CHAPTER III.PALESTINE.
The journey to the Dead Sea is one undertaken by almost all travellers—notwithstanding the dangers, more imaginary than real, by which it is foreshadowed. Our dragoman was careful that our party left their gold and watches with the banker, as there were Tumours of an incursion of Bedouins from beyond Jordan. Indeed only some days previously, as we subsequently learned, an English clergyman and his companion had been seized at the eastern bank of the river and carried captive into Moab, where they were held prisoners several days for a heavy ransom.
Remounting our horses, we left the city ina southerly direction, to see the Pools of Solomon, about seven miles distant from the city. These consist of three large open reservoirs, from which the water supply of Jerusalem seems to have been obtained, and is so yet to some extent. They are very substantially built of stone. The water flows by gravitation along a small and very circuitous aqueduct on the surface of the hill sides, and covered merely with rough stones to protect it from the sun and from being soiled by the camels. To bring water by such means so long a distance, and along such a hilly country, is no mean engineering feat. It is done here in a manner remarkable for it’s simplicity and apparent efficiency. The aqueduct seemed to me very small in capacity—little more than that of a 12-inch pipe—and being so, its great age proves how very scientifically its fall and diameter had been mutually calculated, so as, without creating any pressure, to exactly meet all the requirements of the laws of hydraulics. Near this locality the path branchesdown towards the Frank Mountain, where is the famous Cave of Adullam, which, however, we did not visit.
From this we proceeded eastward to Bethlehem. I looked anxiously for the celebrated plains of Bethlehem, but no plains were visible—on the contrary, Bethlehem stands on high ground, on the eastern promontory of what is called tableland, although by no means level. It looked somewhat like a fortress in the distance, the most prominent object being the Church of the Nativity, built over what is asserted to be the manger in which our Saviour was laid, and clustering round it are several monasteries, chapels, and religious houses of the Latins and the other competing Christian sects. The church, which is I believe the most ancient Christian church in the world, having been built by the Princess Helena in the fourth century, is at present in a state of good preservation. The rafters of the roof seem fresh timbers, although thesemay have been oftener than once renewed since her day, but the double row of fine Grecian columns of reddish-streaked grey marble are evidently ancient.
Near the inner threshold is a marble star which we were once more told marked the centre of the world. This church, like that of the Holy Sepulchre, is in charge of the Turks, who divide its use equally to the Latins, the Greeks, and the Armenians. Descending a stair of sixteen steps from the north corner of the church, we enter a grotto or vault probably nine to twelve feet high, and lighted by numerous silver lamps, casting a gloom over the place much more like a sepulchre than a birthplace. This vault is long and tortuous in shape, and contains numerous cells or divisions, such as the Chapel of St. Jerome, Chapel of the Innocents, Tombs of Jerome and Eusebius, Scene of the Vision, the Magi’s Altar, and so on. But the principal is the Chapel of the Nativity, an oblong crypt about thirty-six feetlong, paved, and its walls lined with polished marbles. The Recess, or Sacred Spot, is lighted by six Greek silver lamps, five Armenian and four Latin, continually burning! (I think a somewhat similar distribution of honours is made in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem.) Opposite is the Chapel of the Manger. It is of white marble, and is claimed I think by the Latins. The jewels and other ornaments and drapery in this vault are rich in the extreme. There is a large silver star, with a Latin inscription, to mark the exact spot of the nativity, and the veneration of the attendants and most of the “pilgrims” is apparently quite as great as in the Sepulchre at Jerusalem.
There has been a great deal of controversy about the genuineness of this site of the Nativity. It is hewn out of the rock, as indeed is the whole vault; and although caverns and grottoes are quite common in the East, and probably were often used as stables, the shape and entrance to this particular oneseem peculiarly ill adapted for such a purpose. Little or nothing, however, can be seen of the rock, as it is faced with marble and concealed by the drapery, the silver and other ornaments. Farther to the eastward, and at various distances beyond, are other buildings and “holy places,” such as the “Milk Cavern,” another grotto of great and miraculous virtue. Still farther eastward is shown the “Field of the Shepherds” and the ruins of the “House of Joseph’s Dream;” and continuing the descent eastward is shown the Field of Boaz, and beyond is a group of olive trees in which is the Grotto of the Shepherds where the angels first appeared to them. But many of these are contradictory; some are openly disputed even there, and few of them are well founded even in tradition.
I cannot say that I could ever feel enthusiastic interest in sights of this kind, although they seem greatly to affect many visitors to the Shrines. Altogether, I fear I made a very indifferent “Pilgrim” in theEast; and here I may mention, once for all, that the Arabs, as well as the Jews and Christians of all sects, assume that all travellers are bonâ fide “Pilgrims” travelling from religious motives to perform devotions at particular shrines of their own church. Now I doubt if it is right—in Protestants at least, is it not hypocritical?—to encourage that misconception by offering acts of religious devotion at holy places so called, or to relics. So far as possible therefore, without being offensively singular, I endeavoured to do nothing indicating a desire to be considered a religious pilgrim in any sense. It seems to me that devotion of this kind always appears either silly or superstitious in the eyes of a different religionist, and only tends to make him the more highly value the imagined superior enlightenment of his own. I was glad to observe that our party generally seemed to take a somewhat similar view of this matter.
Much of the history of Palestine has comedown to us from Jerome, well known as an eminent Father of the Church. He was a man of extraordinary energy, and seems to have left Rome towards the end of the fourth century, to spend the remaining years of his life at Bethlehem. Here he was followed by Paula, a wealthy widow lady of Rome, and her daughter; they sought to retire from the world, like many other hermits then, who entered convents, monasteries, and cells, from religious motives—evidently sincere, however mistaken. The tombs of both are seen in the chapel, and also a painting of Jerome and his lion.
There are several educational establishments in Bethlehem, nearly all of them connected with religious houses. One is a German Protestant school, with about fifty boys and girls attending.
Bethlehem is a most interesting country, and perhaps no place in Palestine has been rendered more so by the events it has witnessed. “And thou Bethlehem, the fruitful, art notthe least among the princes of Judah; for out of thee shall come a governor, that shall rule my people Israel.” Here was the threshing-floor of Boaz, vividly recalling the exquisitely beautiful story of Ruth and Naomi, and yonder in the distance, over the vast gulf of the Dead Sea, were the Mountains of Moab, nearly twenty miles distant, but looking almost at hand, so bright and pure is the atmosphere.
These Mountains of Moab, once seen, impress the mind very strongly, because of their peculiar formation and colour. I forget whether Mr. Ruskin has seen them—I imagine he would thoroughly appreciate and enjoy this scene. Rising almost precipitously from the borders of the Dead Sea, they have, seen in the blaze of the afternoon sun, a peculiar warm purply-tinged orange colour—perfectly bare, being without the appearance of a shrub or living thing. This also was the locality of Jesse’s inheritance: here David was brought up, and, in the wilderness immediatelyto the south, this boy shepherd watched his father’s flocks, slaying the lion and the bear: and here Samuel anointed him King over Israel. Near this also is the well of which he so anxiously desired to drink when fleeing from Saul, and hiding in the many caves which abound in the vicinity—besides many other Bible scenes and incidents familiar to all of us. And here undoubtedly our Saviour was born into the world. Of course, theexactspot of each scene and incident is as usual pointed out.
Whatever quibbles or doubts may arise thereon, this seems certain, that here within range of the eye they were once acted out, and that over these plains, as they are called, was heard the heavenly song, “Peace on earth and good-will to men;” alas! how soon to be followed by that bitter cry of Rachel weeping for her murdered children. Bordering this, on the north, is the field in which Jacob buried his beloved Rachel, and her tomb “is shown atthis day.” The tombs of the Patriarchs, however, are at Hebron, the Royal City and the capital of Judea before the days of David. It is situated at Mamre, about twenty miles farther south upon the high land, west of the Dead Sea. So Jacob relates upon his death-bed—“Bury me with my fathers in the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which is before Mamre, which Abraham bought for a possession of a burying-place. There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah.”
The Moslems hold these Tombs in extreme veneration—second only to those of the Prophets’ Mosque at Mecca, and all attempts to enter their enclosures and vaults are looked upon as highly sacrilegious.
There once stood Abram’s tent, from which he looked and beheld the smoke of the burning “cities of the plain,” which now lie overwhelmed by the bituminous salt water of theDead Sea, to mark Heaven’s detestation of their crimes; and perhaps also of war. For that now submerged valley was probably the first battlefield of the world, where were slain the Kings of Sodom and Gomorrah, when Lot was made prisoner and carried off to the north by the conquering Kings Chederlaomer and his confederates, but soon to be delivered by the brave little army of Abraham.
The inhabitants of Bethlehem are good-looking—more so than any other I saw in the East, and chiefly Christians, there being very few Mahomedans in the place. The faces of the women generally are uncovered, and altogether the people have a more homely look than any other we came amongst in our journey. Instead of the weary-looking, peering faces with which we had been so long accustomed, the open countenances and uncovered faces showed a different state of civilization, at least so far as the women are concerned, and for which I hope Christianity is to be credited. The so-called “veil” now in use in Eastern countriesmust, I think, be a Mahomedan invention—very different from that of Rebekah, who could never have worn anything so ugly.
There is a good deal of wine made at Bethlehem, and it is said to be the best in Palestine, which, however, is no great boast. Many little articles, and vases of stinkstone from the Dead Sea, are also made for pilgrims.
From Bethlehem, we again re-mounted on our journey eastward for Mara Saba, which lies half-way down the rapid descent to the Dead Sea. Mara Saba, which we reached in the afternoon, in good time to erect our tents, is a “Convent,” as it is called, but in the East this word I found is by no means confined to houses of nuns, but seems to include monasteries as well. Originally it consisted of both—the Kedron stream between—but owing to a serious scandal which arose, the nuns’ convent was suppressed. It is a huge structure, built on the brow of a steep rock—fit site for an eagle’s nest rather than a human habitation. Here the river Kedron leaps inits course downward to the Dead Sea, but by this time its channel was almost dry. The Convent is always readily opened for the reception of travellers, but is walled and guarded most carefully, from fear of attack by the Bedouins, and no communication can be made except by a basket let down from the wall over the gate, by which introductory letters and other articles are conveyed into the Convent. Unfortunately, or rather I ought to say fortunately, our party consisted partly of ladies, whom the monks do not appear to appreciate as they deserve, for no female is admitted within the walls on any consideration. And those who have read the travels of Madame Pfeiffer round the world will remember that she had to sleep outside alone in an old tower, although all the other members of her party were admitted within the walls—certainly a lonely post for a lady to occupy.
But we were provided with our travelling tents, and were therefore independent; besides,we were amply protected, having been followed on this day’s journey by a Turkish escort—obtained through the English Consul—consisting of the Sheik’s son and two Arab soldiers, besides our own servants—by no means a weak party. The young Sheik—a handsome man and very handsomely dressed—was mounted on one of the finest Arabian horses I have seen, but the whole affair of the guard appears to me very much of a farce, for I think that the Bedouins—always seen in the distance—against whom these precautions were taken, are merely used for the purpose of frightening strangers from travelling east of the Jordan, and to prevent them from dispensing with costly guards, dragomans, and the like.
However, our Sheik guard behaved very gallantly, showing us his wonderful horsemanship and the powers of his Arabian, which far surpassed anything I ever saw at a circus.
The figures of these Arab horsemen are familiar to all, from pictures at least. Thegun, nearly six feet long, slung on their back, with the long tasselled spear in hands, are drawn to the life; and when the young chief actually galloped his horse up hilly mounds very steep, fencing dexterously the while with his Turkish scimitar, the sight was very picturesque. And then, when he returned to make his salaams before the ladies, which he did in purely Eastern style, it was evident he was a man of some breeding.
The males of us visited the Convent, introduced by our dragoman, and here we found the establishment in full operation. It was founded by a religious recluse, named Saba, about the end of the fifth century, and must, from the peculiarity of the site and the strength of the walls, have cost a great amount of money and labour in its erection. Seen from below it has a very imposing appearance, and to stand on its east balcony and look down its rocky foundation—a sheer declivity of more than 500 feet—require a clear head and aneagle eye. Saba seems to have been a prince of anchorites, a man of extraordinary sanctity, and, as his historian shows, a worker of miracles. He drew around him many followers, and must have been a person of considerable importance in the Greek Church, to which he belonged. On taking possession of the place, he found a small den scooped out in the rock, occupied by a lion; but the lion reverentially vacated, and left the saint in possession of the cell, which he occupied as his bed. Whether the noble animal remained his attendant, as in the similar case of Jerome, is not related. The cell is yet shown, and is certainly more fit for a lion than a man. His other miracles consisted in creating a well of excellent water at the Convent, and in planting a palm tree, whose fruit is a talismanic cure for the sick matrons of Judea; but as it grows within the walls, and no dealings whatever are tolerated with their sex, it is difficult to see how its virtues can be availed of. But cell, well, andtree are all to be seen at this day; and, therefore, is it possible to doubt the truth of either of them?
Saba died at the advanced age of ninety-four. The Convent’s history has not been altogether a peaceful one; indeed it may well be called a fortress convent. It was attacked by the Persian General in the seventh century, when forty-four of the monks were killed, and it formed a point of some importance during the struggles of the Crusaders, besides being frequently menaced by the Bedouins, who are still supposed to watch continually for an opportunity of carrying off its treasures—said to be great. The building consists of a great number of cells, galleries, courts, and stairs; within, its tiny chapel is literally covered with silver. There is a tomb of Saba, but it is empty, his bones having been carried off to Venice. The monks are—about seventy in number—a poor and a very unintellectual-looking set of men, somewhat plainly and shabbily dressed; many of them seem never to stir beyond the wallsof the Convent, and their lives are strictly ascetic. Their whole time is occupied in religious services, in the washing and cooking of the establishment, and making walking canes and strings of beads, crosses, and shells—for which there is a large demand by travellers. All these are valued as curiosities, but are really worthless for any practical use. They have a library with some MSS., said to be valuable, which they neither seem to read nor allow others to do so. The washing tubs, I remember, were of hewn stone; and I daresay were ladies admitted, they would notice in the housekeeping many things very defective and ridiculous—altogether the whole place had a very primitive and sleepy appearance. In a recess of one of the walls of the chapel is shown a heap of skulls, said to be those of “the 10,000 martyrs—cross-bearers of a former age.” I should think the recess would not hold above a hundredth part of that number.
Next morning found us in the saddle for the Dead Sea and the Jordan, and here we begana descent of more than four hours’ ride, down one of the wildest and steepest ravines in the East. In this locality are hundreds of cells cut in the face of the rocks, presently inhabited by jackals. They seem to have been originally selected by hermits of all nations in the Middle Ages, who, disgusted with themselves or the world, settled there under the hope of living holy and meritorious lives. How sincerely well meant, but how vain the attempt, and how pregnant with future evils to the Church and the world, history can tell! How unlike to the poor, hiding, persecuted Christians of the Waldenses and of Scotland! They too were content to live in caves, but were hunted like partridges upon the mountains—“they lived unknown till persecution dragged them into fame, and chased them up to heaven!”[5]Deep down, and very frequently in view during the journey, lay the Dead Sea, glancing in the sunbeams as I thought at one time likelead, and at another like silver. The scene was altogether barren in the extreme.
The Dead Sea is forty miles long, and about eight in width. On its north and west shore is a pebbly and muddy beach without shell or trace of living creature, so far as I observed; no vegetation surrounds it, and for our usual noonday lunch we could obtain no shade from the sun: I had to use my umbrella, and can now better understand Jonah’s complaint over his withered Gourd, and the beauty of the prophet’s figure—“The shadow of a great rock in a weary land!” On its banks near its junction with the Jordan are a number of reeds, but they were perfectly withered and brittle, probably irrigated, however, by some stray streams from that river at the period of its annual overflow. Altogether the scene was the wildest and most death-like of any I have ever seen, and had an extremely depressing effect on the spirits, for which no doubt an unwonted atmosphere was also to blame. So intense was the heat at this level, the lowestspot on the earth’s surface—being 1300 feet under the level of the Mediterranean Sea, and more than 3700 under that of Jerusalem—that three of our party who had made a tour of the world, said they had never experienced heat so intolerable, not even under the equator, nor yet on the Red Sea voyage.
It seems obvious that the Dead Sea water surface was at no very distant era several hundred feet higher in level. This fact, I think, incidentally indicates the former fertility of Palestine, because a luxurious vegetation would produce more rain, and consequently a larger volume of water supply by the Jordan and its tributaries than in modern times.
Some say a miasma rises from the slime beds of the Dead Sea which induces depression of spirits and excessive fatigue. This is possible, but probably imagination has something to do with the feeling. True it is, however, that neither man nor living thing tarries many hours in its vicinity; nor is boat seenon its silent solitary waters, although from their high specific gravity everything floatable swims on its surface with remarkable buoyancy. Even the naval officer who undertook to survey its boundaries and sound its depths has done so very imperfectly, driven off, if I remember aright, by sickness. The waters of the Dead Sea contain nearly a fourth part of solid matter, of which one-half is common salt. It is said the bottom or bed of the sea is of asphalt, and lumps of bitumen are frequently seen thrown up on its shores, as also some Hakes of sulphur. The sense of solitude is awful, nor can I imagine any punishment more severe than to be left here alone for even a single week.
The Valley of the Dead Sea is surely the most extraordinary fact of geography. Its waters have been sounded, and found 1320 feet deep, so that its bottom is nearly a mile lower than Jerusalem! Ever filling, and without egress, yet it is never full—assuredly nounfit type of the “valley of the shadow of death!”
Bathing our hands in its waters, a disagreeable feeling remained until we had afterwards washed them in the Jordan, further on in the afternoon. Without spending the whole hour usually allotted for mid-day lunch, we resumed our journey, gradually ascending to the north, along the deep Jordan valley, until we reached what is usually called the Ford of the Jordan, said to be the spot crossed by Joshua, and where the waters retired before the Ark.
This south position of the Jordan valley is extremely barren. Rising very precipitously on its west boundary is a mountain, in the upper portion of which are numerous cells, which in the early Christian era were inhabited by many hermits of the most self-denying class. This locality seems to have been chosen because practically inaccessible, unless by using ropes. In the valley are remains of one or two monasteries, and a church of St. John.Here was the scene of John the Baptist’s preaching, and of his baptising in the Jordan; and here at different points on the river the rival sects now have periodical gatherings for the same purpose. Gilgal must have been in this locality.
All are so familiar with pictures of the Jordan that I need scarcely attempt to describe it here. We were somewhat disappointed with its size, but then the water had fallen at that time within the level of the lower bank of the stream. However, when the river is in flood and overflows even its upper bank, the volume of water it throws into the Dead Sea must be very great, its velocity being high, owing to the great declivity of its course, which, while nearly in line, is extremely serpentine. Seen as we saw it, the feat of crossing the Jordan looked easy, but I can now imagine why the sacred penman lays so great stress upon the bravery of the eleven shepherd men of Gad, who so nobly came to the help of David. “Men ofmight, men of war fit for the battle, whose faces were like the faces of lions, and were swift as the roes upon the mountains.” “These are they that went over Jordan, even in the first month, when it had overflown all his banks.” And seen at such a time, the force and beauty of the prophet’s language must have deeply impressed the mind. “If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses?” And, “If in the land of peace they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan?” Here we partially bathed in its stream, and found it deliciously refreshing after the journey of the forenoon.
The valley of the Jordan rises gradually towards the north, and it is difficult to conceive a spot more combining all the requirements of a “Garden of the Lord.” The climate is tropical, the soil loamy, with ample means of perfect irrigation, of course quite neglected, and although protected from stormywinds by the surrounding amphitheatre of hills, it is little better than a waste. A few good vines were visible, and here and there an attempt at cultivation, generally ludicrous from its failure, presented itself to the eye.
The lower bank of the Jordan is covered with trees, but I was disappointed greatly with their size—probably the best are cut down by charcoal burners—while otherwise the scene was more like a wilderness than a garden. No habitations visible, except a few straggling mud huts amidst a thicket of hedges, and surrounded with an ample vegetation of thorns and briars, with some gum and balsam plants and apples of Sodom. We reached them after three hours’ ride, just as the sun was going down—and this was Jericho! Situated about six miles westward of the Jordan, it consists of only one stately ruin, stone-built, somewhat like an old khan, recently converted into a lodge for travellers. It is of course the house which concealed the spies of Joshua, and from whichthe scarlet thread was displayed; but we, for good reasons, preferred sleeping in our own tents.
After eating our usual dinner, we threw ourselves upon our beds, thoroughly fatigued, for this was to me by far the most trying day of our travels; and those only who have passed through similar experience can imagine how very sweet rest was. It was too early to sleep—indeed, my enjoyment ofrest, pure and simple, was too great to permit it; but we had not so reclined for half an hour when we heard a concert in our immediate neighbourhood, for which we certainly were not prepared. This consisted of music and dancing, or rather two dances, of which the Arabs formed one, and their women formed the other at some distance. The evening was totally dark, but numerous pine or pitch torches were held up, and the scene presented was more extraordinary than pleasing. To a quick monotonous pipe and drum kind of music and clapping of hands,the men, forming a large circle, danced in pairs and otherwise, while the Chief, armed with a very large scimitar, exactly like that in the picture-books, with which Blue Beard beheaded his unfortunate wives, danced round the ring.
By way of honour to the “Pilgrims,” he, as he finished each circuit, aimed a blow at the tip of our noses alternately, which, however, he made a point of missing, with more dexterity on his part than enjoyment on ours. The women’s dance, which I did not happen to see, was still more boisterous, and was enjoyed by another party of travellers—chiefly Germans—whom we had met at the Jordan banks in the afternoon. Both women and men evidently belonged to the Bedouin Arabs, swarthy and dark-coloured, with bright eyes and prominent teeth. I observed an encampment of tents on the north—probably theirs; these tents are woven of camels’ hair, and seen from a distance may well be described “black as the tents of Kedar.”
Each party of us was separately informed through his dragoman that this exhibition was a very high distinction indeed, and got up for our special honour—the meaning of which was—bakshish. In the glare of the torchlight these Arabs had more the appearance of wild Indians than any we had met with as yet, and I rather think they had come from the eastern side of the Jordan. The Bedouin women are not often veiled. All classes of maidens in Palestine—Christians included—generally wear a string of silver and gold coins round their brow, said to be their “fortune,” and in some instances these would be in value about three pounds sterling. They sometimes tint their nails with a vermilion colour, of a very fine shade—how procured I am uncertain.
I regret we did not spend another day at Jericho to inspect this naturally rich valley. It appears from remains of ancient aqueducts and irrigation works to have at one time been remarkably fertile; but as everywhere underTurkish rule, even the most fertile and finest portions of the world have become, like this, a wilderness.
Next morning we resumed our journey up to Jerusalem—this time by ascending the mountain path to Bethany, celebrated in Gospel history as the road of the man who fell among thieves, and certainly the way gradually became wilder and wilder, and more and more rocky, each hour of our journey. Near the bottom of our ascent was a large fountain, or rather its remains, with ample proofs of fertility, and with very little culture there was some show of verdure amidst the wilderness around. This is supposed, I think without much reason, to have been the scene of Elijah’s retreat during the years of famine, when—by the ravens—bread was given him and his water was sure. Caves abound there, and at the bottom of a ravine, much farther up on our path, was said to be the brook Cherith, identifiedwith the history of this prophet. There was upon our upward journey almost no appearance of human dwellings, except a few ruins of houses and a solitary, ruinous khan, of considerable extent, which of course is the inn to which the good Samaritan carried the wounded man; and if you doubt it, you can still see the trough at which his beast was watered.
There must at one time have been a considerable traffic on this road, because it is the only practicable one between Jericho and Jerusalem; and if one were trying to picture a scene in keeping with the story, it would be difficult to describe a better than this. Although a Russian princess is said to have recently sent a thousand pounds to repair the road—she having been dismounted in making the journey down—it is still scarcely worthy of the name, and safe only for an Eastern beast of burden. It ascends along the side of a precipitous mountain range, and is boundedon the right hand by wadies and deep gorges, dividing, I think, Judea from the hills of Samaria beyond, and on which I could perceive it utterly vain to attempt the capture of thieves, even although in sight of them.
Here, as elsewhere in Judea, the mountain sides are burrowed with caverns of all sizes and shapes, affording excellent hiding-places, similar to the celebrated cave of Adullam, farther south. About mid-day the sky became overcast, a thunderstorm came on, and our waterproofs were, for the first time in our journey, unfolded. Under a cave, open in front, we rested for half an hour, until the storm had passed over; but the atmosphere had become very much cooler, and formed an extraordinary contrast to the temperature of the previous day on the banks of the Dead Sea.
Towards afternoon we approached, or rather our horses climbed up (without our stopping to kiss the “stone of rest”) into the village ofBethany, which is nestled within less than a mile of the summit of the Mount of Olives, over which the road passes, but is on the eastern slope of the mountain, and therefore quite unseen from Jerusalem.
Bethany is associated with many beautiful and tender events in the life of our Saviour; and we were scarcely pleased to find that so interesting a spot consisted only of a few ordinary buildings, crowded together, with, however, a few trees—olive, fig, and almond, and by no means answering to my preconceived notions of the village. Its site indeed is undoubtedly very fine; eastward over the Jordan Valley, the Land of Bashan and the mountains of Moab were seen, with Mount Pisgah in the distance; while northward stretched the green foliage of the Jordan banks, and parallel therewith in the east the long barren range of the mountains of Ephraim. From this point also must be visible the spot from which our Lord ascended to His Father. No doubt the monks show the traditional “Mount of the Ascension”on the opposite slope of Olivet, and there as usual they have erected an imposing tower with several chapels or shrines over the spot. It is a most improbable one, being in full view of the city, whereas we read that He led His disciples over the Mount of Olives “as far as Bethany;” and there, in bidding them farewell, a cloud received Him out of their sight. On the extreme north of the view towered Mount Hermon, capped with its bonnet of snow. This mountain, indeed, is seen from almost every eminence in Palestine and Syria, and is a strikingly grand object from all of them. It appeared near, as indeed distant objects all do, to a remarkable degree, in the singularly pure atmosphere of Palestine—even more so than in Egypt—and, to an unpractised eye, the distance of such objects seems only a day’s journey, when in reality it may be four or five.
We were of course shown the house of Martha and Mary, and the grave of Lazarus—the latter a low stone erection in thelimestone rock on the roadside, covered with rubbish in front of the opening of the tomb. It is in possession of the Turks, who venerate Lazarus, and they have a small mosque adjacent. Near is a ruinous tower, called the Castle of Lazarus, possibly older than the Crusades.
On arriving at the summit of Olivet we had again a view of Jerusalem at its best, lighted up as it then was by the sinking sun, which gilded its numerous minarets and domes, and its every coigne of vantage. We reached our old quarters at the hotel by sunset.
Like most other Eastern cities, Jerusalem is divided into religious “Quarters”—the Jewish (recently getting crowded), the Mahomedan, the Armenian, and the Christian; and there has recently been built what may be called a Russian Quarter, of imposing appearance and extent, outside the walls on the west. Our hotel was in the Christian quarter. The principal sects of the Christians are theGreeks, the Armenians, and the Latins, as the Roman Catholics are called. Each of these has a Church, abutting upon the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. With the Roman Catholic Churches most readers are familiar, the Greek Churches are somewhat similar; but not so exquisitely finished as the Latin or Roman Catholic ones; more pictures, but few or no images are there. The Armenian Churches are plainer than either of the other two, and seemed well attended. Besides these there are several other smaller sects, such as the Maronites and Druses.
Jerusalem seems to have originally stood upon three hills, Mount Moriah on the south; Mount Sion, the City of David, on the west (these were once separated by the Tyropean Valley), and Bezatha, or north town. It was strongly defended by walls and towers, especially toward the north. Time and war have, however, filled up the valleys, and now the city may be described as built upon an elevatedplateau, surrounded on all sides by deep wadies or valleys, except on the north, where it is almost level with the mountains of Benjamin. Within its present walls it is difficult to account for the large population of ancient Jerusalem, but I think it is evident that the long-descending slope on the south of Mount Sion had once been thickly populated, and that otherwise, more especially on the north-west, the population had overflowed largely beyond the present walls. The name Sion appears in prophetic Scripture to have sometimes included Mount Moriah; indeed, the topography of the city is involved in much obscurity and endless controversy.
Jerusalem is nearly, if not entirely, surrounded with tombs. Perhaps no city in the world presents evidence of so vast a congregation of the dead—altogether disproportionate to its present size. The Moslem population does not mix with the Jewish or Christian even in the grave. Its great Valley of Jehoshaphat is a vast graveyard, or rather two, for its westernslope surrounding the city walls downward is nearly covered with the well-known Moslem tombs, while the larger eastern and southern slopes of the valley are crowded with countless multitudes of the “Ancient People.” Both parties—Jew and Moslem—look with superstitious interest upon Jehoshaphat valley as the seat of that Grand Assize where the Supreme Ruler is to judge the world. It is large and spacious, but seems small for so vast a gathering. To meet this objection, they believe that the valley is on that day to be widened out by a great earthquake, so that every man shall both see and hear the dread sentences pronounced!
Modern Jerusalem is a city of religious buildings, chiefly Christian—Greek, Armenian, and Roman Catholic. The last named are least numerous, but have the finest churches. They are by no means liked by the other sects; perhaps because formerly too zealously patronized by the French Imperial Government. There are about forty monasteries, withnumerous churches, chapels, mosques, synagogues, &c., besides hospices, hospitals, and other charitable institutions, with two Protestant and a few nunnery schools. Notwithstanding a sad want of cleanliness, Jerusalem is generally healthy, owing to its fine site and pure atmosphere.
The tabernacles of the Jews in Palestine are simple in the extreme. With four bare walls, generally whitewashed, a portion of the floor somewhat elevated, and a plain desk or pulpit, they form a perfect contrast to the richly and perhaps somewhat finically and over-decorated churches of the Christians.
The mosques, on the other hand, although often looking somewhat decayed, have a quiet air of age and stately grandeur about them which none of the others can approach, arising more from simple architectural beauty and size than rich and costly ornamentation. Large, lofty, and open, heavily carpeted on the floors, and lighted generally from high up in the wallsor cupola by small windows of exquisitely coloured glass—not, however, in great glaring masses of colour as with us—they have always an atmosphere gratefully refreshing in the warm climate. There is an appearance of extreme reverence and quietude about the worshippers, who kneel in small groups of four or five, with their faces towards Mecca, always indicated by a small niche recess in the wall, and repeat their prayers audibly with frequent bowings to the ground—contrasting favourably with the pompous ceremonial and sensuous worship of the Christians in the churches around them.
As to Protestant Christians, they appear to be quite unknown to the Moslems, who despise Christians as a class, considering them ignorant and superstitious—idolatrous and “hating one another.” And yet they who, like Mahomet, preach Charity as the foundation of all religion, are themselves in practice the most cruel and intolerant of all—and are indeed the chief upholders of slavery in the East. I fear indeedthat intolerance will so continue until all parties begin to teach Charity—not inwords as now, “but indeedand intruth.”
One great source of disappointment to our party, here as elsewhere during our journey, was the non-receipt of letters. There is no English Post Office, but three others; however no delivery is made. Although our letters were addressed to one of the two bankers in the city, he assured us that there was nothing but uncertainty as to delivery, and everywhere we found it so, for in the East, Egypt now excepted, nothing seems so unimportant as letters, and although you may not discover where your own are, you may on payment of the postage often get as many of other people’s as you choose to take at the numerous so-called “Post Offices!”