With regard to the Jews of Palestine the handbook tells us that they are ‘in one sense the most interesting people of the land. 18 centuries ago they were driven from the home of their fathers, and yet they cling to its “holy places” still. They moisten the stones of Jerusalem with their tears; “her very dust to them is dear,” and their most earnest wish is that the dust of their bodies should mingle with it. The tombs that whiten the side of Olivet tell a tale of mournful bereavement and undying affection unparalleled in the world’s history.’
Totally different from these, he tells us, are the Jews of Damascus and Aleppo, who must be considered as much natives as any of the inhabitants of Syria. ‘They are Arabs in language, habits, and occupations, in so far at least as religion will permit. Some of them are men of great wealth and corresponding influence. For generations they have been the bankers of the local authorities, and have often fearfully realized the strange fluctuations of Eastern life — now ruling a province, now gracing a pillory — at one time the all-powerful favourites, at another the disgraced and mutilated outcasts.’
The Turks, who are few in number, and foreigners in race and language, are ‘hated by every sect and class, wanting in physical power, destitute of moral principle, and yet they are the despots of the land. They obtain their power by bribery, and they exercise it for extortion and repression.’
Murray sums up with one final — as he thought — nail in the coffin of the Ottoman Empire that the observant Englishman must be sure to notice: ‘There is not a man in the country, whether Turk or Arab, Mohammedan or Christian, who would give a para to save the empire from ruin; that is, if he be not in government pay, in which case of course his salary and the empire would go together. The patriotism of the Syrian is confined to his own house; anything beyond it does not concern him — selfishness reigns supreme. The consequence is, that there is not a road in the whole country except the one recently made by a French company; the streets of the great cities and villages are in winter all but impassable, and in summer reeking with the stench of dead dogs and cats and other abominations. Dogs are the only scavengers; anything which is too corrupt or filthy for them to eat, rots where it lies. One would imagine, in traversing Syria, that the whole country had recently been shaken to its centre by an earthquake, there are so many broken bridges, ruinous mosques, and roofless caravanserais. It is emphatically a land of ruins, and ruins are increasing in number every year.’
As for the best seasons for visiting Syria and Palestine, in a country without railways or coaches, and with only one road, ‘progress must necessarily be slow, and the summer’s sun and winter’s rain are alike to be avoided’. The traveller is reminded that ‘there are no inns along the great thoroughfares, with cheerful chamber, well-aired bed, and tempting cuisine to make one forget the fatigues of a day’s ride, or to afford a pleasant asylum from drenching rain and muddy road’.
Tent-life is the only solution, which is ‘very romantic; it reads well in a poetical traveller’s journal, and there are few who have tried it but will look back to it as to a sunny spot. But it requires fine weather; it is no pleasant task to pitch your tent and spread your bed in mud: there is little romance in canvas when the rain is pouring through it.’
For those who are old, or a traveller in ill health, a long journey on horseback may prove too much, therefore the easiest mode of conveyance is ‘a light arm-chair, without legs (which are apt to get entangled among rocks), securely fastened on two long poles, like a sedan-chair. Two easy-paced mules attached to this machine carry the occupant with considerable comfort.’
Murray perhaps has toilet paper in mind when he says that, among the provisions: ‘There are a few things I recommend the more fastidious, and especially ladies, to take with them for their own use; and I advise them also not to trust such precious commodities to the exclusive care of servants, whether English or Arab.’
A tour in the region was, in those days, still rare enough for the following comments: ‘Every traveller should have his note-book to record incidents and describe scenes to which memory will look back with pleasure in after years. Descriptions written on the spot will “photograph” scenes and events on the mind. As to the propriety of publishing I say nothing. Every one must exercise his own good taste and wisdom in that respect. But a “journal” has a real and absorbing interest, apart from all thought of Albermarle Street or Paternoster Row.’
There was, of course, the matter of security, for the roads in Syria weren’t always safe from bandits, and Murray recommends that a small revolver may be carried, which ‘should be worn in a leather belt so as to be visible, especially when the traveller sees fit to indulge in solitary rides or walks. The robbers of Syria are generally amateurs, who take up the profession when opportunity offers. They will seldom venture on a party of Franks if there be any show of arms among them; but a few peasants, when they meet a timid traveller, will first beg, then demand, and finally take a bakshish. By cool self-possession and a determined manner one can generally overawe them. There should be no blustering or hurry in such cases, for noise seems to rouse an Arab’s “pluck”; but the traveller should be careful to show all whom it may concern, by the ease and dignity of his bearing, that, while he may enjoy a joke, it would scarcely be safe to carry it too far.’
For visiting remote districts an escort was necessary, ‘composed of members of that tribe to which the country we propose to visit belongs. Even friendly tribes have no right to conduct strangers through the territories of others. It not unfrequently happens that adventurous chiefs will undertake such a task, and, for the sake of the pay, run the risk of a sound drubbing, if not worse. When an attack is made under such circumstances, and especially if it be by the Bedawin of the desert, no attempt at resistance should be made. Leave the matter wholly to your escort, and act as if you had no interest in it whatever. It may be well to explain to the enemy that you had no intention of breaking the laws of desert life; that you had engaged a sheikh to escort you under the impression he was the proper person; that he had become guarantee for your safety; and now it was his affair, not yours, if he had trespassed on the territory of others. A calm and conciliatory bearing, aided in the end by a small present, will in nine cases out of ten clear away all difficulties.’
Such delicate negotiations with desert tribes will be conducted through an interpreter, since it is ‘useless to burden a Handbook with a collection of words and phrases’. There is, however, no better propagandist for the trip to the Holy Land than Murray:
A spring tour in Syria is to the invalid an admirable sequel to a winter in Egypt. The soft and balmy air of the desert, with its cool nights and bracing mornings, gradually prepares him for a return to more northern climes. The noble scenery of the Sinai peninsula, with its holy associations, occasions sufficient excitement to release the physical frame from the depressing influence of melancholy. Then follow the rough rides over Syrian mountains; the constant variety of scene; the engrossing interest of place — all rose-tinted by a dash of danger and romance. Others besides the invalid might reap lasting benefit from such a ramble. The city merchant who has been cramped up for years within the dingy confines of a counting-house, and who has grown dyspeptic and gouty on London fog and turtle-soup; the ‘West-end’ politician, whose physical man has been dried up by late ‘Houses,’ later assemblies, and the harassing cares of party; — these, if they wish again to know what life and liberty are, should try a tour in Syria. After the murky magnificence of the London house, or the solemn splendour of the country mansion or baronial hall, Syria would be a new world. The pure air from morning till night and from night till morning; the constant exercise; the excitement of novel scenes and novel circumstances; the relief of thought; and the relaxation of overstrained mental powers — all tend to make a new physical man, while they contribute in no small degree to give a healthy tone to the intellect.