Leading the Blind

by Alan Sillitoe

  Baedeker tells us that though there is no danger on the more frequented routes of the area, ‘in the valley of the Jordan, and more particularly to the east of Jordan, danger from nomadic Beduins might perhaps be apprehended but for the custom of travellers in these parts to provide themselves with a Beduin escort’. Certain sums are specified which must be paid, and ‘in return for these fees, a number of Beduin village sheiks, settled near Jerusalem, have undertaken to protect the interests of travellers, make compensation for thefts, etc., and the traveller who neglects to avail himself of this kind of insurance will profit little by appealing to his consul. Far higher demands are of course made for escorting travellers beyond Jordan, where the Turkish supremacy is but nominally recognised, and where, especially in the border districts, the petty sheiks affect to disdain francs and shillings, and often demand English sovereigns for their services.’

  Nevertheless, the bordering deserts were ‘infested with marauders of all kinds, but once in the interior of the territory of a desert-tribe, and under the protection of one of its sheiks, the traveller will generally meet with much kindness and hospitality. Predatory attacks are occasionally made on travellers by Beduins from remote districts, but only when the attacking party is the more powerful. To use one’s weapons in such cases may lead to serious consequences, as the traveller who kills an Arab immediately exposes himself to the danger of retaliation from the whole tribe.’

  In unsafe districts at night a guard should be posted outside the tents, and objects of value placed either under the traveller’s pillow or as near the middle of the tent as possible, ‘lest they should be within reach of hands intruding from the outside. The traveller should likewise be on his guard against the thievish propensities of beggars.’

  With regard to the ownerless ill-looking dogs which the traveller encounters in the villages and towns, they are often ‘a source of some alarm, but they fortunately never bite. Each town and village is infested with as many masterless dogs as its refuse can support. Unowned dogs will sometimes follow caravans if they are fed, in which case they will generally make themselves useful by their watchfulness at night.’

  In the Baedeker of 1912 the above remarks are substantially the same, and though there had been some improvement in communications, a dragoman was still necessary for most places beyond Damascus and Jerusalem. Protection on the road to Jericho is discussed by a writer in 1909 in the magazine Travel and Exploration, and he tells the following story:

  A few years ago two tourists, considering that the armed escort was an obsolete and futile custom, decided to dispense with them on their excursion to Jericho. Reaching their destination after an uneventful journey, they were not unnaturally jubilant. The arrival of two unaccompanied tourists reached the ears of the sheik (whose livelihood depended on his fees for escorts), and he laid his plans promptly. When the tourists reached the Wady Kelt on the return journey, they were waylaid and, though not injured in any way, all their clothes were taken from them. In this sorry plight the two victims were fain to fashion themselves some sort of covering out of a copy of The Times (the only possession left them by the sheik’s hirelings), and thus quaintly garbed they slunk into Jerusalem at nightfall, sadder and wiser men.

  An earlier issue of the same magazine relates that violence wasn’t only to be expected from local marauders near Jericho, because ‘an enterprising German society is making extensive excavations under special firman, and hundreds of native women are employed to uncover the secrets of forty centuries. The zeal of these scientific Germans would be more admirable if it were tempered with a little more courtesy. Not since spies first came to Jericho has the stranger been regarded with such suspicion. The overseers resent the presence of a camera within a hundred yards. One unhappy tourist, ignorant of these restrictions, was suddenly accosted last season, his Kodak wrenched from his grasp and dashed upon the ground.’

  Anyone wanting to lodge in Jericho would be faced with an inn described by Baedeker as ‘a dirty mud-hut surrounded by hedges. The beds are bad, the rooms small and close, and vermin abundant. The inhabitants of Jericho appear to be a degenerate race, as the hot and unhealthy climate has an enervating effect. The traveller should be on his guard against thieves.’

  In 1876 Baedeker relates that an unusual system of accommodation prevailed in the area south of Damascus, because ‘every village possesses its public inn, where every traveller is entertained gratuitously, and the Hauranians deem it honourable to impoverish themselves by contributing to the support of this establishment. As soon as a stranger arrives he is greeted with shouts of welcome, and is conducted to the inn. A servant or slave roasts coffee for him, and then pounds it in a wooden mortar, accompanying his task with a peculiar melody. Meanwhile the whole village assembles, and after the guest has been served, each person present partakes of the coffee. Even at an early hour in the morning we have been pressed to spend the whole day and the following night at one of these hospitable village inns. Now, however, that travellers have become more numerous, the villagers generally expect a trifling bakshish from Europeans. A sum of 10–20 piastres, according to the refreshment obtained, may therefore by given to the servant who holds the stirrup at starting. The food consists of fresh bread, eggs, sour milk, raisin-syrup, and in the evening a dish of wheat boiled with a little leaven and dried in the sun, with mutton.’ This is reprinted verbatim in the 1912 edition.

  Hotel accommodation in the main cities was often of an indifferent nature, as well as being expensive. In Damascus the Hotel Dmitri was said by Baedeker to be tolerable, but ‘the management is chiefly in the hands of an insolent set of waiters’. The city was not known for its tolerance of Christians, 6000 of whom had been massacred in 1860, only sixteen years before. There were booksellers in the bazaar, ‘whose fanaticism is so great that they despise even the money of the “unbeliever”, and often will not deign to answer when addressed by him’.

  A. & C. Black’s guidebook of 1911 tells us that in Damascus ‘a European stranger cannot, even at the present day, wander about the streets alone without risk of insult, especially in the neighbourhood of a mosque’. In a Saharan town of Algeria, not so many years ago, stones began landing around me when I got to within a hundred yards of one such temple.

  The traveller can’t even console himself in another direction, when in the afternoon he may ‘encounter a crowd of women enveloped in their white sheets and closely veiled, waddling from shop to shop, carefully examining numberless articles which they do not mean to buy … but in this jealous and fanatical city it is imprudent and even dangerous to be too observant of the fair sex’.

  Women, Christian though they might be, were not wanted at the Monastery of Mar Saba near Jerusalem, which seems just as well, since: ‘The divans are generally infested with vermin. The accommodation is very poor, but bread and wine are to be had, and there are kitchens for the use of travellers who bring their dragoman and cook.’ At Hebron, the accommodation at several Jewish houses was said to be tolerable, but the Muslims in that place ‘are notorious for their fanaticism, and the traveller should therefore avoid coming into collision with them. The children shout a well-known curse after “Franks”, of which of course no notice should be taken.’ The Baedeker of 1912 gives the same warning, to which is added: ‘Travellers are earnestly warned against that arrant beggar, the son of the deceased old sheikh Hamza’, though why is not stated.

  Black’s guide recommends a day’s excursion to the town: ‘The unique historical associations of Hebron, its striking topography, and the intense jealousy with which the shrine of the great Jewish patriarch is guarded from Jews and Christians alike, make this excursion one of peculiar interest, and it should not be omitted by those who can only devote a week to Jerusalem.’ King Edward VII (then Prince of Wales) had been a visitor there in 1862, furnished with a special permit from the Sultan, though ‘in the face of the bitterest opposition from the inhabitants’. Since then, ‘nearly a score of distinguished travellers have
been permitted to visit this sacro-sanct spot’. Baedeker says that a dragoman is unnecessary, but Black’s guide disagrees: ‘Travellers who value their comfort should take one, in view of the unfriendly attitude of the inhabitants.’

  At Nablus there was for a long time only the camping ground for accommodation, though by 1912 one of the two hotels had been established by the Hamburg-Amerika shipping line. The camping ground still existed, however, and Baedeker recommends: ‘The commandant should be requested to furnish one or two soldiers as a guard for the tents, as the inhabitants are fanatical and quarrelsome.’

  Cook’s guide tells us: ‘The people have a bad reputation for their discourteous treatment of strangers, and even today Christian visitors are sometimes greeted with cries of Nazarene! accompanied by pelting of stones.’ Henry S. Lunn, in his How to Visit the Mediterranean, 1896, gives a more final verdict: ‘The Moslems, noted for their fanatical and turbulent character, offer no inviting prospect for residents alien in race and creed.’

  One also had to endure the ‘plaintive cry of the lepers. Unhappily, these poor creatures intrude their misfortunes before the gaze of the stranger, who is often sorely tried at witnessing the distorted faces and wasting limbs, and to hear the horrible and husky wail peculiar to themselves.’

  And so to Jerusalem, the star of all places for Jewish and Christian pilgrims, first and foremost the City of David, and nearer to God than any other. Baedeker’s guidebook provides a magnificent fold-out panorama, fit for framing, which shows the main sights and almost every building. We are reminded that ‘Jerusalem’ comes from the Hebrew, meaning ‘Vision of Peace’, and that to most travellers it is ‘a place of overwhelming interest, but at first many will be sadly disappointed in the Holy City, the venerable type of the heavenly. Zion. It would seem at first as though little were left of the ancient city of Zion and Moriah, the far-famed capital of the Jewish empire; and little of it indeed is to be discovered in the narrow, crooked, ill-paved, and dirty streets of the modern town. It is only by patiently penetrating beneath the modern crust of rubbish and rottenness which shrouds the sacred places from view that the traveller will at length realise to himself a picture of the Jerusalem of antiquity, and this will be the more vivid in proportion to the amount of previously acquired historical and topographical information which he is able to bring to bear upon his researches.’

  Baedeker suggests at least a week to see the main sights, while Black’s, perhaps in consideration of the Sabbath, thinks six days should be enough. Murray makes no comment on the matter, assuming that the intelligent reader can decide for himself.

  Accommodation was possible at the Mediterranean Hotel, where the landlord was Moses Hornstein, said to have a Scottish wife; and at the Damascus Hotel, owned by his brother: ‘Food generally good; rooms small, but sufficiently large for ordinary travellers who are seldom in-doors.’ Murray’s earlier edition also recommends the Hornstein hotels, the first being ‘a large and commodious house. The reports are favourable of the landlord’s civility and attention to the comforts of his guests.’

  By 1912 there were more hotels, and Black’s guide commends an English pension run by a Mr Hensman, said to be a ‘favourite resort of the clergy’, where English cooking was the rule. Thomas Cook used the Grand New Hotel for his clients.

  Several hospices catered for Roman Catholic travellers, though: ‘In the height of summer many of the inhabitants camp outside the gates for the sake of the purer air, but the traveller should not attempt this in the spring, as the weather is then often bitterly cold, unless he is compelled to do so from want of accommodation within the city.’

  Regarding bankers: ‘Valero, in David Street, is a good Jewish house … Small change, with which the traveller should always be well supplied, may be obtained at the bazaar, but as reckoning in piastres is puzzling at first, he should be on his guard against imposition.’

  Among medical men, Dr Chaplin, of the Jewish Mission, is recommended, followed by ‘Dr. Sandreszki, a skilful operator, physician of the German institutions’.

  In 1912 Baedeker gives the population of Jerusalem as 70,000, including 45,000 Jews and 15,000 Christians. Of the Jews, the number ‘has greatly risen in the last few decades, in spite of the fact that they are forbidden to immigrate or to possess landed property. The majority subsist on the charity of their European brethren, from whom they receive their regular khaluka, or allowance, and for whom they pray at the holy places.’

  In order to visit the Moslem Haram esh-Sherif, ‘the permission of the Turkish authorities and the escort of a soldier is necessary, but on Friday and during the time of festivals, entrance is entirely prohibited to strangers’. Access to Jewish and Christian sites was unimpeded.

  Cook’s handbook, forty years after the above, tells us: ‘It is only recently that Christians have been at liberty to enter any of the Mosques. The restrictions have now, however, been removed, and some of the principal Mosques, which bold travellers of an earlier date risked their lives to enter, may be visited by any one who makes the proper application to the consul, and pays the proper fees.’

  Cook reminds the visitor that ‘although he may not believe in the religion of the Moslems, he should respect their institutions so far as to adopt those customs which are deemed by them to be due to their religion. It will be well to observe these things, not only as a matter of good taste, but also from prudential motives, as there is still a strong feeling against this invasion of holy places by infidels – as the Christians are called – and Mohammedan fanaticism is a passion which it is unsafe to arouse.’

  One ought not to leave Jerusalem, however, without an example of Christian fanaticism, and I quote from Murray’s handbook of 1868: ‘A description of the Church of the Sepulchre could hardly be considered complete without some account of the scenes enacted at the time of the miracle (imposture?) of the Holy Fire. On the Easter-eve of each returning year it is affirmed that a miraculous flame descends from heaven into the Holy Sepulchre, kindling all the lamps and candles there, as it did of yore Elijah’s sacrifice on Carmel. The Greek patriarch or his representative alone enters the tomb at the prescribed time; and the fire soon appearing is given out to the expectant and excited multitude through a hole in the northern wall. The origin of this extraordinary scene is involved in mystery. It is singular, too, and worthy of notice, that at a few of the Moslem saints’ tombs a supernatural fire is said to blaze on every Friday, superseding all necessity for lamps.’

  Murray continues: ‘The imposture of the Holy Fire is unquestionably one of the most degrading rites performed within the walls of Jerusalem. It is not too much to say that it brings disgrace on the Christian name. It makes our boasted Christian enlightenment a subject of scorn and contempt to both Jews and Mohammedans. Its effects upon those who sanction or take part in it are most melancholy. It makes their clergy, high and low, deliberate imposters; it rouses the worst passions of the poor ignorant pilgrims who assemble here from the ends of the earth: and it tends more than aught else to convert the pure, spiritual, elevating faith of the Lord Jesus into a system of fraud and degrading superstition.

  ‘The fostering of fanaticism, superstition, and imposture is not the only evil result of the Holy Fire. Scarcely a year passes in which some accident does not occur at the exhibition – an unfortunate woman is crushed to death, or an old man is trampled over by the crowd; or oftener still one or two are stabbed in the quarrels of rival sects. In the year 1834 a fearful tragedy occurred …’

  The description of it is given over to Lord Curzon, from his Monasteries of the Levant:

  The guards outside, frightened at the rush from within, thought that the Christians wished to attack them, and the confusion soon grew into a battle. The soldiers with their bayonets killed numbers of fainting wretches, and the walls were spattered with blood and brains of men who had been felled, like oxen, with the butt-ends of the soldiers’ muskets. Every one struggled to defend himself, and in the mêlée all who fell were immed
iately trampled to death by the rest. So desperate and savage did the fight become, that even the panic-struck and frightened pilgrims appeared at last to have been more intent upon the destruction of each other than desirous to save themselves.

  For my part, as soon as I had perceived the danger I had cried out to my companions to turn back, which they had done; but I myself was carried on by the press till I came near the door where all were fighting for their lives. Here, seeing certain destruction before me, I made every endeavour to get back. An officer of the Pasha’s, equally alarmed with myself, was also trying to return; he caught hold of my cloak, and pulled me down on the body of an old man who was breathing out his last sigh. As the officer was pressing me to the ground, we wrestled together among the dying and the dead with the energy of despair. I struggled with this man till I pulled him down, and happily got again upon my legs – (I afterwards found that he never rose again) – and scrambling over a pile of corpses, I made my way back into the body of the church … The dead were lying in heaps, even upon the Stone of Unction; and I saw 400 wretched people, dead and living, heaped promiscuously one upon another, in some places above 5 ft. high.

  A final comment from Murray wonders whether or not it isn’t ‘high time for enlightened Russia to step in, and put an end, by the high hand of her authority, to this most disgraceful and degrading imposture’.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TURKEY

  We will begin our section on travel in the Turkish Empire by quoting from an article in Blackwood’s Magazine of 1847, which describes a party of English travellers disembarking on the coast near Smyrna. ‘When I landed at that nest of pirates, Valona,’ the anonymous author says, ‘was I to look upon that wretched rabble as Turks? Men dressed in every variety of shabby frock-coat and trousers; and above all, men who were undisguised in the exhibition of vulgar curiosity. When, then, I saw these people flocking together on their jetty to meet us, I at once recognised them as mongrel and degenerated. The whole community are piratical; the youth practically, the seniors by counsel. They manage their evil deeds with a singleness of purpose that neglects no feasible opportunity, and with a caution that restrains from doubtful attempts, and almost secures them from capture. Incontinent they launch their boats, – terrible vessels that hold twenty or thirty armed men besides the rowers, and cleave their irresistible course towards the motionless and defenceless victim. On such occasions it is only by rare hap that any individual survives to tell the tale and cry for vengeance. The bloody work is no sooner over than its traces are obliterated and the community restored to the appearance of inoffensiveness: the boats are pulled up on shore, the crews dispersed.’