cloth, bound at the 
 waist by a leathern girdle, the arms and legs clasped by several 
 rings of gold and silver, with the hair frizzled and floating on the 
 neck. Some had their hair wove into tresses, and entwined with 
 piastres and sequins in great profusion, falling like a cuirass on their 
 breast and shoulders. There were some remarkably handsome, but 
 they have not that air of softness, of timid modesty and voluptuous 
 languor, of the Arab women of Syria. But they are not women ; 
 they are the companions of barbarians ; they have in their eyes and 
 attitudes the same fire, the same audaciousness, and the same fero- 
 city, as the Bedouin. Several negresses were amongst them, and 
 did not appear slaves. The Bedouins espouse indifferently black or 
 white women, and colour makes no difference in rank. These females 
 uttered savage cries and yells of laughter as we passed ; the men, on 
 the contrary, seemed to chide their indiscreet curiosity, and exhibited 
 towards us nothing but gravity and respect. 
 
 Not far from the thorn walls we passed near to two or three 
 houses of the scheiks. They are built of mud, dried in the sun, a few 
 feet high. A terrace covered with mats and carpets is the prin- 
 cipal apartment ; the family remains there almost the whole day and 
 night. Before the door is a large seat of dried mud, on which a 
 carpet is stretched for the chief. He assumes his station there from 
 sunrise, surrounded by his principal slaves, and visited by his 
 friends. Coffee and pipes are in constant requisition. A large 
 courtyard, filled with horses, camels, goats, and cows, encircles the 
 house. There are always two or three beautiful mares kept saddled 
 and bridled for the exclusions of the master. 
 
 We stayed only a few moments near the mud palace of the scheik, 
 who offered us water, coffee, pipes, and a calf and several sheep, 
 which he caused to be killed for our use. We received presents 
 likewise of dried doura, chickens, and water melons. We took our 
 departure, preceded by the scheik and fifteen or twenty of the chief 
 Arabs of the town ; we observed several fields of maize and doura 
 well cultivated in the environs. A few groves of orange and pome- 
 granate-trees, and some beautiful palms, also surround the houses 
 scattered about the town, and then all becomes once more wilder- 
 ness and sand. The desert is an immense plain, with several eleva- 
 tions, which sink successively, as far as the river Jordan, by regular 
 gradations, like the steps of a natural staircase. The eye can distin- 
 guish only one complete plain ; but after marching an hour, we come 
 all at once on one of these terraces, which we descend by a rapid slope, 
 and march another hour, when there is a fresh descent ; and thus 
 the whole way. The soil is a white compact sand, covered by a con- 
 crete and saline crust, produced doubtless by the fogs from the Dead 
 
244 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 Sea, which, on their evaporation, deposit this salt crust. There is no 
 stone or earth, except on approaching the river or the mountains ; 
 there is, on all sides, a vast horison; and we distinguished, from an 
 immense distance, an Arab gallopping over the plain. As this 
 desert is the theatre of their attacking, pillaging, and massacring the 
 caravans going from Jerusalem to Damascus, or from Mesopotamia 
 to Egypt, the Arabs take advantage of some detached hills formed 
 by the moving sand, and have also erected artificial ones, to hide 
 themselves from the observation of the caravans, and to descry them 
 from afar ; they hollow out the sand on the summit of these hills, 
 and there burrow with their horses. As soon as they perceive their 
 prey, they dart with the rapidity of the falcon ; they go to apprise 
 their tribe, and return all together to the attack. Such is their only 
 industrial occupation, such their only glory; civilisation with them 
 is murder and pillage, and they attach as much importance to their 
 successes "in this species of exploit as our conquerors to the acqui- 
 sition of a province. Their poets, for they have poets, celebrate in 
 their verses these scenes of barbarity, and deliver down, from gene- 
 ration to generation, the honoured memory of their courage and 
 their crimes. The horses have a considerable share of the glory 
 assigned them in these recitals : here is one which the scheik's son 
 related to us on the way :— 
 
 1 An Arab and his tribe had attacked in the desert the caravan of 
 Damascus ; the victory was complete, and the Arabs were already 
 occupied in loading their rich booty, when the troops of the pacha of 
 Acre, coming to meet this caravan, fell suddenly upon the victorious 
 Arabs, slew a great number of them, made the remainder prisoners, 
 and having tied them with cords, conducted them to Acre to present 
 them before the pacha. Abou-el-Marsch, the Arab of whom he 
 spoke, had received a ball in his arm during the combat ; as his 
 wound was not mortal, the Turks had fastened him on a camel, and 
 having obtained possession of his horse, led off both horse and horse- 
 man. The evening before which they were to enter Acre, they 
 encamped with their prisoners in the mountains of Saphad; the 
 wounded Arab had his legs bound together by a leathern thong, and 
 was stretched near the tent where the Turks were sleeping. During 
 the night, kept awake by the pain of his wound, he heard his horse 
 neigh amongst the other horses fastened around the tents, according 
 to Oriental usage. He recognised his neigh, and, unable to resist 
 the desire of speaking once more to the companion of his life, 
 he dragged himself with difficulty along the ground, by the assist- 
 ance of his hands and knees, and came up to his courser. " Poor 
 friend," said he to it, "what wilt thou do amongst the Turks? 
 Thou wilt be immured under the arches of a khan, with the horses 
 of an aga or of a pacha; the women and the children will no longer 
 bring thee the camel's milk, or the barley or the doura in the 
 hollow of their hands ; thou wilt no longer run free in the desert, as 
 the wind of Egypt; thou wilt no more divide the waters of the Jor- 
 dan with thy breast, and cool thy skin as white as their foam ; there- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 24o 
 
 fore, if I remain a slave, remain thou free ! — go, return to the tent, 
 which thou knowest; say to my wife that Abou-el-Marsch will 
 return no more, and put thy head under the curtains of the tent to 
 lick the hands of my little children." Whilst speaking thus, Abou- 
 el-Marsch had gnawed through with his teeth the cord of goat-hair 
 which fetters Arab horses, and the animal was free ; but seeing its 
 master wounded and bound at its feet, the faithful and sagacious 
 steed understood by instinct what no language could explain to him . 
 He stooped his head, smelt his master, and seizing him with his 
 teeth by the leathern thong which he had about his body, went off in 
 a gallop, and bore him to his tent. On arriving, and placing his 
 master on the sand, at the feet of his wife and children, the horse 
 expired from fatigue. All the tribe wept for him, the poets have 
 celebrated him, and his name is constantly in the mouths of the 
 Arabs of Jericho.' 
 
 We have no idea of the degree of sagacity and attachment to 
 which the habit of living with the family, of being caressed by the 
 children, fed by the women, rebuked or encouraged by the voice of 
 their master, tends to raise the instinct of the Arabian horse. The 
 animal is, by his very breed, more sagacious and tame than the 
 breeds of our climates ; it is the same with all animals in Arabia. 
 Nature or heaven has given them a stronger instinct, a greater 
 attachment to man than amongst us. They remember better the 
 days of Eden, when they submitted voluntarily to the control of 
 the king of nature. I have myself frequently seen in Syria birds 
 caught in the hand by children, and perfectly tamed by the 
 evening ; not requiring either cage, or a thread to the leg to retain 
 them with the family which adopts them, but flying at freedom upon 
 the orange and mulberry-trees in the garden, return at the call, and 
 perch themselves on the fingers of the children or the heads of the 
 young maidens. 
 
 The horse of the scheik of Jericho, which I bought and mounted, 
 knew me at the end of a few days as its master. He would not 
 allow himself to be mounted by any other, and cleared the whole 
 caravan to come to my call, though my tongue was a strange one to 
 him. Gentle and affectionate with me, and accustomed to the caresses 
 of my Arabs, he walked quietly and discreetly in his rank in the 
 caravan when we met only Turks, Arabs dressed in the Turkish 
 fashion, or Syrians ; but if he chanced, even a year after, to spy a 
 Bedouin mounted on a horse of the desert, he became all at once 
 another animal ; his eye grew fiery, his neck swelled, his tail was 
 raised, and lashed his sides like a whip ; he reared on his haunches, 
 and thus proceeded for a long time, under the weight of his saddle 
 and of the person upon him ; he did not neigh, but uttered a warlike 
 cry, like that from a brass trumpet; such a cry as all the other 
 horses were alarmed at, and stopped with their ears erect listening 
 to it. 
 
 Same date. — After five hours' march, during which the river 
 always seemed farther off than ever, we arrived at the last level, at 
 
24o 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 the foot of which it flowed ; but although we were not more than 
 two or three hundred paces distant, we still perceived only the plain 
 and the desert before us, and no trace either of valley or river. It 
 is this illusion of the desert, I suppose, which has caused some tra- 
 vellers to say and believe that the Jordan rolls its muddy waters 
 over a bed of flints, and between banks of sand, in the desert of 
 Jericho. These travellers had not been able to reach the river 
 itself ; and seeing from a distance a vast sea of sand, they were 
 unable to conceive that a cool, shady, and delicious oasis was hol- 
 lowed between the levels of this monotonous desert, and that the 
 full stream and murmuring course of the Jordan was overhung with 
 a verdure which the Thames might envy ; yet such is the fact. "We 
 stood in astonishment and rapture when, arrived at the edge of the 
 last level, which sinks all at once beneath the feet, and is scooped 
 into a perpendicular fall, we had before our eyes one of the most 
 delightful vales whereon they had ever rested. "We urged our 
 horses down with a gallop, irresistibly attracted by the novelty of 
 the sight, and by the charms of freshness, moisture, and shade of 
 which the valley was redolent. All around were swards of the most 
 lovely green, on which were growing tufts of rushes in flower, and 
 bulbous plants, whose glittering shoots sprinkled the turf with 
 various tints ; thickets of shrubs with long flexible twigs, bending 
 like bunches of flowers around their multifarious trunks ; largo 
 Persian poplars with a slight foliage, not rising in pyramids, like our 
 clipped poplars, but throwing freely out on all sides their sinewy 
 branches, like those of oaks, and their smooth white bark glittering 
 in the restless rays of the morning sun ; groves of willows of all 
 species, and of large osiers, so entwined, that it was impossible to 
 penetrate them ; and so much were the trees crowded, and so mul- 
 tiplied was the underwood crawling at their feet with their twigs 
 matted in tresses, that an inextricable network was formed. These 
 woods stretched on both sides along the banks of the river far out of 
 sight. We were obliged to descend from our horses, and fix our camp 
 in one of the glades of the wood, and to make our way on foot to the 
 stream of the Jordan, which we heard without seeing. "We pene- 
 trated with difficulty, sometimes struggling with the thickets of wood, 
 sometimes with the long grass, sometimes with the high rushes ; at 
 length we reached a spot where the turf was open to the water, and 
 we steeped our hands and feet in the river. It may be a hundred 
 or a hundred and twenty feet broad ; its depth appears considerable, 
 and its course is as rapid as the Rhone at Geneva. Its water is of a 
 faint blue, slightly mudded by the gray earth it passes through and 
 hollows, immense banks of which we heard from time to time 
 falling into its stream. Its shores are perpendicular, but it fills them 
 to the rushes and trees which border them. The roots of these 
 trees, undermined by the water, hang and trail along the sides; 
 frequently being entirely uprooted, and no longer supported by the 
 earth, they bend over the river with all their leaves and branches, 
 which dip into it, and throw, as it were, an arch of verdure from 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 247 
 
 one bank to the other. From time to time one of these trees is 
 carried away with the portion of soil which sustains it, and floats all 
 leafy down the current, with the underwood torn up, and adhering 
 to the branches, its nests under water, and the birds still hopping 
 amongst its leaves: we saw several of these pass during the few 
 hours that we remained in this charming oasis. The woods follow the 
 windings of the Jordan, and deck it everywhere with an everlasting 
 garland of branches and leaves, which bend into the water, and make 
 its ruffled surface murmur. A countless multitude of birds inhabit 
 these impenetrable forests. The Arabs warned us not to go without 
 our arms, and to be careful as we advanced, because this entangled 
 underwood is the resort of lions, panthers, and leopards. We saw 
 none, but we frequently heard in the gloom of the thicket growls and 
 noises similar to those which large animals make in diving into the 
 depths of woods. We went over the accessible parts of the shores 
 of this beautiful river for an hour or two. In some places the 
 Arabs of the savage tribes in the mountains of Arabia Petrsea, at 
 the bottom of which we were, had set the forest on fire, in order to 
 penetrate it, or carry off the wood. There remained a great quantity 
 of trunks, only calcined at the bark, but new shoots had sprung 
 around the burnt trees, and the climbing-plants of this fertile soil 
 had already so entwined the dead and' young trees, that the forest 
 was there more novel, without being less vast or luxuriant. We 
 gathered an ample stock of willow and poplar branches, as well as 
 of other trees with long twigs and beautiful rinds, whose names I am 
 ignorant of, to make presents of them to our friends in Europe, and 
 we rejoined the camp, which the Arabs had shifted during our 
 ramble, on the shores of the river. They had found out a situation 
 yet more delightful and convenient to pitch our tents than all those 
 that we had just traversed. It was on a bank of turf, as smooth as 
 if it had been pastured by a flock of sheep. Here and there were 
 shrubs with broad leaves, and a few tufts of young planes and sy- 
 camores, scattered so as to throw a shade upon the grass, and keep 
 ourselves and our horses cool. The Jordan, flowing not twenty 
 paces from us, had worn a small shallow bay in the middle of this 
 glade, and its waters wound round the feet of two or three great 
 poplars. An accessible path led down to the river, and permitted 
 us to take our thirsty horses to it, and to go ourselves and bathe. 
 We there fixed our two tents, and made the day's halt. 
 
 On the following day, the 2d of November, we continued our 
 route, drawing towards the highest mountains of Arabia Petrsea, 
 leaving and again joining the Jordan, according to the sinuosities of 
 its course ; and* we approached the Dead Sea. Not far from the 
 course of the river, on a spot of the desert which I know not how to 
 design, there are the remains, still imposing, of a castle of the cru- 
 saders, built by them apparently to protect this route. This ruin is 
 deserted, and may serve to shelter the Arabs when in ambush 
 waiting for the caravans. In the midst of the ocean of sand, it has 
 the appearance of the hulk of an abandoned vessel on the horisou 
 
248 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 at sea. On drawing near the Dead Sea, the ground becomes more 
 level, and descends with an insensible slope towards the shore ; the 
 sand gets spongy, and the horses, sinking at each step, proceed with 
 difficulty. When we at length perceived the reflection of the waves, 
 we could not restrain our impatience ; we set oft* at a gallop to throw 
 ourselves into the waters, which were reposing on the sand before 
 us, resplendent as molten lead. The scheik of Jericho and his 
 Arabs, who always followed us, imagining that we wished to run the 
 djerid with them, scampered off also at the same time in all direc- 
 tions over the plain, and returning upon us with loud cries, bran- 
 dished their long reedy lances as if they would have pierced us ; then, 
 stopping their horses short, and throwing them on their haunches, 
 they let us pass, and again set off in a sweep to return as before. 
 I arrived the first, owing to the speed of my Turcoman steed ; but 
 when twenty or thirty paces from the sea, the sand mixed with soil 
 is so wet and marshy, that my horse sank up to the belly, and I 
 was apprehensive of being swallowed up. I drew back the way I 
 had come, and getting off' our horses, we went on foot to the shore. 
 
 The Dead Sea has been described by several travellers. I took 
 no note of its specific gravity, or of the relative quantity of salt 
 its waters contain. It was not science or criticism that I was come 
 in search of. I had come to it simply because it was on my route, 
 and because it was in the middle of a celebrated desert, celebrated 
 of itself for the engulfing of towns, which formerly arose where I 
 now saw its motionless waters. Its shores are flat to the east and 
 west; the high mountains of Judea and Arabia enclose it, and de- 
 scend almost to its edges on the north and south. Those of Arabia, 
 however, ai'e somewhat more distant from it, especially near the 
 mouth of the Jordan, where we stood. The shores are completely 
 deserted ; the air is infected and unhealthly. We ourselves found 
 its influence during the few days we passed in this desert. A great 
 depression on the head, and a feverish sensation, attacked us, and 
 did not quit us until we were rid of its atmosphere. There was not 
 an island to be seen. Yet at sunset, from the top of a sand-hill, I 
 thought I could distinguish two islands at the extremity of the 
 horison on the Idumrcan side. The Arabs knew nothing of them. 
 The sea is in this part of it at least thirty leagues long, and they 
 never venture to follow its shores so far. Nib traveller has ever been 
 able to circumnavigate the Dead Sea; it has never been explored at 
 its other extremity, or on its two shores of Judea and Arabia. We 
 are, I believe, the first who have enjoyed the full liberty of exploring 
 it on the three sides ; and if we had had a little more time on our 
 hands, there was nothing to prevent our getting pine planks from 
 Lebanon, Jerusalem, or Jaffa, and constructing on the spot a sloop, 
 and visiting in security all the coasts of this wondrous inland sea. 
 The Arabs, who do not generally permit travellers to approach it, 
 and whose prejudices are opposed to any attempt at navigating it, 
 were then so devoted to our least wishes, that they would have 
 offered no obstacle to our enterprise. I should have put it in execu- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 249 
 
 tion if I had foreseen the welcome that these Arabs gave us. But 
 it was too late; we must have returned to Jerusalem, and brought 
 carpenters to build the vessel ; all this would have taken us, together 
 with the navigation, at least three weeks, and our days were num- 
 bered. I renounced the scheme, therefore, not without pain. A 
 traveller in the same circumstances as myself will be easily able to 
 accomplish it, and to throw on this natural phenomenon, and on this 
 geographical question, the light that criticism and science have 
 desired for so long a time. 
 
 The aspect of the Dead Sea is neither sad nor mournful, except to 
 the thought. To the eye it is a dazzling lake, whose wide and silvery 
 surface reflects the light and the firmament like a Venetian mirror, 
 Mountains, rising in beautiful domes, throw their shadow upon its 
 banks. They say there are neither fish in its bosom nor birds on its 
 shores. I know not ; I saw no gulls, or any of those pretty white 
 birds, like sea-doves, which skim all the day over the waves of the 
 sea of Syria, and follow the caiques (skiffs) on the Bosphorus : but at 
 a few hundred paces from the Dead Sea I fired at and shot some 
 birds similar to the wild drakes which rise from the marshy shores 
 of the Jordan. If the air of the sea were mortal to them, they would 
 not come so near to brave its mephitic vapours. I likewise did not 
 perceive those ruins of engulfed towns which are seen, as it is said, 
 at a little depth beneath the waters. The Arabs who accompanied 
 me asserted that they had beheld them sometimes. I followed for a 
 great distance the banks of this sea, both on the Arabian side, where 
 the Jordan falls into it (this river is there, in truth, what travellers 
 describe it, a ditch of dirty water in abed of mud), and on the Judean 
 side, where the shores rise, and occasionally assume the appearance 
 of the slight downs abutting on the ocean. The surface of the water 
 everywhere presents the same aspect — it is shining, blue, and motion- 
 less.'* Men have faithfully preserved the faculty given them by God 
 in Genesis, of calling things by their names. This sea is beautiful ; 
 it glitters, it pours upon the desert which surrounds it the reflection 
 of its waters ; it attracts the eye, and it rouses the thought ; but it is 
 dead — motion and noise are no more. Its waves, too heavy for the 
 wind, are still, and no white foam plays on the pebbles of its shores : 
 it is a sea of petrifaction. How was it formed ? Apparently, as the 
 Bible says, as also probability, forming the vast centre of the volcanic 
 
 * [The water of the Dead Sea, or Lake Asphaltidcs, has been frequently analysed, 
 and is found to be of a greater specific gravity than common water ; in other words, 
 it is more dense, and better able to buoy up objects, than water of an ordinary kind. 
 Still, this density is not remarkable. The specific gravity is only 1.211, and it is per- 
 fectly transparent. In 100 grains are the following substances in solution : — Grains 
 of muriate of lime 3.920, of muriate of magnesia 10.246, muriate of soda 10.360, 
 sulphate of lime 0.054— total 24.580. It thus appears that about a fourth part of the 
 100 grains is foreign substances. The taste is a bitter salt. Mr Stephens mentions 
 that he bathed in the Dead Sea, and that he felt the buoyant property to be much 
 greater than that of either fresh or salt water. It has been alleged, among other idle 
 talcs regarding this mysterious lake, that birds cannot fly over it and live ; but 
 this is completely disproved by various recent travellers, one of whom saw swallows 
 skimming along its surface. The Dead Sea has no outlet ; its waters are apparently 
 carried off entirely by evaporation.] 
 
250 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 chains which stretch from Jerusalem into Mesopotamia, and from 
 Lebanon to Idumaca, a crater has opened in its middle at the time 
 when seven cities crowded the plain. The towns have been over- 
 thrown by the earthquake ; the Jordan, which, according to all pro- 
 bability, then flowed through this plain, and fell into the Red Sea, 
 arrested all at once by the volcanic eminences thrown up from the 
 earth, and swallowed up in the craters of Sodom and Gomorrah, has 
 formed this sea, corrupted by salt, sulphur, and bitumen, the or- 
 dinary aliments or products of volcanos. Such is the fact, and such 
 probability ! This adds not to, or detracts from, the action of that 
 sovereign and eternal will which some call a miracle, and others 
 ascribe to nature. Nature and miracle — are they not one ? — and 
 is the universe anything but a miracle from perpetuity and at all 
 moments ? 
 
 Same date. — "We returned by the northern side of the Dead Sea in 
 the direction of the valley of Saint-Saba. The desert is much more 
 diversified in this part ; it is obstructed with immense hills of earth 
 and sand, which every moment we have to wind round or scale. 
 The line of our caravan undulates upon these hills, like an ex- 
 tended fleet in a heavy sea, where the different ships are seen and 
 lost by turns in the hollows of the waves. After three hours' march, 
 sometimes over small unbroken plains, where we proceeded in a gal- 
 lop, sometimes upon the edge of deep ravines of sand, down which 
 some of our horses rolled, Ave perceived before us the smoke from 
 the houses of Jericho. The Arabs parted from us, and flew towards 
 this smoke. Two only remained to point out the road. On ap- 
 proaching Jericho, the chief amongst the Arabs came back to us. 
 We encamped in the midst of a field, shaded by a few palm-trees, 
 and where a brook flowed. Our tents were soon pitched, and wc 
 found a supper prepared, thanks to the presents of all sorts which 
 the Arabs had brought to our camp. The Arab who rode the 
 beautiful horse which I desired to carry away appeared to admire 
 the Turcoman horse which I had ridden the preceding day. The 
 conversation being skilfully drawn to the subject of our several 
 steeds, they praised many of mine. I proposed to him to exchange 
 his Arab for my Turcoman; we debated the whole evening what 
 further sum was to be given by me; but nothing was fixed. Every 
 time that I came up to his price, he testified so great a grief at part- 
 ing witli his horse, that we went to bed without concluding a bargain. 
 On the following day, at the moment of starting, all the horses being 
 already caparisoned and mounted, I again made advances. He at 
 length determined himself to mount my Turcoman horse, and he 
 gallopped him across the plain. Captivated by the brilliant qualities 
 of the animal, he sent me his by his son. I paid 900 piastres, 
 mounted the horse, and departed. All the tribe seemed to view his 
 leaving with regret ; the children spoke to him, the women pointed 
 to him with their fingers, the scheik returned often to look at him, 
 and to make him certain cabalistic signs, which the Arabs have 
 always the precaution to make to the horses which they sell or buy. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 251 
 
 The animal himself appeared to understand the separation, and 
 sadly drooped his head, shaded by a superb mane, casting a mourn- 
 ful and unquiet eye to the right and the left upon the desert. The 
 eye of the Arab horses is a perfect tongue. By their beautiful eye, 
 the fiery pupil of which starts from the blood-veined white of the 
 orbit, they express and comprehend all things. 
 
 I had ceased for several days to mount that horse amongst my 
 stud which I preferred to all the rest. From the numberless super- 
 stitions of the Arabs, there are seventy good or bad signs in the 
 horoscope of a horse ; and this is a science which all the men of the 
 desert possess. The horse of which I speak, which I called Lebanon, 
 because I had purchased him in those mountains, was a young and 
 splendid stallion, tall, strong, high-spirited, untiring, and sagacious, 
 displaying no vice in the fifteen months which I rode him ; but he 
 had on his chest, by the accidental conformation of his beautiful 
 ashy-gray skin, one of those ears of corn which the Arabs have 
 placed in the number of unfortunate signs. I had been forewarned 
 of it on buying him, but I took him, from the very natural reasoning, 
 that a sign unfortunate for a Mohammedan was one favourable to 
 a Christian. They found this an unanswerable argument, and I 
 mounted Lebanon every time that I had to make longer or worse 
 journeys than usual. When we approached a town, or a tribe, and 
 the people came out to meet the caravan, the Arabs, or the Turks, 
 struck with the beauty and strength of Lebanon, commenced to 
 compliment me, and to admire him with longing eyes ; but after a 
 few moments' consideration, the fatal sign, which was a little covered 
 by the silk collar and the amulet suspended round the neck, which 
 every horse always carries, was discovered, and the Arabs, drawing 
 near me, changed countenance, appeared grave and afflicted, and 
 gave me signs not to mount that horse again. This was of little im- 
 portance in Syria ; but in Judea, and amongst the tribes of the desert, 
 I feared that it might jeopardise my consideration, and destroy the 
 respect and obedient feeling which attended us. I ceased, therefore, 
 to mount him, and he was led by the hand in the suite. I do not 
 doubt we owed a considerable portion of the deference and fear 
 which were manifested around us to the beauty of the dozen or 
 fifteen Arab horses which we rode, or which followed us. A horse 
 in Arabia is the fortune of a man ; it supposes everything, it supplies 
 the place of everything. They formed a high idea of a Frank who 
 possessed so many horses equally beautiful with those of their 
 scheik and the pacha. 
 
 We returned to Jerusalem by that same valley which we had 
 traversed at night on coming. Before entering the first gorge of the 
 mountains, we saw evident traces of ancient buildings upon a wide 
 table-land commanding the plain, and we supposed that there might 
 be the true site of the ancient Jericho. It requires a great progress 
 in civilisation to build towns in the plain. We are never deceived 
 when we search for ancient cities on the heights. It was in this 
 gorge that the touching parable of the Samaritan places the scene of 
 
252 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 the murder and the charity. It appears, from the times of the Gospel, 
 these valleys have had a bad reputation. 
 
 This was a fatiguing day, from the monotony of a fourteen hours* 
 march, and the excessive heat of the sun, reverberated by the pre- 
 cipitous sides of the ravines. We met no one during these fourteen 
 hours but an Arab shepherd, who was tending an innumerable flock 
 of black goats on the top of a hill. 
 
 Encamped rear the Pool of Solomon, under the walls of Jerusalem: 
 November 2. — We wished to consecrate a day to prayer in the place 
 to which all Christians turn in praying, as the Mohammedans turn 
 towards Mecca. We engaged the monk who fulfilled the functions 
 of priest at Jerusalem to celebrate for our living and dead relations, 
 for our friends of all times and of all places, and also for ourselves, 
 the commemoration of the grand and mournful sacrifice which had 
 moistened this land with the blood of the Just, in order that charity 
 and hope might grow from it. We assisted at it in such moods as our 
 recollections, sorrows, losses, desires, and different degrees of piety 
 and faith inspired to each. We chose for our temple and altar the 
 grotto of Gethsemane, in the hollow of the valley of Jehoshaphat. 
 It was into this cavern, at the foot of the Mount of Olives, that Christ 
 retired, according to tradition, to escape from the persecution of his 
 enemies and the importunity of his disciples ; it was here that he com- 
 muned with his heavenly thoughts, and prayed to his Father that the 
 too bitter cup which he had himself filled, as we all fill ours, might 
 pass away from his lips ; it was here that he said to his three friends, 
 on the eve of his death, to remain on the watch, and not to sleep, and 
 he was obliged thrice to awaken them, so prone is the zeal of human 
 charity to grow dull ; it was here, in fine, that he passed those 
 terrible hours of the agony, the ineffable strife between life and 
 death, between the mind and instinct, between the soul, anxious to be 
 freed, and the matter resisting, because it is blind ! It was here that 
 he sweated blood and water, and that, wearied at combating with 
 himself without the victory of the soul giving peace to his thoughts, 
 he spoke those final words which evince the man and the God, those 
 words which are become the wisdom of all the wise, and which ought 
 to be the epitaph on all lives, and the sole motto of all created things 
 — { My Father, let thy will be done, not mine.' 
 
 The locality of this grotto, cut in the rock of the Kcdron, is one of 
 the most probable, and best justified by its appearance, of all those 
 which the popular piety in its credulity has assigned for each of the 
 scenes in the grand evangelical drama ; it is the very valley resting 
 in the shadow of death, the abyss hid under the walls of the city, the 
 hollow the most profound, and then probably the most shunned of 
 men, in which the Saviour, who had all men for his enemies, because 
 he came to attack all their falsehoods, could seek an occasional shelter, 
 and retired within himself to meditate, to pray, to suffer! The im- 
 pure brook of Kcdron flows at some paces' distance. It was then 
 but a sewer of Jerusalem. The Mount of Olives there bends over to 
 meet the hills which bear the tombs of the kings, and forms, as it 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 253 
 
 were, a projecting angle, on which thickets of olive, turpentine, and 
 fig-trees, together with those fruit-trees which poor people always 
 cultivate, even in the crevices of the rocks in the neighbourhood 
 of a large town, would conceal the entrance of the grotto. Further- 
 more, this spot was not disturbed, and rendered incapable of 
 being distinguished by the ruins in which Jerusalem was buried. 
 The disciples Avho had watched and prayed with Christ could return 
 and say, marking the rock and the trees, ' It was here !' A valley is 
 not obliterated like a street, and the smallest rock endures longer 
 than the most majestic of temples. 
 
 The grotto of Gethsemane, and the rock which covers it, are at 
 present surrounded by the walls of a little chapel, kept locked, the 
 key of which is in the hands of the Latin monks of Jerusalem. This 
 grotto, and the seven olive-trees in the adjoining field, belong to 
 them. The door cut in the rock opens on the court of another pious 
 sanctuary, which they call the Tomb of the Virgin. This belongs to 
 the Greeks. The grotto is deep and lofty, and divided into two 
 cavities, which communicate by a sort of subterranean portico. 
 There are also several altars hollowed out of the living rock ; they 
 have not disfigured this sanctuary, thus formed by nature, with so 
 many artificial ornaments as the other sanctuaries of the Holy 
 Sepulchre. The arch, the floor, and the walls, are the rock itself, 
 dripping, as it were weeping, with the dampness of a cavern 
 enveloped by earth. They have only appended above each altar a 
 bad representation in copperplate, painted a flesh colour, and as 
 large as life, of the agony of Christ, with the angels who are present- 
 ing to him the cup of death. If they tore away these wretched 
 figures, which destroy the forms which the pious imagination loves 
 to create for itself in the shadow of the grotto — if they permitted the 
 eyes, moistened with tears, to ascend freely, and without sensible 
 images, towards the thoughts of which that night is so full — this 
 grotto would be the most unpolluted and holy relic on the hills of 
 Sion ; but men must always spoil what they touch ! Alas ! if they 
 had contented themselves with altering and injuring the mere stones 
 and remains of these visible scenes! But how many dogmas, 
 doctrines, and sects, have they not made from that religion of 
 reason, simplicity, love, and humility, which the Son of Man taught 
 them at the price of his blood ? When God permits a truth to come 
 upon the earth, men begin by cursing and stoning him who bears it ; 
 then they seize upon this truth, which they have been unable to kill 
 with him, because it is immortal; his spoil is their inheritance; but 
 like the precious stone which the malefactors carried off" from the 
 heavenly pilgrim, they encase it with so many errors, that it becomes 
 undistinguishable, until the light breaks afresh upon it, and, after 
 many ages, separating the diamond from its setting, wisdom pro- 
 claims — Behold the truth! Behold the lie ! Here is the reality !— 
 there is the counterfeit! It is on this account that all religions have 
 two natures, the association of which astonishes the mind : a popular 
 nature, with miracles, legends, and shameful superstitions, the im- 
 
2o4 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 pure alloy with which ages of ignorance and darkness have mixed 
 and adulterated the doctrine of heaven ; and a rational and philoso- 
 phical nature, which is effectual in removing the human rust, and 
 presents religion to an eternal and incorruptible light, which is rea- 
 son, reflects it pure and unmixed, and illuminates all things and all 
 intelligence with that blaze of truth and love by which we see and 
 adore the self-evident being, God. 
 
 Same date. — There remains, not far from the grotto of Gethsemane, 
 a small corner of land, yet shaded by seven olive-trees, which popular 
 traditions describe as the same trees under which Jesus lay and wept. 
 These olives, in fact, bear on their trunks and prodigious branches 
 the date of the eighteen centuries which have elapsed since that 
 awful night. These trunks are of enormous compass, and are formed, 
 like those of all old olives, by a vast number of stems, which seem 
 incorporated into the tree, and are covered by the same bark, re- 
 sembling a cluster of cemented columns. Their branches are almost 
 withered, but still produce a few olives. We collected those which 
 strewed the earth beneath the trees ; we made some fall with a pious 
 discretion, and we filled our pockets with them, to carry as relics of 
 this locality to our friends. I imagine that it is sweet for the Christian 
 mind to pray whilst grasping with the fingers the olive stones of those 
 trees, whose roots Jesus has perhaps watered and fructified with his 
 tears, when he himself prayed for the last time on earth. If they 
 are not the same trunks, they are in all probability offshoots from 
 those sacred trees. But there is nothing to show that they are not 
 identically the same stocks. I have traversed every part of the 
 world where the olive grows ; this tree exists for ages, and nowhere 
 have I found any larger, although planted in a rocky and arid soil. 
 I have likewise seen, on the summit of Lebanon, the cedars which 
 Arab traditions carry back to the age of Solomon. There is nothing 
 impossible in it; nature has given to certain vegetables a longer exist- 
 ence than to empires ; certain oaks have seen many dynasties pass 
 away, and the acorn which we trample with our feet, the olive-kernel 
 which I rub in my hand, the cedar-apple which the wind scatters, 
 will reproduce, flourish, and cover the earth with their shadows when 
 hundreds of generations which follow us shall have restored to the 
 earth that morsel of dust which they have borrowed in their turns. 
 But creation does not thereby mark its contempt for us. The 
 relative importance of beings is not measured by the duration, but 
 by the intensity of their existence. There is more of life in one 
 hour of thought, of contemplation, of prayer, or of love, than in the 
 entire existence of a purely physical man. There is more of life in 
 a thought which pervades the world, and ascends to heaven in a 
 space of time not to be counted, in the millionth part of a second, 
 than in the eighteen centuries of vegetation in the olives which I 
 lean upon, or in the two thousand five hundred years of Solomon's 
 cedars. 
 
 Same date. — Breakfasted, seated on the steps of the fountain of 
 Siloani. "Wrote some verses, tore them, and cast the fragments 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 255 
 
 into the spring. Words are poor weapons. The most beautiful 
 verses are those which we cannot express. The diction of every 
 language is insufficient, and every day the heart of man finds in 
 the delicacies of his sentiments, and the imagination discovers in the 
 impressions of visible nature, things which the mouth cannot embody 
 for want of Avords. The heart and the thought of man are like a 
 musician driven to play infinitely varied music on an organ which 
 has but a few notes. It is more advisable to be silent. Silence is 
 a refined poetry at certain moments. It is felt by the soul, and 
 appreciated by God. And that is enough. 
 
 Same date. — On proceeding again up the valley of Jehoshaphat, 
 I passed near the sepulchre of Absalom. It is a block of rock cut 
 in the very body of the mountain of Siloa, attached to the primitive 
 rock upon which it is based. It is about thirty feet in height, and 
 twenty broad on all its sides. I say so at hazard, for I measure 
 nothing ; the rule is useful only to the architect. Its form is a 
 square pedestal, with a Greek doorway in the middle, a Corinthian 
 cornice, with a pyramid at the summit. The character is neither 
 Roman nor Greek. The effect is solemn, monumental, and novel, 
 as the Egyptian monuments. The Jews had no architecture of their 
 own: they borrowed from Egypt, Greece, but chiefly, I believe, 
 from India. The key of the whole is to be found in India ; the 
 birth of philosophy and the arts appears to me to date from there. 
 It preceded and brought forth Assyria, Chaldea, Mesopotamia, 
 Syria ; the great cities of the desert, as Balbek ; then Egypt ; then 
 the islands such as Crete and Cyprus ; then Etruria ; then Rome ; 
 then came night ; and Christianity, fostered at first by the Platonic 
 philosophy, afterwards by the ignorant barbarism of the middle 
 ages, has given birth to our civilisation and modern arts. We are 
 young, and have scarcely yet reached the age of virility. A world 
 new in thought, in social forms and arts, will spring probably in a 
 few centuries from the great ruin of the middle ages, which we are 
 promoting. We know that the intellectual world bears its own fruit, 
 the outburst of which will be made amidst convulsions and agony ; 
 language, written and multiplied by the press, by exciting discus- 
 sion, criticism, and inquiry, by drawing the vigour of all intellects 
 to every point of fact or argument in the world, invincibly leads 
 humanity to the age of reason. Revelation will come to all by all. 
 The divine light, which is reason and religion, will penetrate through 
 all the circles of humanity. A beautiful book might be made of the 
 history of the divine spirit in the different phases of humanity ; the 
 tracing of divinity in man, when the religious principle is found 
 first acting in the earliest records of humanity by instincts and blind 
 impulses ; then singing by the voice of poets, the mens divinior; 
 then manifesting itself on the tables of legislators, or in the myste- 
 rious initiations of the Indian, Egyptian, Hebraic theocracies. When 
 its mythological forms, worn out by time, exhausted by the credulity 
 of mankind, are cast from the human spirit, we see it disseminated 
 and taught in the great schools of philosophy in Greece and Asia 
 
256 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 Minor, and in the Pythagorean sects, but seeking in vain for uni- 
 versal symbols, until Christianity embodied all speculative and dis- 
 puted truth in those two grand practical and incontestible truths — 
 adoration of an only God; charity and good-will amongst men. 
 Christianity itself, obscured and alloyed with errors, like every 
 doctrine rendered popular by the credulousncss of the ages it has 
 passed, appears destined to be itself transformed, to come out more 
 rational and pure from the load of mysteries with which it is en- 
 veloped, and to unite its divine illuminations with those of religious 
 reason, which it has been the first to generate, and to raise so high 
 in the horison of humanity. 
 
 Same date. — A little above the entrance to the valley of Kedron, 
 on the north of Jerusalem, we traversed some fields of a reddish 
 and more fertile earth, covered with a wood of olives. About five 
 hundred paces from the city we came to the edge of a deep quarry, 
 into which we descended. On the left, a block of rock, profusely 
 sculptured, stretched the whole breadth of the quarry, and below it 
 was a narrow opening, half closed by earth and stones. A man 
 -could scarcely crawl into it by creeping. We entered it; but as we 
 had neither steels nor torches, we almost immediately came out 
 •again, and did not visit the interior chambers ; they were the 
 sepulchres of the kings. The frieze, magnificently sculptured, and 
 of beautiful Grecian workmanship, on the exterior rock, would mark 
 the most flourishing epoch of the arts in Greece for this decoration 
 of the monuments ; yet it perhaps belongs to the age of Solomon, 
 for who can know what that great prince had borrowed from the 
 genius of India or of Egypt? 
 
 November 3. — The plague, which rages more and more in Jeru- 
 salem and its environs, will not allow us to enter Bethlehem, the 
 convent and sanctuary of which were closed. We mounted our 
 horses, however, in the evening, and after traversing a level of 
 about two leagues, which extends to the east of Jerusalem, wo 
 arrived upon a height, a short distance from Bethlehem, whence 
 ■we had a complete view of the whole of this little town. We had 
 scarcely seated ourselves, when a numerous cavalcade of Bethlehc- 
 •mite Arabs came and requested to be presented to me. After the 
 usual compliments, they told me that they were deputed to me 
 by the population of Bethlehem, with the prayer that I would 
 obtain a diminution of the tribute which Ibrahim Pacha had laid 
 upon their town, as they knew from report, and the Arabs of Abou- 
 gosh their chief, that Ibrahim Pacha was my friend, and would 
 certainly not refuse if I solicited indulgence for them. As the 
 Arabs of Bethlehem are the most detestable race in the country, 
 always at war with their neighbours, always making exactions on 
 the Latin convent of the town, I replied to them with gravity, after 
 making them severe reproaches for their rapines, 1 that I would 
 have respect for their prayer, and would present it to the pacha, 
 but only on condition that they respected Europeans, pilgrims, 
 and especially the convents of Bethlehem and of St John in the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 257 
 
 wilderness ; and that, if they permitted the slightest domestic viola- 
 tion with regard to these poor monks, it was the determination of 
 Ibrahim to exterminate them to the last man, or to drive them into 
 the deserts of Arabia Petrcea.' I added, and it seemed to make 
 a lively impression, 4 that if the forces of Ibrahim Pacha were in- 
 sufficient, the pachas of Europe had decided to come themselves 
 and reduce them to reason.' In the meantime, I engaged them to 
 pay the tribute. Prom that day to the hour of my departure, I had 
 constantly in my suite, in spite of all endeavours to dismiss them, 
 a certain number of the Bedouin scheiks of Bethlehem, Hebron, and 
 the desert of St John, who never ceased imploring me for the re- 
 duction of tribute. We returned to the camp in the valley of the 
 Pool of Solomon, under the walls of Sion, and received a visit from 
 Abougosh, who came with his uncle and brother to inquire after our 
 health. I gave him coffee and pipes, and we conversed an hour at 
 the door of my tent, each seated under an olive-tree. 
 
 Same date. — A courier from Jaffa brought me letters from Europe 
 and Beirout, and put them into my hands beneath the ramparts 
 of Jerusalem. These letters reassured me as to the health of my 
 daughter; but as she added, at the foot of her mother's letter, that 
 she was resolutely opposed to my going into Egypt at this moment, 
 I altered my route, and countermanded my caravan of camels at 
 El-Arisch, determining to return by the coast of Syria. We struck 
 our tents : I sent a present of 500 piastres to the convent, besides 
 1500 that I had paid for chaplets, relics, crucifixes, &c; and we 
 proceeded once more to the wilderness of St John. 
 
 The general aspect of the environs of Jerusalem may be described 
 in a few words : mountains without trees, valleys without water, 
 ground without verdure, rocks without awe or grandeur ; blocks of 
 gray stone piercing a brittle soil full of cracks ; now and then a fig- 
 tree, and a gazelle or jackal crawling furtively amongst the inter- 
 stices of the rocks; a few vine plants creeping over the ashy or 
 reddish earth; at far distances a thicket of pale olives, casting a 
 speck of shade down the precipitous sides of a hill ; at the horison a 
 turpentine or black carob-tree, standing out sad and solitary from the 
 blue sky ; the walls and gray towers of the fortifications of the city 
 appearing from a distance on the crest of Sion : such is the land. 
 And the sky is pure, clear, deep, in which the smallest cloud never 
 floats, and which is never coloured with the purple of evening or 
 morning. On the side of Arabia, a wide ravine descends between 
 the black mountains, and conducts the eye to the dazzling waters 
 of the Dead Sea and the blue horison of the mountain-peaks of 
 Moab. Not a breath of Avind murmurs on the battlements or among 
 the dry branches of the olive-trees ; not a bird singing, or a cricket 
 chirping in the bladeless vales ; a complete, perpetual silence in the 
 city, on the roads, in the fields. Such was Jerusalem during all the 
 days that we passed under its walls. I heard but the neighing of 
 the horses around our camp, chafing at the heat, and digging up 
 the dusty soil with their feet, and from time to time the doleful 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
258 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 chant of the muetzlim crying the hour from the top of the minaret, 
 or the tuneful lamentations of Turkish mourners, accompanying, in 
 long files, the dead to the different cemeteries outside the city. 
 Jerusalem, where we go to visit one sepulchre, is indeed itself the 
 tomb of a people, but a tomb without cypresses, inscriptions, or 
 monuments, with its stones broken and pouuded, the ashes of which 
 seem to cover the surrounding earth with sorrow, silence, and 
 sterility. "We several times cast back our eyes on quitting it, from 
 the height of every eminence whence we could still perceive it ; and 
 we saw for the last time the crown of olives which rises on the 
 famous Mount, which floated a long time in the horison after we 
 had lost sight of the city, gradually sunk into the sky, and finally 
 disappeared, like the pale flowers which are cast into a grave. Never- 
 theless we must again return there; but, alas! no more with the 
 same sentiments, no more to weep over the miseries of others, but 
 there to groan for our own woes, and to shed tears for ourselves, 
 on that land which has already drunk up and dried so many. 
 
 Yesterday I had fixed my tent in a rocky field, where a few trunks 
 of knotty and stunted olives were standing, under the walls of 
 Jerusalem, some hundreds of paces from the tower of David, a little 
 above the fountain of Siloam, which still trickles down the worn 
 flags of its grotto, and not far from the tomb of the poet-king who 
 has so repeatedly sung of it. The high and black terraces which 
 formerly sustained the Temple of Solomon arose on my left, crowned 
 by the three blue cupolas, and the light and airy colonnades of the 
 Mosque of Omar, which now hovers over the ruins of the Temple 
 of Jehovah. The city of Jerusalem, ravaged by the plague, was 
 inundated with the rays of a dazzling sun, reflected upon its thousand 
 domes, its white marbles, its gilded towers, and its walls, polished 
 by centuries and the salt winds of the lake Asphaltidcs. No noise 
 arose from its expanse, mute and mournful as the bed of one in 
 the last agony ; its wide gates were open, and there were seen from 
 time to time the white turban and red mantle of the Arab soldier, 
 a useless watcher at these deserted gates. Nothing entered, nothing 
 came out ; the morning breeze alone raised the dust on the roads, 
 and deluded us for a moment with the idea of a caravan ; but 
 when the gust of wind was past, when it had died away, whistling 
 over the battlements of the tower of the Pisans, or the three palm- 
 trees of the house of Caiaphas, the dust fell, the desert reappeared, 
 and the step of no camel or mule sounded on the stones of the 
 road. Only every quarter of an hour, the dead whom the plague 
 had carried off were brought out, borne by two naked slaves on a 
 litter, to the tombs scattered all around us. Sometimes a long train 
 of Turks, Arabs, Armenians, Jews, accompanied the dead body, and 
 defiled amongst the olive trunks, singing, and afterwards returned, 
 with slow steps, and in silence, into the city. But most frequently 
 the dead were brought out singly ; and when the two slaves had 
 scooped out a few hands' breadth of the sand or earth, and laid the 
 plague body in its last bed, they sat down upon the barrow they 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 259 
 
 had just raised, divided between them the raiment of the defunct, 
 and lighting their long pipes, smoked in silence, looking at the smoke 
 from their chibouques mounting in a light blue column, and grace- 
 fully losing itself in the limpid and transparent air of these 
 autumnal days. At my feet, the valley of J ehoshaphat stretched like 
 a vast sepulchre ; the drained Kedron ploughed it with a white rent, 
 all scattered with large flints, and the sides of the two hills which 
 hem it were all blanched with the tombs and sculptured turbans, 
 the usual monuments of the Moslems. A little to the right, the hill 
 of Olives sank, and gave sight to the horison expanding beyond 
 the chains of naked mountains of Jericho and Saint -Saba, sprinkled 
 with volcanic cones ; the eye turned there of its own accord, attracted 
 by the azure and silvery brightness of the Dead Sea, which shone 
 at the foot of these mountains ; and behind all, the blue mountains 
 of Arabia Petraea bounded the horison. But bounded is not the 
 word, for these mountains appeared transparent as crystal; and 
 we saw, or believed we saw, far beyond, an indistinct and indefined 
 horison still stretching, and floating in the ambient vapours of a 
 purple and cerulean-tinted atmosphere. 
 
 It was mid-day, the hour in which the muetzlim watches the sun 
 from the highest gallery of the minaret, and chants the time and 
 prayer ; a living, animated voice, feeling what it says and sings — 
 much superior, in my opinion, to the unconscious sound of the bells 
 of our cathedrals. My Arabs had given barley, in sacks of goat-hair, 
 to my horses, tethered at intervals round my tent with iron rings 
 about their legs. These beautiful and tractable animals were 
 motionless, their heads drooping, and overshadowed by their long- 
 thick manes, and their gray skins shining and steaming under the 
 rays of a perpendicular sun. The men had collected themselves 
 under the shade of the largest of the olive-trees ; they had stretched 
 on the earth their Damascus mats, and were smoking whilst relating 
 to each other tales of the desert, or singing the verses of Antar. 
 
 Antar, that sample of the wandering Arab, at once a shepherd, 
 warrior, and poet, who has described the whole desert in national 
 poetry, epic as Homer, plaintive as Job, amorous as Theocritus, 
 philosophic as Solomon ! His verses, which soothe or stimulate the 
 imagination of the Arab as much as the drugged smoke of the hookah, 
 were re-echoed in guttural sounds by the animated group of sais ; 
 and when the poet had accurately or strongly touched the sensi- 
 tive chord of these men, so savage and yet so lively in their im- 
 pressions, a slight murmur from their lips was heard ; they clasped 
 their hands, raised them above their ears, and bowing their heads, 
 exclaimed, « Allah! Allah! Allah!' 
 
 Afterwards, the recollection of hours thus passed in hearing these 
 verses, which I was not able to understand, induced me to seek with 
 care for some fragments of the popular Arab poems, and especially 
 of the heroic poem of Antar. I succeeded in obtaining a certain 
 number, and I had them translated by my dragoman during the 
 winter evenings I spent on Lebanon. I myself began to understand 
 
2G0 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 a little Arabic, but not sufficient to read; my interpreter translated 
 portions of the poem into common Italian, and I afterwards rendered 
 them, word for word, into French. I preserve these poetical essays, 
 utterly unknown in Europe, and I shall insert them at the end of 
 this book. "We see from them that poetry is of ail places, of all 
 times, and of all grades of civilisation. 
 
 The poem of Antar is, as I have said, the national poetry of the 
 wandering Arab — it is the holy book of his imagination. How many 
 times have I seen groups of Arabs, seated cross-legged round the fire 
 of the bivouac, stretching their necks, listening with attentive cars, 
 fixing their fiery eyes upon their companion, who was reciting to 
 them some passages of these admirable productions, whilst a cloud of 
 smoke rising from their pipes formed above their heads an obscuring 
 fantastic atmosphere, and the horses, leaning their heads upon them, 
 seemed also attentive to the cadenced voice of the speaker ! I used 
 to seat myself not far from the circle, and also listen, although I did 
 not comprehend ; yet I comprehended the sound of the voices, the 
 play of the features, the shudderings of the auditors : I knew that it 
 was poetry, and I imagined for myself affecting, dramatic, and won- 
 drous actions, which I recited to myself. It is thus that, on hearing 
 melodious or impassioned music, I think they are words I hear, for 
 the poetry of tuneful language reveals and utters to me the poetry of 
 written language. Is it, indeed, necessary to speak everything? I 
 have never read poetry comparable with that poetry which I heard 
 in the, to me, unintelligible language of these Arabs — the imagination 
 always surpassing the reality. I thought the primitive and patriarchal 
 poetry of the desert was open to my understanding; I saw the 
 camel, the horse, the gazelle ; I saw the oasis raising its palm tops of 
 yellow green above the immense plains of the desert, the combats of 
 warriors, and the young Arab maidens captured and rescued in the 
 strife, and recognising their lovers in their champions. This reminds 
 me that I have always had more pleasure in reading a foreign poet 
 in a detestable mean translation than in the original itself ; because 
 the most divine original always leaves something to desire in the ex- 
 pression, and the bad translation indicates but the thought, the poetic 
 design ; because the imagination itself, illustrating this design with 
 words which it finds as transparent as the idea, enjoys a perfect satis- 
 faction of its own creation. The thought being boundless, it con- 
 ceives it so in the expression — the delight is thus also boundless. To 
 give ourselves this gratification, we must in a certain degree be 
 musicians or poets : but who is not so ? 
 
 Antar, at once the hero and the poet of the wandering Arab, is 
 little known by us : we know his history imperfectly : we are igno- 
 rant even of the precise date of his existence. Some learned persons 
 assert that he lived in the sixth century of our era. Local traditions 
 carry him back much farther. Antar, according to the traditions 
 gathered in part from his poem, was a negro slave, who obtained his 
 liberty by his exploits and virtues, and gained his mistress Abla by 
 love and heroism. The poem of Antar is not, like that of Homer, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 261 
 
 written entirely in verse ; it is in poetic prose, of the purest and 
 most classical Arabic, intermingled with verses. What is a singu- 
 larity in this poem is, that the portion written in prose is infinitely 
 superior to the lyrical fragments which are interspersed. The poetic 
 part presents the far-fetchedness, affectation, and style of literature 
 in its decline; on the contrary, nothing is more simple, more natural, 
 and more purely impassioned, than the recitative. All the Arab 
 poetry, ancient or modern, that I have read participates more or less 
 in this unfortunate far-fetched tone of thought distinguishable in the 
 poetry of Antar ; if there is no play on words, there is at least the 
 play on ideas and images, more fitted to amuse the mind than touch 
 the heart. Art requires ages to arrive at the simple and sublime 
 expression of nature. With the Arabs, verses are but an ingenious 
 medium for trifling with their minds or their feelings. I except 
 some religious poems, written about thirty years ago by a Maronite 
 bishop of Mount Lebanon. I possess some fragments of them worthy 
 the places which inspired them, and the sacred subjects to which this 
 pious anchorite exclusively consecrated his masculine genius. These 
 religious poems are more solemn, and more from the soul, than any of 
 that sort I know in Europe; something of the accent of Job, the gran- 
 deur of Solomon, and the melancholy of David, remains in them. 
 I regret that no experienced Orientalist has translated for us the 
 whole of Antar ; it would be better than a book of travels, for no- 
 thing represents manners so well as a poem. It would invigorate 
 also our own inspirations, by the novel ideas which Antar has drawn 
 from his solitudes; furthermore, it would be amusing as Ariosto, 
 affecting as Tasso. I do not doubt that the Italian poetry of Ariosto 
 and Tasso is twin-sister of the Arabic poetry ; the same alliance of 
 ideas that produced the Alhambra, Seville, Grenada, and some of our 
 cathedrals, gave birth to The Jerusalem, and the charming dramas 
 of the poet of Reggio. Antar is more interesting than The Thousand 
 and One Nights, because he is less marvellous. The whole interest 
 is drawn from the human heart, and the true or probable adventures 
 of the hero and his lover. The English have an almost complete 
 translation of this delightful poem ; Ave possess but a few beautiful 
 fragments, scattered in our literary reviews. The reader will scarcely 
 perceive, in the imperfect version placed at the end of this book, the 
 admirable beauties of the original. 
 
 A few paces from where I sat, a young Turkish female was weep- 
 ing for her husband over one of those little monuments of white 
 stone with which all the eminences round Jerusalem are sprinkled. 
 She appeared scarcely eighteen or twenty years old, and I never 
 beheld so ravishing an image of. grief. Her profile, which her veil 
 thrown back permitted me to see, had the exquisite outlines of the 
 most beautiful heads of the Parthenon, but at the same time the 
 softness, gentleness, and graceful languor of the Asiatic women, 
 a beauty much more feminine, much more voluptuous and fascinat- 
 ing to the heart, than the severe and masculine beauty of the Grecian 
 statues ; with hair of a bronzed and gilded blonde, a colour much 
 
2G2 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 esteemed in this land of the sun, of which it is, as it were, a true re- 
 flection. Her hair, shook loose from her head, fell around her, and 
 literally swept the ground ; her breast was entirely uncovered, accord- 
 ing to the custom of females in this part of Arabia ; and when she 
 stooped to embrace the turban, or to put her ear to the tomb, her 
 two naked nipples touched the earth, and left their print in the dust, 
 like the mould of the lovely breast of the buried Atala, which the 
 sand of the sepulchre still delineated, in the beautiful epic of M. de 
 Chateaubriand. She had strewed with all sorts of flowers the tomb 
 and the earth around ; a handsome carpet of Damascus was stretched 
 under her knees ; on the carpet there were some vases of flowers, 
 and a basket filled with figs and barley-cakes ; for she had to pass 
 the entire day thus mourning. A hole hollowed in the earth, and 
 which was judged to correspond with the ear of the dead, served to 
 convey her voice towards that other world in which he was at rest 
 whom she came to visit. She stooped every moment towards this 
 opening ; she sang some words mingled with sobs ; then she placed 
 her ear as if she waited the answer ; and again commenced to sing 
 and weep as before. I attempted to get at the meaning of the words 
 that she thus murmured, which reached me where I sat ; but my 
 Arab dragoman could not catch or render them. How I regret it ! 
 How many secrets of love and grief, how many sighs expressive of 
 the whole life of two souls torn from each other, these broken 
 sentences drowned in tears must have contained ! Oh ! if anything 
 could rouse the dead, it would be such words lisped by such a 
 mouth ! 
 
 Two yards from this female, under a piece of black cloth attached 
 to two reeds stuck in the earth, by way of a parasol, her two young 
 children were playing with three black Abyssinian slaves, seated 
 like their mistress on the sand, which was covered by a carpet. These 
 three women, all young and beautiful also, in the slender shapes and 
 aquiline profiles of the negros of Abyssinia, were grouped in different 
 attitudes, like three statues taken from a single block. One of them 
 had her knee on the ground, and held on the other one of the child- 
 ren, who was stretching out its arms towards its weeping mother. The 
 second had her two legs folded under her, and her two hands clasped, 
 like the Magdalene of Canova, upon her blue apron. The third was 
 standing, leaning a little over her companions, and moving her body 
 from side to side, cradled in her bosom the most infantine of the 
 children, which she in vain strove to lull to slumber. When the 
 sobs of the youthful widow were heard by the children, they began 
 to cry, and the three slaves, responding with a sigh to the grief of 
 their mistress, commenced singing the monotonous airs of their 
 country to appease the children. 
 
 It was a Sunday ; two hundred yards from me, within the thick 
 and lofty walls of Jerusalem, I heard issuing in gusts the distant and 
 feeble echoes of the vespers from the cupola of the Greek convent. 
 The hymns and psalms of David arose after three thousand years, 
 sung by foreign voices and in a new tongue, upon the same hills 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 263 
 
 which had inspired them ; and I saw on the terraces of the convent 
 some old monks moving about, with their breviaries in their hands, 
 and muttering those prayers, now repeated through so many ages, 
 in different languages and metres. And I was there also to sing all 
 these things ; to study history at its cradle ; to discover at its source 
 the unknown stream of a civilisation and a religion ; to inspire myself 
 with the genius of the localities, and the hidden sense of histories and 
 monuments, upon those spots whence the modern world took its de- 
 parture ; and to foster with a wisdom more real, and a philosophy 
 more truthful, the solemn and reflective poetry of the epoch in which 
 we live. 
 
 This scene, thrown by hazard before my eyes, and remembered as 
 one of my thousand impressions during my travels, presented me 
 with almost the whole purposes and phases of every poetry. The 
 three black slaves lulling the children with the artless and infantine 
 songs of their country, was the pastoral and imitative poetry of the 
 infancy of nations ; the young Turkish widow weeping for her hus- 
 band, with songs and sobs, the elegiac and impassioned poetry, the 
 poetry of the heart ; the Arab soldiers and moukres reciting the war- 
 like and amorous fragments of Antar, the epic and martial poetry 
 of nomade or conquering races; the Greek monks chanting the psalms 
 on their solitary terraces, the sacred and lyrical poetry of ages of 
 enthusiasm and religious renovation ; and I, meditating in my tent, 
 and reviewing historical facts, or the thoughts of all the earth, the 
 poetry of philosophy and meditation, the offspring of an era in which 
 mankind studies and reasons on itself, even in the songs with which 
 it amuses its leisure hours. Such is all past poetry : but what will 
 be the future? 
 
 November 4. — We passed the evening and the night at the convent 
 of St John, to take leave of the excellent monks, whom we shall cer- 
 tainly never forget ; the recollection of humble and unmixed virtues 
 remains in the soul like the perfumed odours of a temple. We gave 
 to these good fathers an alms, scarcely sufficient to indemnify them 
 for the expenses we had occasioned them ; they thought nothing of 
 the peril we had caused them to run ; they begged me to recommend 
 them to the terrible protection of Abougosh, whom I was to see 
 again at Jeremiah. We departed before daylight, in order to avoid 
 the importunity of the Bedouins of Bethlehem and of the desert of 
 St John, who continued to follow me, and began even to use 
 menaces. By eight in the morning we had cleared the high moun- 
 tains which are topped by the tomb of the Maccabees, and we were 
 seated under the fig-trees of Jeremiah, smoking a pipe and taking 
 coffee with Abougosh, his uncle, and his brothers. Abougosh loaded 
 me with fresh marks of regard and kindness ; he offered me a horse, 
 which I refused, not wishing to make him any present myself, because 
 it would have seemed an acknowledgment of the tribute which he 
 ordinarily imposes on pilgrims, and from which Ibrahim has emanci- 
 pated them. I placed under his protection the monks of St John, 
 Bethlehem, and Jerusalem. I knew afterwards that he had in fact 
 
264 
 
 LAMAXUNB S 
 
 gone to deliver them from the outrages of the Bedouins of the desert ; 
 he had little idea, doubtless, when I asked his protection for some 
 poor Frank monks exiled to his mountains, that eight months after- 
 wards he should have to implore mine for the freedom of his own 
 brother, carried captive to Damascus, and that I should be fortunate 
 enough to be of service to him in my turn. Having drunk coffee 
 and refreshed our horses, we started, escorted by the whole popula- 
 tion of Jeremiah, and proceeded beyond Eamla,to encamp in a superb 
 olive wood which surrounds that town. Worn out with fatigue, 
 and without provisions, we asked hospitality from the monks of the 
 convent of the Holy Land; they refused us as infected persons, 
 which we might very easily have been. "We did without supper, 
 therefore, and we slept to the noise of the sea-breeze rustling 
 amongst the branches of the olive-trees. It was here that the Virgin, 
 St Joseph, and the Infant, passed the night in the fields in the 
 flight to Egypt. This recollection sweetened our couch. 
 
 Departed from Ramla at six in the morning, and came to break- 
 fast at Jaffa with M. Damiani. The day was passed in resting our- 
 selves, and preparing provisions to return into Syria by the coast.* 
 Nothing can be more delightful than travelling in a caravan when 
 the landscape is beautiful, when the horses, freshened by rest, march 
 briskly over a firm and sandy soil ; when the scenes vary, and quickly 
 succeed each other; when the sea, above all things, rolls at your 
 horses' feet, and sends to your cheek the fresh breeze from its roiling 
 waves, or dashes upon you sandy flakes of foam. This pleasure we 
 experienced in skirting the charming gulf which separates Caypha 
 from Acre. The desert formed by the plain of Zubulon was con- 
 cealed on the right by the thickets of tall reeds, and by the palm- 
 trees, which separate the strand from the country. "We trod a route 
 of white and fine sand, continually watered by the waves breaking 
 upon it. The gulf, shut in on the east by the lofty point of the cape 
 of Mount Carmel surmounted by its monastery, and to the west by 
 the white walls of St Jean d'Acre in ruins, resembled a vast lake, 
 on which the smallest vessels might sport with impunity. It is not 
 so, however; the coast of Syria, everywhere dangerous, is most so in 
 the Gulf of Caypha ; the ships which take refuge there, and cast 
 anchor on its bottom of soft sand, in order to escape a tempest, are 
 frequently thrown on the coast: sad and picturesque wrecks proved 
 this too well: the entire shore is bordered with the hulks of vessels 
 buried in the sand ; some of them yet show their broken prow, where 
 sea-birds build their nests ; others have only their masts out of the 
 sand, which, motionless and leafless, resemble those funeral crosses 
 which we plant on the ashes of those who are no more. A few of 
 them have even their rigging yet hanging on the masts, but rotted 
 with the salt vapour from the sea. The Arabs do not meddle with 
 these ruins of shipwrecked vessels ; time and the winter tempests are 
 required to complete their destruction, or the sand to cover them up. 
 
 * [The author means that he is now returning northwards along the coast of the 
 JIcI i i em nean. ] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 265 
 
 "We saw there, as in the other gulfs of Syria, how the Arabs take 
 fish. A man holding a small unfolded net above his head ready for 
 casting, advances some paces into the sea, and chooses an hour and 
 place at which the sun is behind him, and throws its light upon the 
 water without dazzling him. He waits until the waves, heaped and 
 rising upon each other, break on the ledge or the sand. He observes, 
 with a piercing and practised eye, whether the wave carries any fish 
 with it, and he throws his net at the very moment it breaks, and 
 would drag back what it brings by its reflux. The net falls, the 
 wave retires, and the fish remain. It requires tlie weather to be a 
 little rough to pursue this sort of fishing on the coast of Syria ; 
 when the sea is calm, the fisher discovers nothing; it is when the 
 wave rises to the sun that it becomes transparent. 
 
 The infected odour of battle-fields announced to us the neighbour- 
 hood of Acre ; we were not more than a quarter of an hour from its 
 walls. It is a heap of ruins ; the domes of the mosques are full of 
 holes, the embattled walls are breached with immense gaps, and the 
 towers have fallen into the harbour. It had just endured a year's 
 siege, and been taken by assault by Ibrahim's 40,000 soldiers. The 
 politics of people in the East are ill understood in Europe. We 
 imagine them to have designs, when they are but caprices ; plans, 
 when they are but passions ; and to look to a future, when to-day and 
 to-morrow embrace the whole foresight. We have perceived, in the 
 aggression of Mahomet- A li, a premeditated and long progressive ambi- 
 tion ; it was but the seduction of fortune, which, from one step to an- 
 other, led him almost involuntarily to shake the throne of his master, 
 and to conquer half his empire ; a fresh opportunity may carry him 
 still farther. The quarrel originated in the following manner : — Ab- 
 dallah, pacha of Acre, a young inconsiderate man, raised to the pacha- 
 lik by a caprice of favour or hazard, had revolted against the Grand 
 Signior ; being overcome, he had solicited the protection of the 
 pacha of Egypt, who secured his pardon from the Divan/" Abdallah, 
 soon forgetting the gratitude which he owed to Mahomet, refused to 
 execute certain conditions sworn to in the period of his misfortunes. 
 Ibrahim marched to coerce him ; he found at Acre an unexpected 
 resistance; his anger was roused; he demanded from his father 
 fresh troops, which were sent, and they were also repulsed. Maho- 
 met- Ali grew tired, and recalled his son ; but Ibrahim resisted, and 
 declared his intention of dying under the walls of Acre, or of re- 
 ducing it to the power of his father. He at length broke open the 
 gates of the toAvn, at a great sacrifice of men. Abdallah, being taken 
 prisoner, prepared himself for death ; Ibrahim sent for him to his 
 tent, and having addressed to him a few bitter sarcasms, despatched 
 him to Alexandria. Instead of the bowstring or the sabre, Mahomet- 
 Ali sent him his own horse, made him enter in triumph, seated him 
 by his side on the divan, complimented him on his valour and fide- 
 lity to the sultan, and gave him a palace, slaves, and large reve- 
 
 * [This is another use cf the word divan. It here represents the supreme privy- 
 council of the sultan, and the executive organ of the Ottoman government.] 
 
266 
 
 LAMARTIXE ; S 
 
 nues. Abdallah deserved this treatment for his bravery. Shut up in 
 Acre with 3000 Turks, he resisted for a year the whole of the 
 Egyptian land and sea forces. The fortune of Ibrahim, like that of 
 Napoleon, vacillated before this rock. If the Grand Signior, in vain 
 solicited by Abdallah, had sent him a few thousand men at the 
 proper time, or had even sent to the Syrian coasts two or three of 
 those fine frigates which were uselessly lying at anchor before the 
 pavilions of the Bosphorus, Ibrahim had been repulsed ; he would 
 have retreated into Egypt, convinced of the impotency of his rage. 
 But the Porte was faithful to its system of fatalism ; it permitted the 
 ruin of its pacha to be accomplished. The bulwark of Syria was 
 overthrown, and the Divan awoke not from its torpor before it was 
 too late. However, Mahomet- Ali wrote to his general to return ; 
 but he, a man of courage and enterprise, determined to test to the 
 uttermost the weakness of the sultan and his own fortune. He 
 advanced. Two brilliant victories, weakly disputed — that of Horns 
 in Syria, and that of Konia in Asia Minor — rendered him absolute 
 master of Arabia, of Syria, and of all those kingdoms of Pontus, 
 Bithynia, and Cappadocia, which at present compose Caramania. 
 The Porte might yet have cut off his retreat, and, disembarking 
 troops in his rear, have retaken possession of the towns and pro- 
 vinces where he could not leave sufficient garrisons ; a body of 6000 
 men thrown into the defiles of Taurus and Syria had imprisoned 
 Ibrahim amidst his victories, and made prey of him and his army. 
 The Turkish fleet was infinitely more numerous than that of Ibra- 
 him, or rather the Porte had an immense and magnificent fleet; 
 Ibrahim had only two or three frigates. But from the commence- 
 ment of the campaign, Kalil-Pacha, a young man of elegant manners, 
 the favourite of the sultan, and named by him Capitan-Pacha (High 
 Admiral), had retired from the seas before the small force of the 
 Egyptian. I had seen him with my own eyes quit the harbour of 
 lihodes, and shut himself up in the road of Marmorizza, upon the 
 coast of Caramania, at the bottom of the Gulf of Macri. Once 
 entered with his ships into this port, the entrance of which is singu- 
 larly narrow, Ibrahim, with two vessels, could prevent him coming 
 out. He in fact came out no more ; and all winter, when the mili- 
 tary operations were the most important and decisive ou the coasts 
 of Syria, Ibrahim's fleet alone appeared in those seas, and carried 
 him, without obstacle, reinforcements and munitions of war. But, 
 however, Kalil-Pacha was neither a traitor nor a coward ; but thus 
 go the affairs of a people who remain lethargic when all is in motion 
 around them. 
 
 The fortune of nations lies in their genius; the genius of the 
 Ottomans now trembles before that of the weakest of their pachas. 
 The rest of the campaign, which recalls that of Alexander, is well 
 known. Ibrahim is incontestably a hero, and Mahomet-Ali a 
 great man ; but all their fortune rests upon their own two heads : 
 take away these two men, and there is no more an Egypt or an 
 Arab empire, there are no longer Maccabees for Islamism, and the 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 267 
 
 East will return to the West, by that invincible law of nature which 
 gives empire to intelligence. 
 
 Same date. — The sand which borders the Gulf of Acre became 
 more and more revolting. We began to perceive the bones of men, 
 horses, and camels, scattered on the beach, whitening in the sun, 
 and washed by the foam of the waves. At every step these mourn- 
 ful relics multiplied before our eyes. The whole strand was covered 
 with them, and the noise of our horses' feet disturbed bands of wild 
 dogs, hideous jackals, and birds of prey, engaged for the last two 
 months in gnawing the remains of the horrible feast, which the 
 cannon of Ibrahim and Abdallah had made ready for them. Some 
 dragged in their flight the limbs of men, others those of horses ; 
 and some eagles, perched on the bony heads of camels, rose at our 
 approach with enraged cries, and hovered, spite of our musket-shots, 
 over their disgusting prey. The high grass, the reeds, and the 
 shrubs of the shore, were equally strewed with those wrecks of men 
 and animals. But war was not the sole cause of this destruction. 
 The typhus fever, which had desolated Acre for several months, 
 finished what arms had spared ; there scarcely remained twelve or 
 fifteen hundred persons in a town containing from twelve to fifteen 
 thousand souls, and every day they threw from the walls, or into the 
 sea, fresh corpses, which the waves cast on the shores of the gulf, or 
 the jackals dragged amongst the bushes. We went as far as the 
 eastern gate of this unfortunate town. The atmosphere was not 
 respirable ; we entered not, but turning to the right along the bat- 
 tered walls on which some slaves were at work, we traversed the 
 field of battle in its whole extent, from the walls of the town to the 
 country-house of the pachas of Acre, built in the middle of the 
 plain, nearly two hours' distance from the sea-side. On approach- 
 ing this house, which had a splendid appearance, flanked with ele- 
 gant kiosks of an Indian architecture, we saw long furrows a little 
 deeper than those which the plough makes in our strong soils. They 
 were stretched over a space half a league long, and nearly as broad, 
 and the ground thrown up was one or two feet above the level of 
 the earth. It was the site of Ibrahim's camp, and the tomb of 15,000 
 men, whom he had caused to be buried in these sepulchral trenches. 
 We marched a long time with much labour over this soil, which 
 covered with a slight layer so many victims of the ambition and 
 waywardness of the thing they call a hero. 
 
 We urged our horses forward, their hoofs clashing every moment 
 against the dead bodies, and crushing the bones which the jackals 
 had disinterred, and we proceeded to encamp about an hour's march 
 from this dismal spot, in a charming part of the plain, watered by a 
 running stream, overshadowed with palms, oranges, and lemons, and 
 out of reach of the breeze from Acre, or its pervading exhalations. 
 This grove, thrown like an oasis amidst the nakedness of the plain 
 of Acre, had been planted by the preceding pacha, the successor of the 
 famous Djezzar-Pacha. Some poor Arabs, sheltered in huts of earth 
 and mud, furnished us with oranges, eggs, and chickens. We slept 
 
26S 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 there. On the following day, M. de Laroyere could scarcely rise from 
 his mat and mount his horse ; his members, benumbed by pain, were 
 tortured by the least movement. He felt the first symptoms of the 
 typhus, which his medical science taught him to distinguish better 
 than we could. But the place offering us neither an abode nor re- 
 sources to restore an invalid, Ave hastened to remove from it before 
 the malady became more serious, and we went fifteen leagues from 
 there to sleep in the plain of Tyre, on the banks of a river shaded 
 by immense reeds, not far from an isolated ruin, which seemed to 
 belong to the era of the crusades.* The motion and heat had 
 relieved Iff. dc Laroyere. We laid him under the tent, and went to shoot 
 the wild ducks and geese, which rose in clouds from the banks of the 
 river. We killed as many of these birds as sufHced for our whole cara- 
 van. On the following day we met on the sea-shore — a delightful 
 spot, shaded by marine cedars and magnificent plane-trees — a Turkish 
 aga, M ho was returning from Mecca with a numerous suite of men 
 and horses. W« established ourselves beneath a tree near the foun- 
 tain, at a little distance from the tree under which the aga was 
 breakfasting. His slaves were walking his horses about. I was 
 struck with the symmetry and light step of a young Arab stallion of 
 pure breed. I instructed my dragoman to enter into conversation 
 about him with the aga. We sent him, by way of presents, some of 
 our provisions and a pair of pistols, and he presented us in return 
 with a Persian yatagan. I ordered my horses to be paraded before 
 him, to lead the conversation in a natural manner to that topic. We 
 succeeded in that object, but the difficulty was to make the proposi- 
 tion that he should sell his horse to me. My dragoman informed 
 him that one of my companions was so ill, that he could not get a 
 horse of a sufficiently easy pace to carry him. The aga then said 
 that he had one upon whose back he could drink a cup of coffee at 
 full gallop, without letting fall a drop. This was the beautiful ani- 
 mal which I had admired, and which I ardently longed to possess 
 for my wife. After a long circumlocution, we finished by striking a 
 bargain, and I carried off the horse, which I called El Kantara, in 
 memory of the place and the fountain where I had purchased him. 
 I got on him that very moment to complete the rest of the journey. 
 I never bestrode an animal of such easy motion. I felt neither the 
 elastic movement of his shoulders, nor the treading of his hoof 
 upon the rock, nor the slightest pull of his head on the rein, 
 liaising his feet like a gazelle from his prominent chest, one might 
 
 * [Tyre, which If. dc I.amartine docs not seem to have entered, is now a poor 
 small town, situated on a low promontory projecting into the sea. It was visited 
 by Mr Stephens, who thus speaks of it :— ' On tbe extreme end of a long, low, sandy 
 isthmus, which seems to have crawled out as far as it could, stand.- the fallen city 
 of Tyre, seeming, at a distance, to rest on the bosom cf the sea. A Turkish soldier 
 was stationed at the gate. I entered, under an arch so low, that it was necessary 
 to stoop on the hack of my horse, and passed through dark and narrow streets, 
 sheltered by mats stretched over the bazaars from the scorching heat of a Syrian 
 sun. A single hVniug-boat was lying in the harbour of the "crowning city, 
 whose merchants were princes, whose traffickers Mere the honourable of the 
 earth." '] 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 2G9 
 
 have believed it was a bird, sustaining itself upon its wings, and 
 skimming the ground. He was swifter also than any Arab horse 
 I tried him against. His colour was a pearly gray. I gave him 
 to my wife, who would never mount any other during our sojourn 
 in the East. I will always regret this finished creature. He was 
 born in. Khorassan, and was only five years old. 
 
 In the evening we arrived at Solomon's Well. On the morrow 
 early we entered Sa'ide, the ancient Sidon, escorted by the Franks 
 of the town and the sons of M. Giraudin, our excellent vice-consul 
 at Saide. We found also at Saide M. Cottafago, whom we had 
 known at Nazareth, and his family. He had just built a house 
 in the town, and was occupied with preparations for the marriage 
 of one of his daughters. The ancient Sidon offering no longer 
 any vestige of its former grandeur, we gave ourselves entirely to 
 the amiable attentions of M. Giraudin, and to the pleasure of talking 
 with him about Europe and the East. Become a patriarch in the 
 land of patriarchs, he and his family presented to us the image of 
 the patriarchal virtues, and recalled to us likewise their manners. 
 The typhus fever showed itself with all its symptoms in the in- 
 creasing illness of M. de Laroyere. Being unable any longer to 
 mount on horseback, we freighted a boat to transport him by sea 
 to Beirout. We departed with the rest of the caravan. I sent a 
 courier to Lady Stanhope to thank her for her obliging proceed- 
 ings in my favour with respect to the chief Abougosh, and to beg 
 her to seize any occasions that might present themselves to an- 
 nounce my coming to the Arabs of Bkaa, Balbek, and Palmyra. 
 
 November 5. — Stopt at a miserable deserted hovel on the borders 
 of the sea ; wrote some verses during the interval in my Bible ; 
 overjoyed at approaching Beirout, after a journey so happily 
 accomplished ; intercepted an Arab courier with a letter from my 
 wife ; all well, Julia in flourishing health — both waiting for me to 
 go and pass some days at the monastery in Antoura, on Lebanon, 
 with the Catholic patriarch who had come to invite us. At four in 
 the afternoon a frightful storm arose; the clouded sky seemed to 
 fall all at once on the mountains to our right ; the thunder from 
 the dark clouds meeting on the peaks of Lebanon, was confounded 
 with the roaring of the sea, which was like a plain of snow, 
 ploughed up by a furious hurricane. The rain did not fall, as in 
 the West, in drops more or less continuous, but in unbroken and 
 weighty streams, which strike and sink down both man and horse 
 like the blow of the tempest. The day completely disappeared ; 
 our horses toiled through torrents filled with roiling stones, and 
 were every instant on the point of being carried off their legs 
 into the sea. When the sky rose again, and light reappeared, we 
 found ourselves on the skirts of the pines of Fakardin, half a league 
 from the town. Animals have their country as well as men ; those of 
 my horses who remembered this locality, from having often carried 
 us to it, although wearied with a journey of 300 leagues, neighed, 
 cocked their ears, and bounded with joy upon the sand. I left the 
 
270 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 caravan to defile slowly through the pines ; I urged Lebanon to the- 
 gallop ; and arrived, my heart trembling with anxiety and joy, in the 
 arms of my wife. Julia was amusing herself in a neighbouring 
 house with the daughters of the Prince of the Mountain, who had 
 been appointed governor of Beirout during my absence : she saw me 
 arrive from the top of the terrace. I heard her crying, as she came, 
 ' Where is he? Is it really he ?' She entered, threw herself into 
 my aims, covered me with caresses, and ran round the room, her 
 beautiful eyes all brilliant with tears of delight, exclaiming, ' Oh, 
 how happy I am ! Oh, how happy I am ! ' and came again to seat 
 herself on my knees, and to embrace me. There were two young 
 Jesuit monks of Lebanon in the room, on a visit to my wife ; it was 
 long before I could address to them a word of politeness. They 
 themselves were mute before tins artless and impassioned expression 
 of the love of a child for its father, and before the heavenly lustre 
 which her bliss added to her dazzling beauty, and they remained 
 standing, awed into silence and admiration. In the meantime our 
 friends and suite arrived, and filled the mulberry fields with the 
 horses and tents. Several days of rest and happiness were passed 
 in receiving the visits of our friends in Beirout. The sons of the 
 Emir Beschir, called down from the mountains by the orders of Ibra- 
 him to occupy the country, which threatened to rise in favour of 
 the Turks, were encamped in the valley of Xahr-cl-Kelb, about an 
 hour's march from us. 
 
 November 7. — The Sardinian consul, If. Bianco, connected for 
 many years with these princes, invited us to a dinner he gave them. 
 They arrived, clothed in magnificent caftans (robes), wove tlu-ough- 
 out with thread of gold ; their turbans were composed of the richest 
 stuffs of Cachemire. The eldest of the princes, who commanded 
 the army of his father, had a poniard, the hilt of which was entirely 
 encrusted with diamonds of inestimable value. Their suite was 
 numerous and novel ; among a great number of Mussulman and 
 black slaves there was a poet, cpiite similar, by his attributes, to the 
 bards of the middle ages. His duties consist in singing the virtues 
 and exploits of his master, in composing tales for him when he calls 
 upon him to beguile the time, and in standing behind him during 
 meals, to improvise verses, a sort of toasts in his honour, or in that 
 of the guests whom the prince designs to distinguish. There was 
 likewise a Catholic Maronite chaplain, or confessor, who never quits 
 him, even at table, and to whom alone the harem gates are thrown 
 open: he was a monk of jovial and martial aspect, exactly such a 
 person as we call chaplain of a regiment. The confessor, on account 
 of his ecclesiastical character, was seated at tabic, but the poet re- 
 mained on his legs. These princes, and especially the eldest, did, 
 not appear at all embarrassed at our manners, or the presence of 
 European ladies. They conversed with us with the same graceful ad- 
 dress, the same propriety, the same freedom of spirit, as if they had 
 been bred in the most elegant. court in Europe. Oriental politeness 
 is always on a level with ours, because it is of a much older date, and 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 271 
 
 originally more pure and unalloyed. To an unprejudiced eye, there is 
 no comparison between the nobleness, the decorum, and the solemn 
 grace of the Turkish, Arabic, Indian, or Persian manners, and our 
 own. In us may be perceived a young people, scarcely emancipated 
 from a harsh, gross, and imperfect civilisation ; but they are the 
 children of a noble family, the inheritors of ancient wisdom and 
 virtue. Their nobility, which is but the descent of primitive worth, 
 is written on their foreheads, and impressed on all their customs; 
 and, more than all, there is no mob amongst them. The moral 
 civilisation, of which alone I am speaking, is everywhere on a level. 
 The shepherd and the emir are of the same family, speak the 
 same language, have the same usages, and are joint inheritors of 
 the same grand traditions which form the moral atmosphere of a 
 people. 
 
 At dessert, the wines of Cyprus and Lebanon were profusely 
 circulated ; the Christian Arabs, and the family of the Emir Beschir, 
 which is Christian, or believes itself to be so, drink wine without 
 scruple on occasions. Toasts were drunk to the success of Ibrahim, 
 to the enfranchisement of Lebanon, and to the friendship between 
 the Franks and Arabs. The prince proposed a toast to the ladies 
 present at the fete ; and his bard, being ordered by the prince to 
 make verses for the occasion, sang in recitative, and at the full pitch 
 of his voice, some of the following purport : — 
 
 'Let us drink the juice of Eden, which makes drunk and rejoices 
 the heart of slave and prince. It is the wine of those plants which 
 Noah himself planted, when the dove, instead of the branch of 
 olive, brought him from heaven a cutting of vine. By virtue of this 
 wine the poet instantly becomes a prince, and the prince a poet. 
 
 'Let us drink it to the honour of those young and beautiful 
 Franks who come from the country where every woman is a queen. 
 The eyes of the women of Syria are soft, but they are veiled. In the 
 eyes of the daughters of the West there is more intoxication than in 
 the transparent cup which I drink. 
 
 ' To drink wine and behold the visages of women are double sins 
 for the Moslem; for the Arab they are double enjoyments and 
 praises to God.' 
 
 The chaplain appeared enchanted with these verses, and joined 
 in the repetitions of the bard, laughing and drinking off his glass. 
 The prince proposed to us the spectacle of a falcon hunt, a habitual 
 diversion amongst all the princes and scheiks of Syria. It was from 
 there the crusaders brought the custom into Europe. 
 
 November 9. — The climate, with the exception of some gusts of 
 wind upon the sea, and some storms of rain about the middle of 
 the day, is as fine as in the month of May in France. As soon as 
 the rains begin, a fresh spring follows ; the walls of the terraces 
 which support the cultivated slopes of Lebanon, and the fertile hills 
 in the environs of Beirout, are so covered with vegetation in a few 
 days, that the earth is completely concealed under the moss, grass, 
 brushwood, and flowers; the green barley carpets all the fields, 
 
272 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 which were nothing but dust on our arrival ; and the mulberries, 
 ■which open their second buds, form around the houses groves im- 
 penetrable to the sun. We perceive the roofs of houses scattered in 
 the plain at intervals, rising out of this ocean of verdure, and Greek 
 and Syrian women, in their rich and brilliant costume, like queens, 
 taking the air on the pavilions of their gardens. Narrow footpaths, 
 hollowed in the sand, conduct from house to house, from hill to hill, 
 through these continued gardens, which reach from the sea to the 
 foot of Lebanon. Following them, we come all at once to the por- 
 tals of the houses, where we discover the most enchanting scenes of 
 the patriarchal life: there are the women and the young girls seated 
 under the mulberry or the fig-tree before their door, embroider- 
 ing rich woollen carpets, with varied and bright colours, or, having 
 attached the ends of a silken thread to distant trees, wind it slowly 
 up, walking and singing from tree to tree. The men, on the other 
 hand, walk backwards from the trees, occupied in weaving silk stuffs, 
 and throwing the shuttle, which another returns to them. The 
 children are lying in cradles of rushes, or on mats under the shade, and 
 some are hanging on the branches of the orange-trees. The large 
 sheep of Syria, with their long trailing tails, too heavy to move, are 
 extended in the holes which are cut expressly for them in the fresh 
 earth before the door. One or two goats, with long pendent ears, 
 like those of our hunting dogs, and sometimes a cow, complete the 
 rural scene. The horse of the master is always there likewise, 
 covered with its splendid harness, and ready to be mounted ; he 
 makes part of the family, and appears to take an interest in all that 
 is done, in all that is said, around him ; his countenance is animated 
 like that of a human being ; when a stranger appears, and speaks to 
 him, he erects his ears, curls his lips, contracts his nostrils, turns his 
 head to the wind, and scents the unknown who caresses him ; his 
 soft and pensive eyes glitter like two red coals under the beautiful 
 long mane hanging down his forehead. 
 
 The Greek, Syrian, and Arab cultivators who dwell in these 
 houses at the foot of Lebanon have nothing savage or barbarous 
 about them ; better educated than the peasants in our provinces, 
 they all can read, and all understand two languages, Arabic and 
 Greek ; they are mild, laborious, peaceable, and decorous ; occupied 
 all the week in the labours of the field, or the working of silk, they 
 refresh themselves on Sundays by assisting with their families in the 
 long and showy rites of the Greek or Syriac creed; they return 
 afterwards to their houses to enjoy a repast, somewhat more sump- 
 tuous than on ordinary days; the women and girls, adorned in their 
 richest clothes, their hair plaited, and all strewed with orange-flowers, 
 scarlet wall-flowers, and carnations, seat themselves on mats before 
 the doors of their dwellings, with their friends and neighbours. It 
 is impossible to describe with the pen the groups so redolent of the 
 picturesque, from the richness of their costume, and their beauty, 
 which these females then compose in the landscape. I see amongst 
 them daily such countenances as Raphael had not beheld, even in his 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 273 
 
 dreams as an artist. It is more than the Italian or Greek beauty ; 
 there is the nicety of shape, the delicacy of outline, in a word, all 
 that Greek and Roman art has left us as the most finished model ; 
 but it is rendered more bewitching still by a primitive artlessness of 
 expression, by a serene and voluptuous languor, by a heavenly clear- 
 ness, which the glances from the blue eyes, fringed with black eye- 
 lids, cast over the features, and by a smiling archness, a harmony of 
 proportions, a rich whiteness of skin, an indescribable transparency 
 of tint, a metallic gloss upon the hair, a gracefulness of movement, a 
 novelty in the attitudes, and a vibrating silvery tone of voice, which 
 render the young Syrian girl the very houri of the visual paradise. 
 Such admirable and varied beauty is also very common ; I never go 
 into the country for an hour without meeting several such females 
 going to the fountains or returning, with their Etruscan urns upon 
 their shoulders, and their naked legs clasped with rings of silver. 
 On a Sunday, the men and boys seat themselves on mats stretched 
 at the foot of some spreading sycamore at a short distance from a 
 fountain; this is their complete relaxation. There they remain 
 motionless for hours, relating marvellous tales, and drinking from 
 time to time a cup of coffee or fresh water. Others go to the tops of 
 the hills, and there, grouped under the vine or olive-trees, appear to 
 enjoy with ecstasy the sea-view which these heights command, the 
 transparency of the atmosphere, the singing of the birds, and all 
 those instinctive pleasures of the pure and simple mind, which our 
 populations have lost in the blustering drunkenness of the tavern, 
 and the stupefactions of revellings. Never were more beautiful 
 scenes in the creation so prolific of chaste and agreeable impressions ; 
 here nature is in truth a perpetual hymn to the bounty of the 
 Creator, and no false refinement, no spectacle of misery or vice, 
 disturbs for the stranger the enchanting melody of this hymn ; men, 
 women, birds, animals, trees, mountains, sea, sky, climate — all are 
 beautiful, natural, splendid, and disposing to religion. 
 
 November 10. — This morning I went early to wander with Julia 
 upon the hill which the Greeks name Saint Demetrius, about a 
 league from Beirout, going towards Lebanon, and following obliquely 
 the curve of the sea-shore. Two of my Arabs accompanied us, one 
 as a guide, the other to lead Julia's horse by the head, and to catch 
 her in his arms if the animal grew frisky. When the paths became 
 too steep, we quitted our horses for a moment, and scaled on foot the 
 natural or artificial terraces which form verdant steps all the way 
 up the hill of Saint Demetrius. In my boyhood I had often imagined 
 to myself this terrestrial paradise, this Eden which all nations have 
 in their remembrance, either as a charming dream, or as the tradi- 
 tion of a more holy epoch : I had followed Milton in his ravishing 
 descriptions of the enchanting abode of our first parents ; but here, 
 as in all other things, nature far outstrips imagination. God has not 
 permitted man to dream anything so beautiful as he has made. I 
 had dreamed an Eden — I can say I have seen it. 
 
 When we had continued half an hour proceeding under the arched 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
274 
 
 LAMARTIXF."> 
 
 nopal-trees, which line all the pathways on the plain, we began to 
 mount by still narrower and steeper paths to the successive table- 
 lands, whence the view of the country, the sea, and Lebanon, opens 
 out yet more considerably. These table-lands, which are of mode- 
 rate breadth, are all encompassed by forest-trees unknown to our 
 climates, and the names of which I unfortunately am not acquainted 
 with ; but their trunks, the form of their branches, the strange ap- 
 pearance of their pp-amidal or dishevelled tops, give to this edging 
 of vegetation a grace and novelty which sufficiently portray Asia. 
 Their leaves likewise are of all forms and tints, from the black 
 verdure of the cypress to the gray green of the olive, and the yellow 
 of the citron and the orange ; from the broad leaves of the Chinese 
 mulberry, one of which is sufficient to shade the sun from the face 
 of a child, to the slight slips of the tea-tree, the pomegranate, and 
 other innumerable shrubs with a foliage resembling parsley, which 
 interpose, as it were, a light drapery of vegetable lace-work between 
 the horison and the beholder. The ground under these woods is 
 covered with flowers from verdant plants growing beneath their 
 shade. The interior part of the levels is sown with barley, and at 
 every angle two or three palm-trees, or the sombre and rounded 
 dome of the colossal carob-tree, indicate the place where an Arab 
 husbandman has built his cottage, encircled by vine-plants, by a 
 ditch surmounted with green hedges of Indian figs, loaded with 
 their prickly fruit, and by a little grove of orange-trees, scattered 
 with carnations and wall-flowers for the ornament of his daughters' 
 hair. When the road conducted us to the door of these houses, 
 concealed like nests amongst this waving verdure, the countenances 
 of their happy and amiable inhabitants never betrayed any surprise, 
 sulkiness, or anger. They saluted us with the pious salutation 
 of the Orientals, Saba-el-kair — (' May the day be a blessed one for 
 you ! ') Some of them intreated us to rest under their palm-tree, 
 and brought us, according to their condition, a mat or a carpet, and 
 offered us fruits, milk, and flowers from their garden. We some- 
 times accepted their presents, and promised to return and bring 
 them some European production. But their politeness and hospita- 
 lity were perfectly disinterested ; they like the Franks because they 
 can cure maladies, are acquainted with the virtues of the different 
 plants, and adore the same God as themselves. 
 
 We mounted from one level to another ; the same scenes, the 
 same enclosures of trees, the same vegetation upon the land they 
 encircle. But from height to height the magnificent horison ex- 
 panded, the lower levels stretched in variegated colouring, and the 
 rows of shrubs, seeming grouped together by the distance, formed 
 clumps and dark spots below us. We traversed these table-lands 
 from hill to hill, occasionally descending into the valleys which separ 
 rate them— valleys a thousand times more shaded and more delight- 
 ful even than the hills, being completely veiled by the trees of the 
 terraces which rise above them, and buried in a redundant and 
 odoriferous vegetation, yet having at their terminations a straitened 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 275 
 
 glimpse of the prospect over the plain and the sea. As the plain 
 grew out of sight when we reached the more elevated of these val- 
 leys, they appeared to open immediately on the beach, their dark 
 trees standing out from the blue waves : and we amused ourselves, 
 when seated at the foot of a palm-tree, by observing the sails of the 
 vessels, which were in reality four or five leagues from us, glide 
 slowly from one tree to another, as if they were sailing on a lake, 
 and the valley was directly on its shore. 
 
 We came at last, in our wanderings, to the most perfect and 
 enchanting of these landscapes. It was one of the higher valleys, 
 open to the east and west, and entombed in the folds of the last chain 
 of hills which advances into the great valley in which the Nahr-el- 
 Beirout flows. No words can describe the profuse vegetation which 
 carpets its bed and sides ; although its slopes on both sides are of 
 rock, they are so clothed with plants of all sorts, dripping with the 
 humidity, as it distils drop by drop, so covered with clusters of 
 heath, fern, sweet-smelling herbs, rushes, ivy, and shrubs, rooted in 
 their imperceptible clefts, that we could not doubt it was the live 
 rock that thus vegetated. It is a bushy carpeting one or two feet 
 thick, a velveting of wedged vegetation, variegated in tint and dye, 
 strewed throughout with clusters of unknown flowers, of a thousand 
 forms and a thousand odours, now sleeping motionless, like flowers 
 painted on a rug laid down in a drawing-room, and then, when the 
 sea-breeze glides over them, rising with the herbs and twigs, amongst 
 which they are blown like the silky hair of an animal stroked back- 
 wards, diversified with waving hues, and resembling a river of leaves 
 and blossoms gushing in perfumed waves. There rise from them 
 gusts of bewitching odour, multitudes of insects with coloured wings, 
 and innumerable birds fluttering and perching on the neighbouring 
 trees. The air is filled with their voices, mingled with the buzzing 
 of wasps and bees, and with that dull murmur from the earth hi 
 spring-time which we imagine, with reason perhaps, to be the noise 
 of its thousand vegetations. The drops of dew fall from every leaf 
 and glitter upon every sprig of grass, as the sun rises, and his rays 
 glance above the lofty trees and piled rocks which encompass the val- 
 ley. We breakfasted there on a stone at the edge of a cavern, where 
 two gazelles had taken refuge on hearing our steps. We were care- 
 ful not to disturb the asylum of these beautiful creatures, which 
 are in the deserts what the lamb is in our meadows, or tame 
 doves on the roofs or in the courts of our dwellings. All the 
 valley was enveloped with the same foliage and vegetation : we 
 could not restrain an exclamation at each step ; I do not recollect 
 ever to have seen so much life in nature, thus accumulated and 
 overflowing, in so small a space. We followed this vale in all its 
 length, seating ourselves from time to time where the shade was 
 coolest, and brushing the dew-drops from the grass with our hands, 
 and raising odours and clouds of insects from its bosom. How great 
 is God ! — how inexhaustible and infinite must be the spring whence 
 all this life, and beauty, and bounteousness flow ! If there be so 
 
27G 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 much to see, to admire, to be astounded and overpowered at, in a 
 single petty corner of nature, what will it be when the curtain of 
 worlds shall be lifted up for us, and Ave shall contemplate the whole 
 of boundless creation ! It is impossible to see and reflect, without 
 being filled with the internal conviction of a God. All nature is 
 sprinkled with the glittering fragments of the mirror in which God 
 reflects himself! 
 
 On arriving near the western mouth of the vale, the sky opens, 
 its declivities become less steep ; the snows sinning on the tops of 
 Lebanon rise into the sky undulating with heated vapours. We 
 draw our eyes from these eternal snows to the black rings of pines, 
 cypresses, and cedars, and to the deep ravines reposing in the shade 
 like nests ; then to the perpendicular rocks, tinged with a golden 
 colour, at the foot of which extend the high Maronite convents and 
 the villages of the Druzes, the whole being finished by olive forests, 
 which die away in descending to the borders of the plain. The 
 plain, which stretches between the hills where we stood and the 
 roots of Lebanon, may be a league wide. It is winding, and we 
 could only catch about two leagues of its length ; the rest was con- 
 cealed from us by knolls covered with woods of black pines. The 
 Xahr-el-Beirout, or river of Beirout, which pours, some miles off, 
 from one of the most deep and rocky of the gorges of Lebanon, 
 divides the plain in two. It flows gracefully in a full stream, some- 
 times confined by its banks lined with reeds, sometimes widening 
 between verdant slopes, and forming little lakes glittering in the 
 plain. It is covered with vegetation ; and we perceived asses, horses, 
 goats, black buffaloes, and white cows, scattered in flocks along the 
 river, and Arab shepherds passing over a ford upon the backs of 
 camels. We also distinguished at a greater distance Maronite 
 monks, clad in their long black robes and cowls, ploughing their 
 fields upon the first ridges of the mountain. We heard the bell of 
 the convents, which called them from time to time to prayer. Then 
 they stopped their oxen, and placing their rods against the handle 
 •of the plough, and throwing themselves on their knees for some 
 minutes, they gave their team wind, whilst they breathed their souls 
 to heaven. 
 
 Proceeding onwards, and commencing to descend towards the 
 river, we suddenly descried the sea, which the sides of the valley 
 had hitherto concealed from us, and the wide mouth of the Xahr-el- 
 Bo>irout, which flows into it. Not far from its mouth a Roman bridge, 
 almost in ruins, with very elevated arches, but without parapets, 
 crosses the river ; along straggling caravan from Damascus, going 
 to Aleppo, was passing it at that very moment. We saw the tra- 
 vellers, one by one, some upon a dromedary, others upon horseback, 
 issue from the reeds which overshadow the abutments of the bridge, 
 slowly scale the summit of the arches, intercept for a moment the 
 blue sea with their beasts of burthen, and their brilliant and fan- 
 tastic costumes, then descend from the ruin, and disappear with 
 their file of asses and camels under the reeds, rose-laurels, and 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 277 
 
 planes which hang over the other bank of the river. A little farther, 
 Ave saw them again appear on the sandy beach, where the waves 
 were rolling their foam to the very feet of their horses. Immense 
 perpendicular rocks, standing out from an advanced point, finally 
 concealed them, and being prolonged into the sea, shut up the 
 horison on that side. At the mouth of the river the sea was of two 
 colours— blue and green in the expanse, and twinkling with restless 
 diamonds ; yellow and dirty where the waters of the river came in 
 contact with its waves, and tinged them with the red sand which 
 they constantly carry down with them into the bay. Seventeen 
 ships at anchor in the roads were rocking amidst the heavy swell 
 Avhich always prevails there, and their masts rose and sank like long 
 reeds bending to the wind. Some had their masts naked as trees in 
 winter; others, with their sails spread, to be dried in the sun, re- 
 sembled those large white sea-birds which float in the air without 
 their wings seeming to vibrate. The gulf, more dazzling than the 
 sky above it, reflected a portion of the snows of Lebanon, and the 
 monasteries, with their indented walls, standing on the advanced 
 ledges. A few fishing-boats were passing in full sail, and making 
 towards the river as their harbour. The valley below our feet, the 
 slopes towards the plain, the river flowing under the conical arches 
 of the bridge, the sea with its little bays in the rocks ; the prodigious 
 block of Lebanon, with the numberless varieties of its structure ; 
 the pyramids of snow, penetrating like cones of silver into the 
 depths of the sky, where the eyes seek them as they would stars ; 
 the insensible hummings of the insects around us, the songs of the 
 thousands of birds on the trees, the murmurings of the breeze, and 
 the almost human wailings of the camels of the caravans ; the 
 heavy and regular echo of the waves breaking on the beach at the 
 mouth of the river; the meandering and green banks of the 
 Nahr-el-Beirout on the right ; the broken and gigantic Lebanon in 
 front of us; the lustrous and serene arch of heaven, intercepted 
 only by the peaks of the mountain, or by the tops of the large 
 trees; the warmth, the perfume of the atmosphere in which all 
 seemed to float, like an image in the transparent water of a Swiss 
 lake ; all these prospects, all these noises, all these shades, all this 
 clear light, all these impressions, formed of this scene the most 
 sublime and enchanting landscape upon which my eyes have ever 
 gloated ! 
 
 What was it then for Julia ? She was all emotion, all trembling 
 with inward sensation and pleasure; and I rejoiced in impressing such 
 a spectacle upon her young imagination ! God exhibits himself here 
 better than in the lines of a catechism ; he is depicted in features 
 worthy of himself; the sovereign beauty, the pervading bounteous- 
 ness of nature in its perfection, reveal him as he is to the mind of 
 a child ; the physical and material loveliness is transferred into a 
 sentiment of moral perfectibility. To the artist are shown the 
 statues of Greece to inspire him with the instinct of the beautiful. 
 To the virgin mind must be shown the grand and beautiful scenes of 
 
273 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 nature, in order that the idea it forms of its author shall be just and 
 worthy ! 
 
 We remounted our horses at the foot of the hill, near the margin 
 of the river. We crossed the bridge, and ascended some wooded 
 eminences to the first monastery on Lebanon, which stood, like a for- 
 tified castle, on a granite rock. The monks recognised me from the 
 reports of their Arabs, and received me into the convent. I went 
 over the cells, the refectory, and the chapel. The monks, returning 
 from labour, were busied in unyoking the oxen and buffaloes in 
 the large courtyard, which had all the appearance of a farmyard, 
 being filled with ploughs, cattle, dunghills, poultry, and all the 
 accompaniments of rustic life. The labour was going on without 
 bustle or noise, as by men animated with a spirit of decorum, though 
 not under any severe or rigorous control. Their countenances were 
 mild, serene, and expressive of peace and contentment, such as a 
 community of husbandmen should be. When the bell for repast 
 sounded, they entered the refectory, not all together, but one by one, 
 or in couples, as they finished the work they were engaged on at the 
 time. The meal consisted, as upon all other days, of two or three 
 cakes of meal, dried, rather than baked, on hot stones, of water, and 
 of five olives preserved in oil ; occasionally a little cheese or sour 
 milk is added. Such is the entire nourishment of these coenobites, 
 which they take standing, or squatted on the floor. The furniture 
 used in Europe is altogether unknown to them. After joining in 
 their dinner, and eating a piece of dough, and drinking a glass of 
 excellent Lebanon wine which the superior placed before us, we re- 
 visited some of the cells, which are all alike, being small rooms five 
 or six feet square, each containing, for its whole furniture, a rush 
 mat and a carpet, with images of the saints nailed against the walls, 
 an Arab Bible, and a few Syrian manuscripts. A long thatched 
 gallery served as an approach to all these chambers. The view 
 which is enjoyed from the windows of the monastery is beautiful ; 
 the lower slopes of Lebanon, the plain and river of Beirout, the 
 waving tops of pine-forests, and then the sea, enclosed by its capes 
 and rocks into gulfs and bays, with white sails traversing it in all 
 directions — such is the prospect always before the eyes of these 
 monks. We received from them some presents of dried fruits and 
 wine in leathern bottles, which were placed on the backs of asses ; 
 and we quitted them to return by a different road to Beirout. We 
 descended by a steep path, cut through the blocks of yellow and 
 soft freestone, which covers the first tiers of Lebanon. In the 
 interstices of the rock a few shrubs and herbs take root, with 
 flowers similar to the tulip of our gardens, but considerably larger. 
 We disturbed several gazelles and jackals, which were sheltered in 
 the hollows of the rocks. A great number of partridges, quails, and 
 woodcocks, flew up at the noise of our horses' steps. Arrived in the 
 plain, we again met the vine, barley, and palm-tree. We passed 
 nearly half-way across it, in the midst of this rich vegetation, until 
 we came to the foot of a wide hill, covered with a forest of Italian 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 279 
 
 pines, with various glades, where we saw flocks of camels and goats 
 browsing. This hill concealed from us the Nahr-el-Beirout, which 
 we were intent upon crossing at its southern part. We dived under 
 the branches of these beautiful and lofty pines, and after winding 
 for about a quarter of an hour beneath their shade, we suddenly- 
 heard loud shouts, and the noise of a multitude of men, women, and 
 children coming towards us, playing on drums, bagpipes, and fifes. 
 In an instant we were surrounded by five or six hundred Arabs of 
 strange aspect. The chiefs, clad in magnificent costumes, but dirty 
 and ragged, advanced towards us at the head of their musicians, and 
 bowing, addressed to us some apparently respectful compliments, 
 which we could not, however, understand. Their gestures and 
 shouts, backed by those of the whole tribe, assisted us in interpret- 
 ing their meaning. They prayed, and indeed forced us to follow 
 them into the interior of the forest, where their camp was pitched. 
 It was one of those tribes of Kurds who come from the provinces 
 bordering on Persia to pass the winter, sometimes in the plains of 
 Mesopotamia, sometimes in those of Syria, carrying with them their 
 families and flocks. They take possession of a wood, a plain, or a 
 hill, and fix themselves there for five or six months. Much more 
 barbarous than the Arabs, their invasions and neighbourhood are 
 much feared ; they are the armed gipsies of the East. 
 
 Encompassed by this crowd of men, women, and children, we 
 marched to the din of their savage music and their yells, whilst they 
 regarded us with a curiosity half good-natured and half ferocious. 
 "We soon reached the middle of their encampment, and stopped 
 before the tent of one of the scheiks of the tribe. They made us 
 descend from our horses, which they gave to the charge of some 
 young Kurds, and brought us carpets of Caramania, on which we 
 seated ourselves at the foot of a tree. The slaves of the scheik pre- 
 sented us pipes and coffee ; the women of the tent brought camel's 
 milk for Julia. The appearance of this camp of nomade bar- 
 barians, in the midst of a gloomy forest of pines, merits a descrip- 
 tion. The forest at this spot was thin, and interspersed with broad 
 glades. At the foot of each tree a family had its tent. These tents 
 were for the most part nothing but a piece of black cloth, made of 
 goats' hair, fastened to the trunk of the tree by a cord, and supported 
 on the other side by two posts stuck in the earth. The cloth did not 
 always cover the whole space occupied by the family ; but a rag was 
 drawn to the side where the sun or wind was beating, to shelter the 
 tent and the fire lighted on the hearth. No furniture was visible 
 excepting black earthen jars, lying on their sides, used by the women 
 to carry water, some goat-skin bottles, sabres, and long guns, sus- 
 pended in bundles to the branches of the trees ; with mats, carpets, 
 and men and women's clothing, thrown here and there upon the 
 ground. Some of them had two or three square boxes of red painted 
 wood, with gilded nails, to contain their effects. I saw only two or 
 three horses in the whole tribe. The greatest number of the fami- 
 lies had at their tent-door a camel stretched on the ground, and 
 
2S0 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 ruminating' with its high thoughtful head, a few fine goats with long 
 black silky hair and pendant ears, a few sheep and buffaloes. Maaj 
 of them had likewise one or two splendid white greyhounds of 
 great height. These dogs, contrary to the custom of the Mohamme- 
 dans, were fat, and in good condition ; they seemed to know their 
 masters, therefore I presumed that they were used for the chase. 
 The scheiks appeared to enjoy an absolute authority, and the least 
 sign from them established order and silence. Some children having 
 committed, through curiosity, some slight indiscretions towards us, 
 they ordered them to be instantly seized by the men who surrounded 
 them, and carried to a distance from us into another quarter of the 
 camp. The men were in general tall, strong, handsome, and well 
 made ; their dress depicted negligence rather than poverty. Several 
 of them had silken vests, interwoven with gold or silver threads, and 
 blue silk pelisses, lined with rich furs. Their arms were also dis- 
 tinguished, for the chasings and inlayings of silver which adorned 
 them. The women were neither confined nor veiled; they were, 
 indeed, half naked, especially the young girls from ten to fifteen 
 years old. Their chief garment was a pair of wide trousers, which 
 left the legs below the knees and the feet bare. Almost all of them 
 had rings of silver above their ankles. The upper part of the body 
 was covered by a chemise of cotton or silk stuff, bound at the waist, 
 and leaving the breast and neck open. Their hair, generally very 
 black, was plaited in long tresses, hanging to the heels, and orna- 
 mented with pieces of money. They had likewise round their hips 
 and throats strings of piastres, which clinked at every movement 
 they made. These females were not so tall, fair, modest, or graceful 
 as the Syrian women, nor had they the ferocious aspect of the 
 Bedouin women ; they were in general short, lean, and of a tawny 
 complexion, but gay, lively, cheerful, dancing and singing to the 
 sound of the music, which had never for an instant ceased its ani- 
 mating strains. They seemed in noway embarrassed with our 
 observation, nor exhibited any shame at their appearing almost 
 naked before the men of their tribe ; the men appeared to exercise 
 little authority over them, contenting themselves with laughing at 
 their indiscreet curiosity concerning us, and pushing them gently 
 away. Some of the young girls were pretty and engaging; their 
 black eyes were painted with henna on the margin of the lids, which 
 gives an infinite vivacity to the look. Their legs and hands were 
 likewise painted a mahogany colour; whilst their teeth, white as 
 ivory, had their brilliancy increased by contrast with their lips 
 tatooed in blue and their tawny cheeks — the whole giving to their 
 countenances and their laugh a wild though not ferocious character; 
 they resembled young Provencal or Neapolitan girls, with a higher 
 forehead, freer step, franker smile, and more natural manners. 
 As we do not see such countenances twice in our lives, they impress 
 themselves strongly on the memory. 
 
 "When we had had a complete view of their camp, and of them- 
 selves, we made a sign that we wished to remount our horses. They 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 281 
 
 were immediately brought to us, and as they were alarmed at the 
 strange appearance and shouts of .the crowd, and the noise of the 
 tambours, the scheik ordered two of his wives to carry Julia to the 
 edge of the forest, to which point the whole tribe accompanied us. 
 When mounted on horseback, they offered us a goat and a young 
 camel, which we declined, but gave them a handful of Turkish piastres, 
 which the young maidens divided amongst themselves, to add to 
 their necklaces, and two gazzis of gold to the wives of the scheik. 
 At a little distance from the forest we regained the river, and 
 crossed it at a ford. Under the rose-bays which line its banks we 
 again fell in with about a hundred of young girls belonging to the 
 tribe of Kurds, who were returning from Beirout, where they had 
 been purchasing earthen jars, and some pieces of stuff, for one of 
 their companions who was about to be married. They had stopped 
 there to dance under the shade, each holding in her hand some object 
 destined for the bride. They pursued us for a long time, uttering 
 savage cries, and clinging to Julia's robe, and the manes of our 
 horses, to obtain some pieces of money. We threw them some, and 
 they fled through the river towards the camp. 
 
 After crossing the Nahr-el-Beirout, and the other half of the plain, 
 shaded by young palms and pines, we came to the hills of red sand 
 which stretch to the east of Beirout between the sea and the vale of 
 the river. This is a portion of the Egyptian desert thrown up at the 
 foot of Lebanon, and surrounded by a magnificent cultivation. Its 
 sand is red as ochre, and as fine as an impalpable dust. The Arabs 
 allege that this desert of red sand has not been brought there by the 
 winds, or cast up by the waves, but has sprung from a subterranean 
 torrent, which communicates with the deserts of Gaza and El-Arisch ; 
 they pretend that there are springs of sand as well as of water, and 
 show, to confirm their opinion, the colour and substance of the sea- 
 sand, which certainly in no degree resembles that of this desert. 
 Howsoever the case may be, this sand, vomited by subtex-ranean 
 streams, or brought there by the high winds of winter, stretches for five 
 or six leagues round, and rises into hills, or is scooped out into valleys, 
 shifting their forms at every tempest. After proceeding for some 
 time in these undulating labyrinths, it is impossible to know where 
 we are ; the hills hide the horison on all sides, and there is no path- 
 way traced upon the surface. The horse and the camel pass over it, 
 without leaving a more imperishable mark than a boat upon the 
 water : the least breeze effaces all. Some of the hills were so steep, 
 that our horses could scarcely scale them, and we advanced with cau- 
 tion, for fear of being caught in the numerous quicksands in this desert. 
 No trace of vegetation is discoverable, except some large roots of 
 bulbous plants, which our horses occasionally kick from under their 
 hoofs. These moving solitudes convey a sad and mournful impres- 
 sion; they are like a noiseless tempest, but with all its images of 
 death. When the simoom, or wind of the desert, rises, these hills 
 move like the waves of a sea, and folding over in silence upon their 
 deep valleys, engulf the camels of the caravans. They are gaining 
 
2S2 lamartine's 
 
 every year upon the cultivated portions of land which surround them, 
 and you see near their margins palms and fig-trees standing out, 
 withered from their surface like the masts of a ship, with the hull 
 beneath the waves. We heard no noise but the distant and heavy 
 fall of the billows, breaking a league from us upon the shelvages. 
 The setting sun tinged the tops of these sandy mountains with a 
 colour similar to burning iron just brought from the furnace, or, fall- 
 ing into the valleys, rendered them like the passages of a building in 
 conflagration. As we from time to time reached the top of a hill, 
 we saw the white peaks of Lebanon, or the sea, with its fringe of 
 foam skirting the Gulf of Saide, and then we suddenly replunged 
 into the ravines, and saw nothing but the sky above our heads. 
 
 I followed Julia, who often turned her lovely face towards me, all 
 hectic with emotion and fatigue, and I read in her eyes as they fell 
 on me, as if interrogatively, her impressions of terror, enthusiasm, 
 and pleasure. The noise from the sea grew greater, and announced 
 to us the shore ; we came upon it all at once, elevated, and sinking 
 perpendicularly under our horses' feet. It stood at least 200 feet 
 above the sea ; the ground, solid, and resounding beneath our feet, 
 although covered with a slight layer of white sand, indicated the 
 rock which had succeeded to the sand of the desert. It was, in fact, 
 the rock which lines all the coasts of Syria. We had by chance 
 arrived at one of the points on the coast where the shock of the 
 waves upon the rock presents to the eye the most singular spectacle. 
 The incessant beating of the billows, or earthquakes, had torn at tins 
 spot, from the continued line of rock along the shore, stupendous 
 blocks, which, projecting into the sea, had been worn and polished 
 by the waves for ages, and had assumed the most grotesque forms. 
 Before us was one of these blocks, at a distance of 100 feet, rising 
 from the sea above the level of the shore, which the sea, by perpe- 
 tually breaking on it, had at last succeeded in cleaving through the 
 centre, and forming a gigantic arch, similar to the span of a trium- 
 phal monument. The interior walls of this arch were as smooth 
 and shining as Parian marble ; the waves, as they retired, left them 
 visible to the eye, all gushing with the foam drawn back by the re- 
 ceding waters ; then the sea returning, rushed with the noise of thun- 
 der up the sides to the very top of the arch, and urged by the shock, 
 spouted up in torrents of bubbling foam above the summit of the 
 rock, whence it fell down in streams of spray. Our horses shuddered 
 with affright at each of these shocks, and we could not tear ourselves 
 away from this combat between two elements. For half an hour or 
 more the coast is diversified with these magnificent sports of nature ; 
 there were towers covered with martens' nests, natural bridges join- 
 ing the shore and the rocks, and under which the roaring of the 
 waves is heard in passing. In certain places the rocks were pierced 
 by the action of the waves, and the foam came spouting out under 
 our feet as from the pipes of a fountain. The sea was high at this 
 moment ; it came in wide and lofty blue columns, and fell upon the 
 rocks with such fury as to shake the bank, and make us think we 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 283 
 
 saw the rocky arch before us tottering as if about to yield. After 
 the silent and awful solitudes that we had just traversed, the bound- 
 less prospect of the ocean at the hour of evening, when the first gloom 
 is beginning to fall on its gulfs ; the stupendous breaks of the coast, 
 and the tumultuous rage of the waves, scattering large rocks as a bird 
 scatters with its claws grains of sand ; the force of the breeze on our 
 foreheads, and on the manes of our horses ; the terrible subterranean 
 echoes which multiplied the deafening roar of the tempest — all affected 
 our minds with impressions so varied, solemn, and powerful, that we 
 could not speak, and tears of emotion glittered in Julia's eyes. "We 
 silently returned to the desert of red sand, and crossed it in its 
 narrowest part, drawing near to the hills of Beirout, and we found 
 ourselves, at the going down of the sun, under the great pine forest 
 of the Emir Fakir-el-Din. There Julia, recovering her voice, turned 
 to me, and said with ecstacy, * Have I not had the most beautiful ride 
 it was possible to have in the world ? Oh how great is God, and how 
 good to me, to allow me so young to behold such glorious scenes P 
 
 It was night when we descended from horseback at the gate of our 
 house. We projected other excursions previous to our journey to 
 Damascus. 
 
 POPULATIONS OF LEBANON. 
 The Maronite3. 
 
 The Maronites, of whom I am about to speak, have an unknown 
 origin. History, so incomplete and fabulous in all that concerns the 
 earliest ages of our era, leaves in doubt the different causes which 
 are assigned for their institutions. They have very few books, which 
 are without order or arrangement ; but as it is always necessary to 
 lean towards what a people know of themselves, rather than to the 
 vain suppositions of the traveller, I will give the epitome of their 
 own relations : — 
 
 A holy hermit named Marron lived about the year 400. Theodo- 
 ric and Chrysostom make mention of him. He lived in the desert ; 
 and his disciples having spread themselves over the different regions 
 of Syria, built several monasteries, the chief of which stood in the vici- 
 nity of Apamea, on the fertile banks of the Orontes. All the Syrian 
 Christians who were not then infected with the heresy of the Mono- 
 thelites took refuge in these monasteries, and from this circumstance 
 received the name of Maronites. Volney, who lived several months 
 amongst them, has collected the best information as to their origin ; 
 it is nearly similar to what I myself drew from local traditions. 
 Whatever it may have been, the Maronites form at present a tribe 
 governed by the purest theocracy which has resisted the effects of 
 time — a theocracy which, perpetually menaced by the tyranny of the 
 Mohammedans, has been forced into moderation, and served to pro- 
 pagate principles of civil liberty, which are ripe for development 
 amongst this people. The tribe, which, according to Volney, was in 
 
254 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 17S4 composed of 120,000 souls, at present reckons more than 200,000-, 
 and is increasing every day. Its territory comprehends 150 square 
 leagues ; but it has no certain limits, for it extends over the sides of 
 Lebanon, or into the valleys and plains which surround it, in propor- 
 tion as the increased population found new villages. The town of 
 Zarkla, at the mouth of the valley of Bkaa, towards Balbek, which, 
 twenty years ago, had not above 1000 or 1200 inhabitants, contains 
 now 10,000 or 12,000, and is likely to augment. 
 
 The Maronites are subject to the Emir Beschir, and form, with the 
 Druzes and Metualis, a sort of despotic confederation under the govern- 
 ment of this emir. Although these three nations differ in origin, re- 
 ligion, and manners, and are never amalgamated in the same villages, 
 the defence of a common liberty, and the strong and politic arm of 
 Beschir, keep them united. They cover with their numerous habita- 
 tions the space comprised between Latakia and Acre on one side, and 
 Damascus and Beirout on the other. Of the Druzes and Metualis I 
 shall speak separately. 
 
 The Maronites occupy the most central valleys, and most elevated 
 chain of the principal group of Mount Lebanon, from the environs of 
 Beirout as far as Tripoli in Syria. The slopes of these mountains, 
 which tend towards the sea, are fertile, and watered by many rivers 
 and inexhaustible torrents. Their produce is silk, oil, barley, and 
 wheat. The heights are almost inaccessible, and the bare rock every- 
 where pierces the mountain-sides ; but the indefatigable activity of 
 this people, who have no sure asylum for their religion but upon 
 these peaks and precipices, has rendered the rock itself fertile. 
 They have raised in tiers up to the loftiest crests, to the eternal 
 snows themselves, walls of terraces formed from blocks of loose 
 rock ; to these terraces they have brought the little vegetable earth 
 which the waters carry into the ravines, and have even piled up 
 stones to render their dust fertile by mixing it with this portion of 
 soil; and have thus made of all Lebanon a garden covered with 
 mulberries, fig-trees, olives, and corn. The traveller cannot recover 
 from his astonishment when, after having climbed for a whole day 
 up the perpendicular sides of mountains, which are but masses of 
 rock, he finds on a sudden, in the hollow of a gorge, or on the plat- 
 form of a pyramid of mountains, a handsome village built of white 
 stone, peopled by a numerous and rich race, with a Moorish castle in 
 the centre, a monastery in the distance, a torrent rolling its foaming 
 water at the foot of the village, and all around a horison of vegetation 
 and verdure, where the pines, chestnuts, and mulberries, overshadow 
 the vine, or fields of maize and wheat. These villages are sometimes 
 suspended almost perpendicularly one above the other; one can 
 throw a stone from one village to the other, and hear the voices in 
 each, yet the declivity of the mountain requires so many windings 
 and turnings in the road of communication, that one hour, or even 
 two hours, are needed to pass from one hamlet to the other. 
 
 In each of these villages is found a scheik — a sort of feudal lord, 
 who has the government of the district. But this administration of 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 285 
 
 government and justice, summarily exercised, and with the simplest 
 formalities, is neither absolute nor without appeal. The supreme 
 administration belongs to the emir and his divan (council). An 
 appeal lies in part to the emir, in part to the bishops. There is a 
 conflicting jurisdiction between the emir and ecclesiastical authority. 
 The patriarch of the Maronites alone possesses the right of decision 
 in all cases where the civil law is opposed to the spiritual, as in 
 marriages, licenses, and divorces. The prince observes great cau- 
 tion in his conduct towards the patriarch and the bishops, for the 
 authority of the clergy is prodigious and incontestable. This clergy 
 is composed of a patriarch, elected by the bishops, and confirmed by 
 the pope, of a legate from the pope sent from Rome, and residing at 
 the monastery of Antoura, or Kanoubin, of the bishops, superiors of 
 monasteries, and priests. Although the Romish church has impera- 
 tively maintained the law for the celibacy of priests in Europe, and 
 several of its writers affect to regard this rule of its discipline as an 
 article of faith, it has been obliged to yield this point in the East; 
 and whilst they continue fervent and devout Catholics, the priests of 
 the Maronites are married. This power of marriage, however, ex- 
 tends neither to the monks, who live in communities, nor to the 
 bishops. The secular clergy and the curates alone make use of this 
 privilege. The seclusion in which the Arab females live, the simpli- 
 city of the patriarchal manners of this people, and custom, remove 
 every inconvenience from this usage of the Maronite clergy; and far 
 from being hurtful, as it is generally asserted, to the purity of 
 sacerdotal manners, to the respect of the people for the minister of 
 religion, or to the precept of confession, it may be said with perfect 
 truth, that in no country of Europe is the clergy so stainless, so ex- 
 clusively bound up in its pious ministry, so venerated and so in- 
 fluential amongst the people, as it is here. If we wish to behold 
 what the imagination pictures of the era of early and pure Chris- 
 tianity, if we wish to see the simplicity and fervour of the primitive 
 faith, disinterestedness in ministers of charity, the sacerdotal in- 
 fluence without abuse, authority without tyranny, poverty without 
 mendicity, dignity without pride, constancy in prayer and watchings, 
 sobriety, chastity, and manual labour, we must come among the 
 Maronites. The most rigid philosopher would not find any reform 
 necessary in the public and private life of these priests, who are at 
 once the models, the counsellors, and servants of the people. 
 
 There are about two hundred Maronite monasteries of different 
 orders on Mount Lebanon. These monasteries are peopled with 
 twenty to five-and-twenty thousand monks. But these monks are 
 neither rich, nor mendicants, nor oppressors, nor extortioners. They 
 are collections of simple and laborious men, who, wishing to devote 
 themselves to a life of prayer and freedom of spirit, renounce the 
 cares of rearing a family, and consecrate themselves to God and 
 the earth in one of these retreats. Their existence, as I have before 
 mentioned, is that of laborious peasants. They tend the cattle and 
 the silk-worms ; they break the rock, and build with their own 
 
256 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 hands the terraces and walls of their fields ; they dig, plough, and 
 reap. The monasteries possess little land, and only receive as many 
 monks as they can sustain. I have lived a long time amongst this 
 people, I have often visited these communities, and I have never 
 heard of any scandal committed by a monk. There is not a mur- 
 mur raised against them ; each convent is but a small farm, the ser- 
 vants of which are voluntary, and receive as wages only a roof, an 
 anchorite's food, and the prayers of their church. Useful labour is 
 so much the law of man, it is so entirely the condition of happiness 
 and virtue here below, that I have never met one of these ccenobites 
 whose features did not bear the impress of peace of mind, content- 
 ment, and health. The bishops possess an absolute authority over 
 the monasteries comprised in their jurisdictions, which are of small 
 compass, as each village has its prelate. 
 
 The Maronites, whether descended from the Arabs or Syrians, 
 partake all the virtues of their clergy, and form a peculiar people 
 in the East. One would imagine them a European colony, thrown 
 by chance amongst the tribes of the desert. Their countenances, 
 however, are Arab; the men are tall, handsome, of a frank and 
 haughty aspect, with an intellectual and mild smile, their eyes blue, 
 nose aquiline, beard blonde, gestures noble, voice solemn and 
 guttural; their manners are respectful without humiliation, and 
 their costumes and weapons splendid. When you pass through a 
 village, and see the scheik seated at the door of his turreted mansion, 
 his beautiful horses tethered in the court, and the principal men of 
 the village clothed in their rich pelisses, with their girdles of red 
 silk stuck full of yatagans and kangiars, with silver handles, their 
 heads covered with immense turbans, composed of various coloured 
 stuffs, with a broad lappet of purple silk falling down their shoulders, 
 you might believe you beheld a race of kings. They love the 
 Europeans as brothers ; they are connected with us by a community 
 of religion, the strongest of all ties ; they conceive that we protect 
 them, by our consuls and ambassadors, against the Turks. They 
 receive our travellers, missionaries, and young interpreters, who go 
 to perfect themselves in the Arabic language, as relations are 
 welcomed by a family amongst us; the traveller, the missionary, 
 and the interpreter, alike become the cherished guests of the whole 
 nation. They are lodged in the monastery, or in the house of the 
 scheik; they are provided with everything in abundance that the 
 country produces; they are conducted to the falcon-hunts, introduced 
 to the society of their women, addressed with respect, and ties of 
 friendship formed with them which are never broken, and which arc 
 bequeathed by the heads of families to their children. 
 
 I have little doubt that if this people were better known, if the 
 magnificent country they inhabit were more frequently visited, many 
 Europeans would go and establish themselves among the Maronites. 
 Ueauty of locality, perfection of climate, moderateness of price for 
 all necessaries, conformity of religion, hospitable manners, individual 
 safety and tranquillity, all concur in rendering desirable a habitation 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 287' 
 
 amongst these people; and as to myself, if a man could uproot 
 himself at a jerk, if he were not bound to live where Providence 
 has indicated his dwelling and his tomb, to serve and love his fellow- 
 countrymen — if an involuntary exile should ever be my lot, I should 
 nowhere find it so sweet as in one of these quiet Maronite villages 
 at the foot, or on the sides of Lebanon, in the bosom of a simple, 
 religious, benevolent population, with the view of the sea and the 
 lofty snows, enjoyed under the palm or orange-tree, in the garden 
 of a monastery. A most complete police, the result of religion and 
 manners rather than of legislation, reigns throughout the whole extent 
 of the country inhabited by the Maronites : you may travel alone, 
 and without a guide, by day or by night, without fearing robbery or 
 violence. Crimes are almost unknown amongst them ; the stranger 
 is sacred with the Mohammedan Arab, but yet more so with the 
 Christian Arab ; his door is open to him at every hour ; he kills 
 his kid to do him honour ; he abandons his mat to give him place. 
 
 In each village is a church or chapel, in which the ceremonies of 
 the Catholic faith are celebrated in the Syrian form and tongue. 
 The Gospel is read by the priest, turning towards his assistants, in 
 Arabic. .Religions, which endure longer than tribes of people, pre- 
 serve their sacred language when nations have lost theirs. 
 
 The Maronites are brave and naturally warlike, like all moun- 
 taineers. They take arms, to the number of thirty or forty thou- 
 sand men, at the call of the Emir Beschir, either to defend the inac- 
 cessible routes of their mountains, or to pour into the plain, and 
 make Damascus or the towns of Syria tremble. The Turks dare 
 not penetrate into Lebanon when these races are at peace amongst 
 themselves ; the pachas of Acre and Damascus have never come 
 there but when intestine dissensions called them to the one party 
 or the other. I do not know whether I deceive myself, but I believe 
 that high destinies are reserved for this Maronite people — a people 
 pure and primitive in their manners and their religion ; a people 
 who possess the traditional virtues of the patriarchs, decorum, a 
 little liberty, and much patriotism, and who, by the similitude of 
 religion and the relations of commerce, are every day becoming 
 more impregnated with Western civilisation. Whilst all around 
 them is perishing from weakness or the exhaustion of age, they alone 
 seem youthful, and endowed with fresh vigour. In proportion as 
 Syria is dispeopled, they will descend from their mountains, found 
 commercial cities on the margin of the sea, cultivate the fertile 
 plains, where now roam the jackal and the gazelle, and establish a 
 new empire in these countries, where the old dominion is on the 
 point of expiring. If a man of intellect should arise amongst them, 
 either from the ranks of the influential clergy, or from the bosom 
 of one of the families of the emirs or scheiks whom they hold in 
 veneration, and he should understand the future, and form an 
 alliance with one of the European powers, he might easily re-enact 
 the wonders of Mahomet- Ali, pacha of Egypt, and leave behind him 
 the veritable germ of an Arabian empire. Europe is much inte- 
 
2SS 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 rested in seeing this idea realised. They would form a colony ready- 
 made upon these fine shores, and Syria, repeopled by a Christian 
 and industrious nation, would enrich the Mediterranean with a 
 commerce which now languishes, would open the route to India, 
 drive back the nomade and barbaric tribes of the desert, and revive 
 the East. There is a greater futurity here than in Egypt : Egypt has 
 but one man, Lebanon a nation ! 
 
 The Druzes. 
 
 The Druzes, who, with the Metualis and Maronites, form the 
 principal population of Lebanon, have long passed for a European 
 colony, left in the East by the Crusaders. Nothing is more absurd. 
 Religion and language are the things which are longest preserved 
 amongst a people. The Druzes are idolators, and speak Arabic ; they 
 are therefore not descended from a Frank and Christian parentage. 
 "What is more probable is, that they are, like the Maronites, an Arab 
 tribe of the desert, who, having refused to adopt the religion of the 
 prophet, and being persecuted by the new believers, took refuge 
 in the inaccessible solitudes of the high Lebanon, in order to defend 
 their gods and liberty. They have prospered ; they have frequently 
 had predominance over the tribes inhabiting Syria ; and the his- 
 tory of their chief, the Emir Fakar-el-Din, whom we convert into 
 Fakardin, has rendered them celebrated even in Europe. It was 
 at the commencement of the seventeenth century that this prince 
 appeared. 
 
 Being named governor of the Druzes, he gained the confidence of 
 the Porte. He repulsed the ferocious tribes of Balbek, delivered 
 Tyre and Saint Jean d'Acre from the incursions of the Bedouin 
 Arabs, put to night the Aga of Beirout, and fixed his capital in that 
 town. In vain the pachas of Aleppo and Damascus threatened him, 
 or denounced him to the Divan; he bribed his judges, and triumphed 
 by artifice or force over all his enemies. However, the Porte, so 
 frequently warned of the progress of the Druzes, took at last the 
 resolution to repress them, and prepared a formidable expedition. 
 The Emir Fakar-el-Din wished to temporise. He had formed alli- 
 ances and concluded treaties with the princes of Italy; he went 
 in person to solicit the succour which these princes had promised 
 him. He left the government in the hands of Ali, his son, took 
 shipping at Beirout, and fled to the court of the Medicis at Florence. 
 The arrival of a Mohammedan prince in Europe aroused attention. 
 The report was spread that Fakar-el-Din was a descendant of the 
 princes of the House of Lorraine ; and that the Druzes took their 
 origin from the comrades of a Count de Dreux, who had remained 
 in Lebanon after the Crusades. It was of no consequence that 
 Benjamin of Tudela makes mention of the Druzes before the era 
 of the Crusades; the politic adventurer himself propagated an 
 opinion likely to interest the sovereigns of Europe in his fate. 
 After nine years' sojourn in Florence, the Emir Fakar-el-Din re- 
 turned into Syria. His son Ali had repulsed the Turks, and pre- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 289 
 
 served entire the provinces conquered by his father. He surrendered 
 to him the command. The emir, corrupted by the elegancies and 
 enjoyments of Florence, forgot that he reigned by inspiring his 
 enemies with respect and terror. He built at Beirout magnificent 
 palaces, and adorned them, like the palaces of Italy, with statues 
 and paintings, which are repugnant to the prejudices of the Orientals. 
 His subjects grew discontented ; the sultan, Amurath IV., sent once 
 more the Pacha of Damascus with a powerful army against him. 
 While the pacha descended from Lebanon, a Turkish fleet blockaded 
 the port of Beirout. Ali, the eldest son of the emir, and governor 
 of Saphad, was slain in opposing the Pacha of Damascus. Fakar- 
 el-Din sent his second son to implore peace, on board the admiral's 
 vessel. The admiral retained the youth a prisoner, and refused all 
 negotiation. The emir fled in consternation and shut himself up 
 with a small number of devoted friends in the inaccessible rock of 
 Nilka. The Turks, after having uselessly besieged him for a whole 
 year, retired. Fakar-el-Din was again free, and retook the road 
 to the mountains, but, betrayed by some of the companions of his 
 fortune, he was delivered to the Turks, and conducted to Constanti- 
 nople. Prostrated at the feet of Amurath, that prince at first treated 
 him with generosity and benevolence. He gave him a palace and 
 slaves ; but shortly afterwards, upon some suspicions of the sultan, 
 the brave and unfortunate emir was strangled. The Turks, who con- 
 tent themselves with removing the man who causes them umbrage, 
 and respect the customs of tribes, and the traditional legitimacies 
 of families, allowed the posterity of Fakar-el-Din to reign. It is 
 only a hundred years ago that the death of the last descendant of 
 the famous emir caused the sceptre of Lebanon to fall to another 
 family, that of Chab, originally from Mecca, the present chief of 
 which, the old Emir Beschir, now governs these countries. 
 
 The religion of the Druzes is a mystery which no traveller has 
 been able to penetrate. I have known several Europeans living 
 for a number of years amongst this people, who have confessed to 
 me their ignorance regarding it. Lady Stanhope herself, who is 
 an exception to all others from her habitual residence in the very 
 midst of this tribe, and from the attachment with which she is 
 regarded by men whose language she speaks, and whose manners 
 she follows, has also told me that to her the religion of the Druzes 
 was a mystery. The greatest number of travellers who have writ- 
 ten upon them, allege that their creed is but a Mohammedan schism. 
 I am perfectly convinced that they are egregiously deceived. There 
 is one thing certain, that the religion of the Druzes permits them 
 to assume the creeds of all persons with whom they are in com- 
 munication, and from this circumstance has sprung the idea that 
 they were schismatic Mohammedans. The only fact that is ascer- 
 tained with certainty upon the subject is, that they worship the 
 calf. Their institutions are in some respects similar to those of 
 the people of antiquity. They are divided into two castes, the 
 Akkals, or those who know, and the Dgaliels, or those who do not 
 
 vol. i. s 
 
290 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 know; and, according to his caste, a Druze practises such or such 
 a form of religion. Moses, Mohammed, Jesus, are names which they 
 hold in veneration. They assemble one day in the week, each in the 
 place assigned to the degree of initiation to winch he has advanced, 
 and- fulfil their rites. Guards are stationed during the ceremonies, to 
 watch that no profane person may approach the initiated. Death is 
 instantly dealt out to any rash invader of the sanctity. Women are 
 admitted to these ceremonies. The priests, or Akkals, are married, 
 and form a hierarchy. The chief of the Akkals, or the sovereign pon- 
 tiff of the Druzes, resides in the village of El-Mutna. After the death 
 of a Druze, the people collect round the tomb, and evidence is re- 
 ceived as to the life of the deceased. If the testimony be favourable, 
 the Akkal exclaims, 1 May the All-Powerful be merciful to him ! ' 
 If the testimony, on the contrary, be condemnatory, the priest and 
 his assistants preserve a gloomy silence. The people in general 
 believe in the transmigration of souls : if the life of a Druze has 
 been good, he will revive in a man favoured by fortune, brave, and 
 the idol of his countrymen ; if he has been wicked or a coward, he 
 will return under the form of a camel or dog. 
 
 The schools for children are numerous, directed by the Akkals. 
 They are learnt to read the Koran. Sometimes, when the Druzes 
 are few in number in a village, and schools are wanting, they let 
 their children be instructed with those of Christians, and when they 
 initiate them at a later date into their mysterious rites, they efface 
 all traces of Christianity. The women are as eligible to the sacer- 
 dotal office as the men. Adultery and divorces are frequent amongst 
 them. Hospitality is sacred with the Druzes, and no menace or 
 promise will induce one of them to deliver even to his prince the 
 guest who has sought the protection of his doorway. At the period 
 of the battle of isavarino, the Europeans inhabiting the towns of 
 Syria, fearing the vengeance of the Turks, retired during several 
 months amongst the Druzes, and lived there in perfect safety. All 
 men are brothers, and their moral code is that of the Gospel, but 
 they observe it better than we. Our words are evangelical, but 
 our actions pagan. 
 
 In my opinion, the Druzes are one of those tribes whose origin is 
 lost in the darkness of time, mounting to an antiquity extremely 
 remote. In physical appearance they have a considerable resem- 
 blance to the Jews, and the worsliip of the calf leads me to 
 believe that they are descended from those tribes of Arabia Petrasa 
 who led the Jews to that species of idolatry, or that they have a 
 Samaritan parentage. At present, accustomed to a sort of frater- 
 nity with the Christian Maronites, and abhorring the yoke of the 
 Mohammedans ; and being numerous, rich, capable of discipline, and 
 attached to agriculture and commerce, they would easily form a 
 united body with the Maronite tribe, and progress with equal rapidity 
 in civilisation, provided their religious ceremonies were respected. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 291 
 
 The Metualis. 
 
 The Metualis, who compose about a third of the population of 
 the low Lebanon, are Mohammedans of the sect of Ali, the prevailing 
 sect of Persia, whilst the Turks adhere to that of Omar. This 
 schism in the Moslem creed occurred in the 36th year of the Hegira ; 
 the partisans of Ali curse Omar as a usurper of the Caliphate, and 
 regard Hussein and Ali as saints. Like the Persians, they neither 
 drink nor eat with the followers of any other religion than their 
 own, and break the glass or plate that has been used by a stranger. 
 They look upon themselves as denied if their garments touch ours ; 
 but as they are weak, and generally contemned in Syria, they accom- 
 modate themselves to circumstances, and I have had several of them 
 in my service who did not pay a rigorous observance to these intole- 
 rant precepts. Their origin is ascertained: they were masters of 
 Balbek towards the sixth century, and their tribe increasing, extended 
 to the sides of the Anti-Lebanon, round the desert of Bkaa, which, 
 at a later date, they passed, and mingled with the Druzes in that 
 part of the mountain which stretches between Tyre and Saide. The 
 Emir Youssef, uneasy at their proximity, armed the Druzes against 
 them, and drove them back towards Saphad and the mountains of 
 Galilee. Daher, Pacha of Acre, courted them, and made an alliance 
 with them in 1760, and they were then sufficiently numerous to 
 furnish him 10,000 horsemen. At that period they took possession 
 of the ruins of Tyre, now a village on the sea-shore called Sour, 
 combated with valour the Druzes, and completely defeated the army 
 of the Emir Youssef, composed of 25,000 men. Their force was only 
 500, but rage and thirst for vengeance converted them into heroes ; 
 and the intestine disputes which divided the Druzes between the 
 Emir Mansour and the Emir Youssef, contributed to their success. 
 
 They abandoned Daher, Pacha of Acre, and their separation pre- 
 cipitated his destruction and death. Djezzar-Pacha, his successor, 
 took a cruel vengeance upon them. From the year 1777, Djezzar, 
 master of Saide and Acre, laboured without intermission at the ex- 
 termination of this tribe. His persecutions drove them to a recon- 
 ciliation with the Druzes, and they entered into Youssef's party. 
 Though reduced to 700 or 800 combatants, they did more for the 
 common cause than the 20,000 Druzes and Maronites united at Deir- 
 el-Kammar. They, unassisted, stormed the fortress of Mar-Djebba, 
 and put 800 Arnauts to the sword. Driven from Balbek in the fol- 
 lowing year, after a desperate resistance, they took refuge, to the 
 number of 500 or 600 families, amongst the Druzes and Maronites. 
 They subsequently again descended into the plain, and at the present 
 day still occupy the magnificent ruins of Heliopolis (Balbek) ; but the 
 greater part of the nation remained upon the declivities, and in the 
 valleys of Lebanon towards Sour. The principality of Balbek, in 
 these latter years, became the subject of a bitter contest between 
 two brothers of the family Harfousch, Djadja and Sultan. They dis- 
 possessed each other by turns of that heap of ruins, and lost in the 
 
292 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 war upwards of eighty members of their own family. Since 1S10, 
 the Emir Djadja has finally reigned over Balbek. 
 
 The Ansarias. 
 
 Concerning the nation of the Ansarias, which occupies the western 
 chain of Lebanon and the plains of Latakia, Yolney has given the 
 most correct information. I can add nothing to it. Like the Druzes, 
 they are idolators, and envelop their religious ceremonies with the 
 darkness of an initiatory process ; but they are more barbarous. I 
 will only concern myself with that part of their history which goes 
 back to the year 1807. 
 
 At that period, a tribe of the Ansarias, feigning a quarrel with 
 their chief, quitted his territory in the mountains, and went to ask 
 an asylum and protection from the Emir of Maszyad. The emir, 
 eager to take advantage of so favourable an opportunity to weaken 
 his enemies by division, welcomed the Ansarias, with their Seheik 
 Mahmoud, into the walls of Maszyad, and pushed his hospitality to 
 such a pitch, as to dislodge a portion of the inhabitants to make room 
 for the fugitives. During several months all remained tranquil ; 
 but one day, when the greatest part of the inhabitants of Maszyad 
 had left the town to labour in the fields, at a given signal the 
 Ansarias fell upon the emir and his son, slew them, seized upon the 
 castle, put to death all the Ismaelians who were in the town, and 
 then set fire to it. On the following day, a great number of Ansarias 
 came to join the perpetrators of this detestable conspiracy at Mas- 
 zyad, the secret having been preserved by a whole people for nearly 
 five months. About 300 Ismaelians perished, and the rest fled for 
 refuge to Hama, Homs, and Tripolis. 
 
 The religious practices and manners of the Ansarias have induced 
 Burckhardt to conclude that they were an exiled tribe from Hin- 
 doostan. It is quite certain that they were established in Syria long 
 before the conquest of the Ottomans. The worship of the dog, which 
 appears to have been in great repute among the ancient Syrians, and 
 to have given its name to the Nahr-el-Kclb, the River of the Dog, 
 near the ancient Berytus, is still preserved, it is said, amongst some 
 of the Ansarian families. This tribe is going to decay, and might 
 be easily driven away or subjected by the Druzes and Maronites. 
 
 JOURNEY CONTINUED. 
 
 November 18. — I have arrived from an excursion to the monastery 
 of Antoura, one of the grandest and most celebrated on Lebanon. 
 On quitting Beirout, we proceeded for an hour along the banks of 
 the sea, beneath a canopy of trees of all foliages and forms. The 
 greater part were fruit-trees, figs, pomegranates, oranges, aloes, and 
 rig-sycamores ; the last a gigantic tree, the fruit of which, in prodi- 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 293 
 
 gious quantity, and similar to small figs, did not grow at the extre- 
 mity of the branches, but were sticking to the trunk and branches 
 like pieces of moss. After crossing the river by the Koman bridge, 
 the appearance of which I have described above, we followed a 
 sandy plain to Cape Batroun, formed by an arm from Lebanon pro- 
 jected into the sea. This arm is but a rock, in which a road has 
 been cut in ancient times, whence the view is magnificent. The 
 sides of the rock are covered in several places with Greek, Latin, 
 and Syrian inscriptions, and with figures sculptured out of the rock 
 itself, the object and signification of which are now lost. It is pro- 
 bable that they have reference to the worship of Adonis, formerly 
 prevailing in these districts; he had, according to tradition, temples 
 and funeral ceremonies near the spot where he perished. It is 
 believed that this spot was on the banks of the river that we had 
 just passed. 
 
 After descending from this elevated and picturesque road, the 
 country suddenly changed its aspect. The eye fell into a narrow 
 and deep gorge, traversed by another river, the Nahr-el-Kelb, or 
 River of the Dog. It flows in silence between two perpendicular 
 walls of rock, two or three hundred feet high. In certain places it 
 completely fills the valley, and in others leaves a narrow margin 
 between its waters and the rock. This margin is covered with 
 trees, sugar-canes, reeds, and brushwood, which form a green thick 
 shade upon the banks, at intervals extending over the river itself. 
 A ruined khan is perched upon a rock at the edge of the water, 
 opposite a narrow bridge, which we crossed with trembling. In 
 the sides of the rocks walling up this ravine, the Arabs have, with 
 great perseverance, hewed out steps to serve as pathways, which 
 hang almost plump over the river, which we were compelled, how- 
 ever, to climb up, as well as descend, on horseback. We abandoned 
 ourselves to the instinct and sure-footedness of our horses ; but we 
 could not forbear shutting our eyes at certain points, to avoid 
 growing dizzy at the frightful declivities, the slipperiness of the 
 rocky steps, and the depth of the abyss yawning below. A few 
 years ago, the late legate from the pope to the Maronites was 
 precipitated down these precipices by a false step of his horse. 
 
 At the mouth of this pass we found ourselves on an elevated table- 
 land, covered with crops, vineyards, and small Maronite villages. 
 We perceived, on a knoll before us, a handsome new house of 
 Italian architecture, with a portico, terraces, and balustrades. It 
 was the residence which Monsignor Lozanna, bishop of Abydos, and 
 present legate of the Holy See in Syria, had caused to be built for 
 his winter habitation. In the summer he lives in the monastery of 
 Kanoubin, the residence of the patriarch, and the ecclesiastical 
 capital of the Maronites. That convent, being at a much higher 
 elevation on the mountain, is almost inaccessible, and nearly buried 
 in snow during the winter. Monsignor Lozanna, a man of refined 
 manners, cultivated mind, profound erudition, and strong and quick 
 intellect, has been most happily chosen by the court of Borne, to cul- 
 
294 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 tivate the political objects and influence of Catholicism amongst the 
 dignified Maronite clergy. He would have ably filled a similar 
 mission at Vienna or Paris; he was the representative of those 
 Roman prelates, the inheritors of the grand and noble diplomatic 
 traditions of that government where brute force is extinct, and 
 where personal ability and dignity are all-prevailing. Monsignor 
 Lozanna is a Piedmontese ; he is not likely to remain long in these 
 solitudes ; Rome will employ him to greater advantage upon a more 
 stormy arena. He is one of those men who justify fortune, and 
 whose high career is legible on his energetic and intellectual coun- 
 tenance. With these people he very wisely assumes an Oriental 
 luxury and imposing costume and manners, as without these 
 illusions the people of Asia can conceive neither sanctity nor 
 power. He has taken the Arab costume; his prodigious beard, 
 carefully combed, falls in golden folds on his purple robe, and his 
 full-blood Arab mare rivals in docility and beauty the finest mare 
 of a desert scheik. We shortly perceived hiin coming towards us, 
 followed by a numerous suite, his horse curvetting on the precipices 
 along which we advanced with so much precaution. 
 
 After the first compliments he conducted us to his delightful 
 villa, where a collation was prepared for us, and shortly after he 
 accompanied us to the monastery of Antoura, where he provisionally 
 resided. Two young Lazarist priests, arrived from France since the 
 revolution of July, are at present the only occupiers of this beautiful 
 and immense convent, which was built at a former date by the 
 Jesuits. The Jesuits have at several periods attempted to establish 
 their mission and influence amongst the Arabs, but they have never 
 succeeded, and do not appear destined to be more successful in our 
 own days. The reason is plain ; there is no political spirit in the 
 religion of men in the East; completely separated from the civil 
 power, it gives neither influence nor action to the state. The state 
 is Mohammedan ; Catholicism is unfettered, but it has no human 
 means of dominion ; and as it is above all things by human means 
 that the system of the Jesuits has attempted to operate, and has 
 operated religiously, this country is perfectly unsuited to them. 
 Eeligion is there divided into orthodox or schismatic communities, 
 whose creed is part of the hereditary family-blood and character. 
 Abhorrence and irreconcilable hatred exist among the different 
 Christian communities, much more than between the Turks and 
 Christians. Conversions are impossible where a change of creed 
 is an opprobrium, branding, and perhaps leading to extermination, a 
 tribe, a village, or a family ; and as to the Mohammedans, it is alto- 
 gether unheard-of that one of them is converted. Their religion is a 
 practical deism, the moral code of which is the same in principle 
 with that of Christianity, save the dogma of the divinity of man. The 
 Mohammedan creed is a belief in divine inspiration, manifested in a 
 man more wise, and moro favoured with the celestial emanation, than 
 the rest of his fellow-creatures : at a later date some miraculous deeds 
 as to the mission of Mohammed were mingled, but these legendary 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 295 
 
 miracles form no part of the foundation of the religion, and are 
 altogether rejected by the enlightened Turks. All religions have 
 their legends, their absurd traditions, their popular side. The philo- 
 sophic phase of Mohammedanism is quite free from these stupid ad- 
 mixtures ; it contains nothing but resignation to the will of God, and 
 charity towards men. I have known a great number of Turks and 
 Arabs, deeply religious, who only admitted so much of their religion 
 as was human, and according to reason. They did not coerce their 
 reasoning faculties to receive dogmas from which they recoiled in 
 disgust. Theirs was a practical and contemplated theism. Such 
 men are not to be converted — men sober down from the marvellous 
 dogma to the simple, but do not ascend from the simple dogma to 
 the marvellous. 
 
 The interference of the Jesuits was attended with other incon- 
 veniences to the Maronites. By the very nature of their institution, 
 they easily rouse party spirit and religious factions in the clergy, and 
 in the people at large — they create, by the very ardour of their 
 zeal, either enthusiasm or hatred— nothing remains in moderation 
 with them. The Maronite clergy, although simple and good, could 
 not see with a complacent eye the establishment amongst them of 
 a religious order which strove to withdraw a part of the Catholic 
 population from their spiritual dominion. The Jesuits, therefore, 
 exist no longer in Syria. Only lately two young fathers, the one a 
 Frenchman, and the other a German, have arrived, upon the invita- 
 tion of a Maronite bishop, to act as professors in a school which he 
 had founded. I knew these two excellent young men, both of whom 
 were full of faith, and burning with a disinterested zeal. They 
 neglected nothing to propagate amongst the neighbouring Druzes 
 some idea of Christianity ; but the result of their exertions went not 
 beyond baptising little children, surreptitiously and unknown to the 
 parents, in families where they introduced themselves under pretext 
 of giving medical advice. They appeared to me little inclined to 
 submit to the somewhat ignorant usages of the Maronite bishops in 
 conveying instruction, and I have an opinion that they will return 
 into Europe without having succeeded in neutralising a taste for an 
 improved education. The French father was worthy of being a 
 professor in Home or Paris. 
 
 The convent of Antoura has passed to the Lazarists, since the 
 extinction of the order of Jesuits. The two young fathers who 
 resided in it had often visited us at Beirout. We had found their so- 
 ciety as agreeable as it was unexpected ; virtuous, guileless, modest, 
 solely occupied in severe and enlightened studies, well versed in all 
 the affairs of Europe, and partaking the mental movement which 
 was abroad, the universality and learned tone of their conversation 
 was so much the more charming to us, in proportion to the rarity of 
 its occurrence in the desert. When we passed an evening with 
 them, talking of the political events in our country, of the intellec- 
 tual systems which were falling, or which were rising in France, of 
 the writers who were disputing supremacy in the press, of the 
 
296 
 
 lamartixe's 
 
 orators who conquered by turns in the tribune, of the doctrines of 
 the Future, or those of the Simonians, we might have believed our- 
 selves conversing two leagues from Paris with men who had just 
 left that capital. They were at the same time models of sanctity, 
 and of an artless and pious fervour. One of them was labouring 
 under severe indisposition ; the piercing air of Lebanon was gnawing 
 his lungs, and contracting the number of his years. He had but a 
 word to write to his superiors to obtain his recall to France, but he 
 would not charge his conscience by so doing. He consulted M. 
 do Laroyere, whom I had with me, and asked him if he could, in 
 his capacity of physician, give him a formal and conscientious opi- 
 nion that the air of Syria was mortal to his constitution. M. de 
 Laroyere, whose conscience was as severely scrupulous as that of 
 the young monk, did not venture to express his opinion so explicitly, 
 and the man of religion was silent, and remained at his post. 
 
 These ecclesiastics, lost in so vast a monastery, where there was 
 only a single Arab besides themselves to wait upon them, received 
 us with that cordiality which a common country inspires to those 
 who meet far from it. We passed two days with them, each of us 
 having a pretty large cell with a bed and chairs, very unusual pieces 
 of furniture on these mountains. The monastery is situated in the 
 hollow of a valley at the edge of a pine-wood, at mid-height up 
 Lebanon, and having, by a gorge in the valley, a glimpse of the 
 boundless prospect over the coasts and Sea of Syria. The remainder 
 of the landscape consists of peaks of gray rock surmounted with 
 villages or monasteries. A few fir, orange, and fig-trees are growing 
 here and there amidst the rocks, and in the vicinity of the torrents 
 and springs. It is a locality worthy of Naples and the Gulf of 
 Genoa. 
 
 The convent of Antoura is in the neighbourhood of a nunnery of 
 Maronite females belonging to the chief families of Lebanon. From 
 the windows of our cells w r e saw those of the young nuns, whom the 
 arrival of a company of strangers in their vicinage appeared greatly 
 to interest. These female convents have here no social utility. 
 Yolney speaks, in his travels in Syria, of this convent near Antoura, 
 where a woman, named Hindia, exercised horrible atrocities on her 
 novices. The name and history of Hindia arc still well known 
 on these mountains. Imprisoned for many years by order of the 
 Maronite patriarch, her repentance and good conduct procured her 
 liberty. She died a short while ago, in great reputation for sanctity 
 among some Christians of her sect. She was a fanatic by design, or 
 from imagination, who succeeded in fanaticising a certain number of 
 simple and credulous persons. The land of Arabia is the land of 
 prodigies ; everything takes root, and every fanatic may become a 
 prophet in his turn. Lady Stanhope is an additional proof of the 
 fact. This disposition for the marvellous is owing to two causes — to 
 a strongly-developed religious sentiment, and to a want of equili- 
 brium between the imagination and the reason. Phantoms are seen 
 only in the dark; there are always miracles in a land of ignorance. 
 
TRAVELS TN THE EAST. 
 
 297 
 
 The terrace of the convent of Antoura, on which we walked for 
 some hours during the day, is overshadowed by magnificent orange- 
 trees, mentioned by Volney as the most beautiful and ancient in 
 Syria. They are still flourishing; in appearance similar to our 
 walnut-trees of half a century, they droop over the garden and roof 
 of the convent in a clustering and odoriferous canopy, and bear on 
 their trunks the names of Volney, and of some English travellers, 
 who had passed, like us, some moments at their feet. 
 
 The group of mountains in which Antoura is placed, is known 
 under the name of Kosrouan, or of the chain of Castravan. This 
 district extends from the Nahr-el-Kebir to the Nahr-el-Kelb, and 
 comprises the country, properly so called, of the Maronites. This 
 territory belongs to them, and it is here only that their privileges 
 prevail, although from day to day they are extending into the coun- 
 try of the Druzes, and carrying with them their laws and manners. 
 The principal product of these mountains is silk. The miri, or land- 
 tax, is assessed upon the number of mulberries each possesses. The 
 Turks exact from the Emir Beschir one or two miris in the year as 
 tribute, and the emir collects several besides for his own benefit. 
 However, notwithstanding the complaints of the Maronites as to 
 their excessive taxation, these imposts are not to be compared with 
 what we pay in France or England. It is not the extent of the tax 
 so much as its arbitrariness and irregularity which oppresses a 
 nation. If taxation in Turkey was legal and fixed, it would not be 
 felt ; but where it is not determined by the law, there is no property, 
 or rather property is uncertain and unproductive ; the riches of a 
 people lie in the beneficial constitution of property. Each scheik of 
 a village assesses the impost in his jurisdiction, and takes to himself 
 a portion of it. At bottom these people are happy. Their rulers 
 fear them, and dare not establish themselves in their provinces; 
 their religion is free and respected; their convents and churches 
 crown the summits of their hills ; their bells, which they love as the 
 sound of liberty and independence, ring in the valleys day and night 
 to prayer. They are governed by their own chiefs, selected from 
 their principal families, according to usage or hereditary right. A 
 strict but equitable police maintains order and security in the villages ; 
 property is ascertained, secured, and transmitted from father to son ; 
 commerce is in activity ; their manners are simple and uncorrupted. 
 I have never seen any people in the world bearing on their features 
 a greater appearance of health, independence, and politeness, than 
 these men of Lebanon. The education of the people, though limited 
 to reading, writing, arithmetic, and the catechism, is universal, and 
 gives to the Maronites a legitimate superiority over the other Syrian 
 tribes. I can only compare them to the peasants of Saxony and 
 Scotland. 
 
 We returned to Beirout by the sea-shore. The mountains which 
 skirt the coast are covered with monasteries, constructed in the style 
 of the Florentine villas of the middle ages. A village is perched on 
 each eminence, surmounted by a forest of spreading pines, and tra- 
 
295 
 
 lamartine's 
 
 versed by a torrent falling in a brilliant cascade to the foot of a 
 ravine. There are little fishing-ports along the whole of this indented 
 coast, filled with boats moored to the jetties or the rocks. Vine- 
 yards, barley-fields, and mulberry groves, descend from the villages 
 to the sea. The towers of the monasteries and churches rise above 
 the sombre verdure of the fig-trees and cypresses. A beach of white 
 sand divides the foot of the mountains from the clear and blue waves. 
 Two leagues of this country might deceive the eye of the travel- 
 ler: if he could forget he was 800 miles from Europe, he might 
 think himself upon the margin of the Lake of Geneva, between Lau- 
 sanne and Vevey, or on the enchanted banks of the Saone, between 
 Macon and Lyons ; but the edging of the picture is more majestic at 
 Antoura ; and when his eyes are raised, he sees the snowy peaks of 
 Sannin piercing the sky, and glittering like streaks of fire. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR OF THE ORIGINAL EDITION. 
 
 The journal of the author was here interrupted. At the com- 
 mencement of December he lost his only daughter. She was carried 
 off in two days, at the moment her health, disordered in France, ap- 
 peared completely re-established by the air of Asia. She died in the 
 arms of her father and mother, in the country-house in the suburbs 
 of Beirout, where M. de Lamartine had fixed his family to pass the 
 winter. The vessel, which he had sent back to Europe, was not to 
 return to the coasts of Syria until the month of May 1833, in order 
 to take up the travellers. They remained six months in Lebanon 
 after their sad disaster, overwhelmed by the blow which Providence 
 had directed against them, and without any comfort in their grief 
 but the tears of their fellow-travellers and friends. 
 
 In the month of May the ship ' The Alceste ' returned to Beirout, 
 as had been arranged ; but the travellers, wishing to spare the unfor- 
 tunate mother any additional pangs of sorrow, did not embark on 
 board the vessel which had conveyed them in happiness and hope 
 with the charming child they had lost. M. de Lamartine had got 
 the body of his daughter embalmed, in order to cany it to Saint- 
 Point, where, at her last moments, she had testified her desire to be 
 buried. He intrusted this sacred deposit to 'The Alceste,' which 
 was to sail in company with him, and he chartered another vessel, 
 the brig 1 Sophia,' Captain Coulonne, for himself, Ins wife, and his 
 friends. 
 
 The journal of his remarks was not resumed for four months after 
 his loss. Before quitting Syria, he visited Damascus, Balbek, and 
 other remarkable places, which form the subjects of the notes which 
 commence with the date of the 28th March 1833. 
 
 [The translator of the present edition considers this to be the 
 place most appropriate for the introduction of the following poem, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 299 
 
 which M. de Lamartine wrote on the death of his beloved daughter. 
 It appears at a different and less suitable part of the other editions 
 of the work.] 
 
 GETHSEMANE, OR THE DEATH OF JULIA. 
 I from the breast have been a man of grief, 
 
 My heart, in place of blood, rolls tears alone, 
 Or, rather, from my tears springs no relief, 
 
 Since God has changed them, in their fount, to stone; 
 Gall is my honey, sadness is my joy; 
 
 For me the tombs a brother's tie possess, 
 And nothing can my steps aside decoy 
 But sights of ruin and distress ! 
 
 Green fields and laughing skies if I espy, 
 
 Or sweet vales opening to embrace the sea, 
 I pass, and, smiling bitterly, I cry, 
 
 • A place for bliss, but, ah ! not bliss for me ! ' 
 My spirit's echo will but groans repeat, 
 
 My soul's true home is where men ever weep — 
 A land with mortal dust and tears replete, 
 Is such a couch as fits my sleep. 
 
 You ask me wherefore — but were I to tell, 
 
 The bitter gulf would be but stirred anew, 
 And sobbings only would my lips expel — 
 
 Yet pierce my heart, and all will come to view ! 
 There, in each fibre, death has plunged a knife, 
 
 Slow torture lies in every pulsing wave, 
 Its chambers teem with things that know no life— 
 
 My soul is but one mighty grave ! / 
 
 While yet beside Christ's chosen place of birth, 
 
 I did not ask each hallowed mount and field, 
 Where, at his feet, the poor flung palms on earth, 
 
 Or where the Word was by his voice revealed ; 
 Where loud hosannahs hailed his conquering path, 
 
 Or, wet with holy tears from woman's eye, 
 His hand, the while it wiped his brow's hot bath, 
 Caressed the little children nigh : 
 
 ' Lead me,' I cried, * unto the place of tears !— 
 
 To that sad garden, where the Man of Wo, 
 By God forsaken and his earthly peers, 
 
 Swate bloody drops, as in the mortal throe ; 
 There leave me, for I too would prove the whole 
 
 Concentred anguish that an hour may feel : 
 Pain is the worship of my hope-reft soul— 
 This is the altar where I kneel ! ' 
 
 There is, upon Mount Olive's dusty base, 
 
 Beneath the shade of Sion's crumbling walls, 
 A place from which the sun withholds its rays, 
 
 Where scanty Kedron o'er its channel crawls ; 
 There hath Jehoshaphat its graves scooped out, 
 
 And ruins, 'stead of grass, earth bears alone, 
 And trailing roots from hollow olives sprout 
 Amid the tombstones, thickly strewn. 
 
LAMARTINE'S 
 
 Between two rocks there stands a darksome grot, 
 Where Jesus once foretasted death's whole power, 
 
 "When, rousing thrice the sleepers near the spot, 
 He said, • Watch ye ! for fearful is the hour ! ' 
 
 The trembling lip, upon ihe blood-stained earth, 
 Seems yet the droppings of the cup to taste ; 
 
 The sweat, to which that sacrifice gave birth, 
 May yet upon the rocks be traced. 
 
 There sat I, while my hands sustained my head, 
 
 And mused what thoughts had filled that heavenly mind,. 
 
 And numbered all the tears myself had shed, 
 "Whose flow had left a furrowed track behind ; 
 
 I raised again, and weighed my burthens all, 
 And sounded of my griefs the whole abyss — 
 
 When of a dream my soul became the thrall, 
 And what a dream great God was this ! 
 
 I late had left, beneath a mother's wing, 
 
 My child, my girl, my treasure, and my care, 
 
 Whose brow fresh charms yet came to deck each spring, 
 Although her soul was ripe for heavenly air. 
 
 Her form was one that could not leave the eye, 
 For by its light her trace might followed be ; 
 
 And never father saw her passing by, 
 
 But threw an envying glance on me. 
 
 Sole relic she of my storm-vexed career, 
 
 Sole fruit of many flowers, love's single birth, 
 
 Sweet as a welcome-kiss, or parting tear, 
 Perpetual blessing of my wandering hearth, 
 
 A sunny ray that gave my casement light, 
 
 A bird that sipped the food my own lips broke, 
 
 A sigh of music near my couch by night, 
 A kind caress when I awoke ! 
 
 More, more she was ; my mother's form she bore, 
 In hers my mother's looks would still revive ; 
 
 Through her the past became the past no more, 
 My former joy, though changed, she kept alive ; 
 
 Ten happy years were echoed from her tongue, 
 Our household air was by her step made bright, 
 
 Tears from my eyes her simple glance oft wrung, 
 Her smile filled all my heart with light. 
 
 Her brow would shadow back my lightest thought, 
 
 Her pure blue eye reflected still my own, 
 And o'er that orb my cares a dimness brought, 
 
 As when a shade across a pool is thrown : 
 But all hot own heart's thoughts were lively, sweet, 
 
 And graveness rarely on her lips abode, 
 Save when she knelt before her mother's feet, 
 And prayed with folded hands to God. 
 
 I dreamt that to these scenes I had her led, 
 And that upon my knee the fair thing leant, 
 
 And, while my arms enclosed her feet and head, 
 That tenderly to hers my brow wa s bent : 
 
 Turned back upon my arm in half-eclipse, 
 
 Her head's soft burnished gold lay strewn the while, 
 
TRAVELS IN THE EAST. 
 
 And her white teeth shone bright between her lips, 
 Half parted ever with a smile. 
 
 Ever to me, to me her look she raised, 
 To breathe her spirit and draw forth my soul, 
 
 And of the love that in my own eye blazed, 
 God only can compute the sumless whole ; 
 
 My lips for fondness knew not where to press, 
 Yet still she sought them, like a toying child, 
 
 And oft those lips of their beloved caress, 
 
 By turning mouth and cheek, beguiled. 
 
 Then unto God my raptured heart exclaimed, 
 ' Father! while these light-shedding eyes I see, 
 
 With hymns of praise alone shalt thou be named ! 
 Her life of flowers is life enough for me ! 
 
 On her my share of thy best gifts bestow, 
 Cast on her path all coming hopes of mine, 
 
 Prepare her bridal couch, and open throw 
 
 The arms that wait her at the shrine ! ' 
 
 While thus by prayer and dreamy joy possest, 
 My eye and heart, meanwhile, had failed to note 
 
 That heavier on my arm her forehead prest, 
 And o'er her feet a stony chill had shot ; 
 
 4 My Julia ! why, oh why art thou so pale ? 
 Why this moist brow ? wherefore this changing hue 
 
 Speak — smile, my angel ! ah, thou feign *st this ail ! 
 Re-ope my book— those eyes of blue ! 1 
 
 But on her rosy lip death's purple fell, 
 The half-formed smile was blasted in its spring, 
 
 More and more laboured grew her bosom's swell, 
 Like the last flappings of a folding wing ; 
 
 Pressing her heart, I watched its beatings wild, 
 And when in sighs the soul at length took flight, 
 
 My heart felt dead within me, like a child 
 That dies before it sees the light. 
 
 Bearing within my arms my more than life, 
 
 I rose upright and walked away anon, 
 Staggering like one just hurt in mortal strife, 
 
 And laid my child on the cold altar-stone ; 
 To her shut eyes my lip I closely prest, 
 
 Nor was her brow of all its warmth bereft, 
 But still appeared like some sweet songster's nest, 
 Which yet the bird hath newly left. 
 
 And thus, while one eternal hour went by, 
 Ages of anguish seemed o'er me to pass, 
 
 Grief filled my heart's void space, and made me cry, 
 • My God, I had but her ! my all she was ! ' 
 
 In this one love were all my loves combined, 
 The very dead she had to me brought back, 
 
 Sole fruit which on the tree was left behind 
 
 By the dark storms which swept my track. 
 
 The sole link was she in my broken chain, 
 The only spot of blue in all my heaven ! 
 
 That in our house more sweet might be its strain, 
 A name of music we to her had given ; 
 
lamartine's travels in the east. 
 
 She was my world, my source of motion — sound, 
 
 A voice that bore enchantment everywnere, 
 The charm to which my eyes were ever bound, 
 Morn, eve, and night, my joy and care : 
 
 The glass in which my heart itself could see, 
 My purest days had on her brow a place, 
 
 A ray of lasting bliss conferred on me- 
 Lord ! all thy gifts assembled in one face ! 
 
 Sweet burthen, by her mother on me thrown, 
 Eyes and a soul like mine in brightest day, 
 
 Life of my life, voice echoing my own, 
 A living heaven in my way ! 
 
 Take her, and satisfy, relentless fate, 
 Thy quenchless thirst for agonies and death t 
 
 Lo ! on thy shrine, I lay her beauteous weight, 
 And now, if emptied, break my cup of wrath ! 
 
 My girl, my child, my breath of lif j ! one tress, 
 Behold ! I sever from the golden chains 
 
 That bound me yesterday to her caress : 
 
 And now no more to me remains ! 
 
 A stifling sob now woke me ; all the rock 
 Whereon I sat seemed clothed with sweat of blood, 
 
 My cold hand gave my brow an icy shock, 
 And on my cheeks two frozen tear-drops stood. 
 
 As flies the eagle to its nest, I fled ! 
 
 Low sobs I heard, as I my home drew nigh ; 
 
 Love but delayed for me the hour of dread— 
 She waited but for me to die ! 
 
 Now all is still within my lifeless home, 
 Two weeping eyes ever my own oppose, 
 
 I know not what I seek, nor where I roam, 
 My arms on nothing ope, on nothing close. 
 
 One colour all my days and nights now wear, 
 Prayer in my bosom was with hope laid low ; 
 
 But bear, my soul, God's chastening bravely bear, 
 And kiss the hand that gave the blow ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Edinburgh : 
 Printed by W. & H. Chambers. 
 
niini