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JERUSALEM.
image045THERE are some moments in our lives which it is impossible for us to describe. We never forget them, and the impression which they leave behind never fades from our memories; but still when we try to speak of them to others, even to those whom we love best, words fail us, and seem too weak to express what we mean.
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THERE are some moments in our lives which it is impossible for us to describe. We never forget them, and the impression which they leave behind never fades from our memories; but still when we try to speak of them to others, even to those whom we love best, words fail us, and seem too weak to express what we mean.
I will not, therefore, attempt to describe what was the rush of feeling which passed through my heart when, for the first time, I came in sight of Jerusalem. Others who have had a like privilege will understand what I felt, as Mr. Stanley made us pull up our horses on the top of a hill, about half a mile from the city gate, and said to us, "Well, what do you think of Jerusalem?"
Neither Evelyn nor I could answer him. Sir William had many questions to ask about the houses and buildings on the road leading to the Jaffa Gate, but we scarcely heard what they were saying. At that moment, it seemed to us a matter of very small importance which was the Austrian consul's house; which was the Pacha's country residence; which was the German deaconesses' school; and which were the Russian church and convent. All these details interested us afterwards, when we were more familiar with Jerusalem; but at that moment, when we were able, for the first time in our lives, to say "This is Jerusalem!" we had neither time nor thought to spare for any interest in the modern buildings of the city.
We rode on in silence, seeing, as if in a dream, the crowds of people taking their evening walk on the Jaffa road—people of numerous nations, and from every quarter of the globe, dressed in costumes as varied as the colours of the rainbow.
Mr. Stanley rode up close beside me as we went through the Jaffa Gate, and said, in a low voice, "I know just how you are feeling, Miss Lindsay; it is, indeed, a wonderful moment in one's life!"
We had some difficulty in getting through the gate, for a number of camels and mules were coming out of the city at the time, heavily laden with baggage. Then we passed the Tower of David, and turned down a quiet street, where stood the hotel in which Mr. Stanley had secured rooms for us. He took leave of us here, as he was going to lodge at the Latin Convent, which was in another part of the city, and where he had stayed when he was last in Jerusalem.
The landlady of the hotel was a Scotch woman, and was very kind and attentive. Our rooms were beautifully clean, with white stone floors, white walls, white curtains before the windows, and white coverings on the beds.
We did not sleep much that night. The fatigue and excitement which we had gone through the day before would have been sufficient to keep us awake; but even had we felt disposed to sleep, I do not think we should have been able to do so, for the noises in the city, during the night, were so many and so varied, that it seemed to us that, under any circumstances, sleep would be very difficult to obtain. Our landlady had told us that she hoped we should not be alarmed at any sound we might hear in the night, for a wedding was going on in a house close by, and the festivities would be kept up until the morning.
Accordingly, for many hours we were kept awake by the noise of music and singing, by the beating of little drums, and by the shouts and laughter of the wedding party. But as morning dawned the wedding guests grew quieter, and we hoped to be able to sleep. Now, however, we were disturbed by the howling and barking of the street dogs, which at times was quite deafening. These dogs have no owners, but act as the scavengers of the city, eating anything they can find amongst the refuse and dirt of the streets. Each dog has his appointed place in the city, and there seems to be a code of honour amongst them, that no dog is to go into any other quarter of the city except that in which he was born and bred, and in which he ordinarily gets his livelihood. Immediately a strange dog from another part of Jerusalem makes his appearance he is driven away by the united efforts of all the dogs in the street which he has invaded, with enough noise to awaken the whole city.
Poor Evelyn tossed about very wearily through the night, and I was really afraid that she would be ill again. But her merry spirits seemed to keep her up, for she found amusement in all our little discomforts, and made me laugh in spite of myself many times during that long, tiring night.
At length a lull came in the barking of the dogs; but now several bells began to ring in the Greek and Latin convents of the city, and then we heard the shouts of muleteers and camel-drivers, and the tinkling of the mule-bells, as different parties of people set off in the cool of the morning for Joppa, or some of the distant villages.
We got up at eight o'clock tired and unrefreshed. Sir William had slept much better, and was in good spirits, and very anxious to go out and explore Jerusalem. We needed no dragoman to take us to the various places of interest, for Mr. Stanley, who knew his way about the city as well as any of the inhabitants did, was very kind, and anxious to help us.
I fancied that it was something more than ordinary kindness which made him always so willing to make one of our party. I could not help thinking that he was attracted by my dear Evelyn's sweet face and winning ways. Who could help loving her? I said to myself, as I thought the matter over a hundred times during our first day in Jerusalem. I noticed, I could not help noticing, how diligently he kept near us, and how pleased he seemed that Sir William thankfully accepted his offer to be our guide whilst we stayed in the Holy City.
I shall never forget my first walk through the streets of Jerusalem. We grew so familiar, in a few weeks' time, with all the Eastern sights and sounds that we scarcely noticed them, but that morning everything was strange and fresh and full of interest.
We went first across an open square in front of the Tower of David, where a vegetable market was being held; and chickens and eggs, oranges and lemons, were being exhibited for sale by the women from the villages round Jerusalem, and were being bargained for and bought by the townspeople.
Mr. Stanley called our attention to the enormous cauliflowers, so large that one of them was sufficient to form the load of a small donkey, and so heavy that neither Evelyn nor I could lift them from the ground. We were curious to know how large the pans were in which they were boiled, but Mr. Stanley told us they are always cut in pieces before boiling, and that one cauliflower is sufficient to feed a family for a whole day.
There was so much noise and confusion in this market-place that it was difficult to keep up conversation. No business transaction is done in Jerusalem without a dispute, so fierce that, if it occurred in England, we should expect it to end in blows. The salesman asks three times as much for his goods as he expects to receive; and the buyer offers a third of what he knows he will eventually have to give; and then they begin to dispute, and wrangle, and scream, and shout, and swear, and stamp their feet, and shake their fists, as if the affairs of a whole nation depended upon it. We saw one such business transaction going on in a street through which we passed.
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IN JERUSALEM.
"What is the matter here?" said Sir William, as he tried to make his way through an angry, excited crowd, who were screaming and gesticulating in the most alarming manner, as they clustered round a camel and a camel driver.
"Oh, nothing at all!" said Mr. Stanley, laughing, as he listened to what they were saying. "That man in the centre of the crowd is buying a load of charcoal, and he and the owner of the charcoal are disputing about a piastre, more or less, which in English money is about equal to twopence."
"But who are all these other people?" said Sir William. "They cannot all have an interest in this one load of charcoal."
"Oh no," said Mr. Stanley; "but they happened to be passing at the time, and they have stopped to give their opinion, some taking the part of the buyer and some of the seller, and all of them adding to the general confusion by shouting and swearing and yelling at the highest pitch of their voices."
We were glad to get out of the noisy crowd, and to descend a flight of steps in the narrow street.
"Do you mind coming in here for a minute?" said Mr. Stanley, as he stopped before a clean-looking building, and opened a small door in the wall.
We followed him into a large room, and there we saw a very interesting sight. All round the room were Jewesses, in their picturesque dresses, sitting on mats on the floor. They were busily engaged with various kinds of needlework; and an English lady was going about amongst them, superintending their work, and teaching them anything which they did not know. We were much interested in all she told us of these poor women—they are learning by degrees to make their wretched homes bright and comfortable, and to make garments for their husbands and children. Above all, they are learning to love the Word of God, which is read aloud to them as they work, and which is quite a new book to them, for these poor Jerusalem Jewesses know as little of their Old Testament Scriptures as they do of the New Testament. We gave them several orders for various kinds of lace, which they make most beautifully; and Sir William left a donation towards their savings bank, which is doing much good amongst these poor mothers, encouraging them to lay by part of the money which they earn, as a fund from which they can draw in times of sickness or distress.
Then we passed from that room into another part of the building, which is used as a girls' school for Jewish children; and it was indeed pleasant to see their bright happy faces, and to hear their intelligent answers to the questions put to them. Mr. Stanley told us afterwards that there is a good work being done in this mission school—for the children are carefully and prayerfully taught, and, as the mothers of the next generation, will undoubtedly pave the way for missionary effort among their nation. The lady who manages the school very kindly took us to see all the different classes, and we were especially interested in a large class of little Spanish Jewesses, natives of Jerusalem, who are being taught in their own language, and who are learning, little by little and step by step, to know and to love that Saviour whom their nation have rejected.
We left the school, hoping to visit it again another day, and were turning round a corner, when Mr. Stanley stopped us, and showed us some curious old stones in the wall of the street. The stones evidently formed part of an old archway; and Mr. Stanley told us that it was now thought to be the most ancient place in all Jerusalem, being supposed, by those who have studied the matter, to have been part of the old city of Jebus, where the Jebusites lived before David conquered them, and turned their old fortress of Jebus into Jerusalem, the City of David.
As we turned into the large bazaar in one of the principal streets in Jerusalem we had great difficulty in getting on, so narrow was the street, and so crowded with camels, donkeys, mules, and people standing before each of the curious little shops, bargaining with the shopman inside. We were making our way slowly down the street, when I heard a well-known voice behind us, saying:
"Miss Trafford! This is a surprise!"
Evelyn and I turned round, and I said involuntarily: "Claude! Where have you come from?"
He told us that he and Alice had been spending a month in Cairo, and had now come to see Palestine. "But there does not seem to be much to see here," he said; "it is a wretched place after Cairo!"
"How long have you been here, may I ask?" said Mr. Stanley.
"Just two days now," said Claude; "we think of moving on again to-morrow."
"Then you will excuse my saying that you have not begun to see Jerusalem yet," said Mr. Stanley, with the least possible touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Claude. "It seems a stupid place. I can't think why so many people come here. But won't you come and see Alice?" he said, turning to Evelyn. "She will be delighted to see you."
"By the by, I met a friend of yours in Cairo, Miss Trafford," said Claude, as we walked in the direction of the Damascus Gate, near which their tents were pitched.
"A friend of mine!" said Evelyn, colouring. "Whom do you mean?"
She thought, and I thought too, that he must have met Donald Trafford; and Evelyn was considerably relieved by his answer.
"It was Lord Moreton; he was there with a party of his friends, staying in the same hotel that we were. They were going up the Nile. He told me that you were travelling in the East, but the East is a wide term, and I did not expect that we should meet."
"But why do you call Lord Moreton a friend of mine?" said Evelyn, laughing, though her father looked at her reprovingly.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Trafford," said Claude; "I thought he was a great friend of yours. I assure you, he talked so much of you and Sir William in the short time that we were together, that I thought—"
But Claude did not tell us what he thought, for we had to separate at that moment to let a string of laden camels pass by, and the conversation took another turn when we were able to walk together again.
Claude and his wife were travelling with a small party under the escort of a dragoman, and their tents were pitched in the olive grove just outside the northern gate of the city. Alice was very glad to see us, and she, Evelyn, and I had a long talk together as we sat in patriarchal fashion at our tent door, whilst the gentlemen paced about amongst the olive trees, talking to the dragoman, and referring to their guidebooks.
"Is it not strange to be in Jerusalem, Alice?" said Evelyn. "I feel as if I were dreaming."
"Oh, I don't know," said Alice, laughing. "I have not been much impressed by it. You see, we have become quite accustomed now to Eastern manners and customs—we saw plenty of them in Cairo; and as for the old ruins and buildings here, they are not nearly so ancient as the Pyramids. And there is really very little to be seen, after all, except by those people who believe the lies that are told them about the holy sepulchre, and the tomb of the Virgin, and the manger at Bethlehem. Why actually, in one street, in quite a new wall, our dragoman pointed out to us a stone which is believed to be the stone that 'would have cried out' if the children had held their peace! Such nonsense! I have no patience with it!" said Alice, scornfully.
"Oh yes," said Evelyn, "I quite agree with you about all those absurd tales. I would not walk a hundred yards to see one of those wonderful shrines; but, after all, this is Jerusalem, and it was here," she added in a lower voice, "that our Lord walked, and preached, and died, and was buried, and rose again!"
"Oh yes, of course," said Alice, carelessly, as if that fact was but of small importance to her.
"And if we really love Him," said Evelyn, "if He is dearer to us than any one else, don't you think we must look upon Jerusalem, and those places He lived in, with a very strange and wonderful feeling?"
Alice looked at Evelyn in astonishment; she had never heard her speak in that way before, and had no idea how much Evelyn was changed since she had seen her last. She made no answer, and I think would have turned the conversation to some other subject if Evelyn had not spoken first.
"You look surprised, Alice," she said; "you did not expect me to say that, did you?"
"No, indeed," said Alice, laughing; "I thought that both you and I were quite free from all sentimental nonsense. I am afraid Miss Lindsay has been talking you over to her way of thinking."
"Is it nonsense?" said Evelyn, gravely, passing over Alice's last words. "Because if it is not nonsense, surely it is a great reality!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Alice, lightly; "Claude says the greater part of religion is nonsense, and I suppose he ought to know; he has studied the matter, and I have not."
"Oh, Alice," said Evelyn, with tears in her eyes, "if you only knew how very, very happy I have been lately! I never knew before that it was possible to be as happy as I am now!"
"That may be," said Alice, "and I am not happy. Sometimes I am miserable," she said, bitterly, with that grave, sad expression that I had seen on her face once before; "but still I cannot help agreeing with Claude, that it is better not to be comforted at all, than to get comfort out of a lie."
"Oh yes," I said, "Mr. Ellis is quite right in that; but the whole question turns on this: Is the Bible Satan's lie, or God's truth? It must surely be either the one or the other."
"Well," said Alice, lightly, "it is too hot to enter into a theological discussion. I will call the dragoman and get him to send us some lemonade: our cook makes it splendidly."
"Poor Alice!" said Evelyn, when we were left alone in the tent.
"Yes," I said, "she is very much to be pitied, for she is not comfortable in her unbelief; she has doubts even about her own doubting."
Alice came back to tell us that the gentlemen had planned a ride to the Mount of Olives, and the dragoman had gone to hire horses for the whole party, so that we might start together from the Damascus Gate as soon as it began to be a little cooler.
Meanwhile Mr. Stanley guided us to our hotel. We went back a different way, keeping outside the city, till we reached the Jaffa Gate. Sir William and I walked first, and Mr. Stanley and Evelyn followed; but as Sir William was reading his guidebook, which he kept open in his hand and consulted as he walked along, I had much time for thought, and once or twice I could not help overhearing the conversation which was going on behind me.
"So you know Lord Moreton, Miss Trafford?" I heard Mr. Stanley say.
"Yes; papa knows him very well, and he likes him very much," said Evelyn, laughing.
"And you do not?" said Mr. Stanley, gravely.
"Oh, I don't dislike him," said Evelyn; "only I think him very stupid and uninteresting."
I thought Sir William must have heard this remark; but if he heard it he took no notice of it, but appeared to be deep in his book.
"Lord Moreton stupid! Lord Moreton uninteresting!" repeated Mr. Stanley. "Then excuse my saying, Miss Trafford, that if that is your opinion, I am sure you do not know Lord Moreton: no one who really knew him would ever come to such a conclusion."
Mr. Stanley had spoken rather warmly, and Evelyn said in an apologetic tone: "I am very sorry, Mr. Stanley. I see Lord Moreton is a friend of yours; I did not know you knew him at all."
"Yes," he said, smiling, "we were college friends, and have been like brothers ever since. I think I may say that I know Lord Moreton better than any one else knows him, and the more I know him, so much the more I respect him and love him."
"He always seems to me to be so shy and awkward," said Evelyn.
"Yes, so he is with strangers," said Mr. Stanley; "he is a highly nervous man; it is his infirmity, and he knows it; but if he can only shake off his nervousness, he is quite another man. I wish you could have heard him address a meeting of undergraduates the other day, you would not have believed it was the same man."
"Addressing them! On what subject?" asked Evelyn, now more astonished than ever.
"Oh, about personal religion. Lord Moreton has a wonderful power with young men. He is not at all nervous when speaking to them. It is you ladies that make him so shy," said Mr. Stanley, laughing; "you are such formidable beings!"
"Well, I am surprised!" said Evelyn. "I could not have believed it, if you had not told me. And he is a real Christian? I am very glad to hear it."
"Yes," said Mr. Stanley, "he is a man who lives very near to his God; and his one desire and aim is to bring all under his influence to the Saviour. Indeed," he added, in a lower voice, "if it had not been for Lord Moreton, Miss Trafford, I should have been to this day a man of the world; it was his words and his example which first made me decide for Christ."
I could hear no more, for we had reached the Jaffa Gate, and had passed into the noisy square in front of the Tower of David.
Whether Sir William had overheard the conversation I did not know. He looked very pleased and half amused as it was going on; but perhaps he may have been reading some interesting anecdote in his guidebook.
Mr. Stanley left us at the Tower of David, and we went to the hotel to rest until the evening.
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MY OLIVE-LEAVES.
image049IT was still very hot when we started from the Damascus Gate and rode in the direction of the Mount of Olives.
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IT was still very hot when we started from the Damascus Gate and rode in the direction of the Mount of Olives.
"What a wretched little hillock it is!" said Claude, as we drew near to it. "It does not deserve the name of hill, much less of mountain."
But to most of us, this "wretched little hillock" was the most sacred spot on earth. There was no doubt about its identity; "the mountain on the east side of the city" could not be mistaken for any other. No vain superstition, no improbable legend had fixed upon this hill as the place where our Lord's feet had so often trod. The hand of time, and the cruel devastations of war, which had laid low the beautiful Temple, and made Jerusalem a heap of ruins, had not been able to obliterate this spot, nor to make us doubtful as to whether it were indeed the same Mount of Olives of which we had read so often in the Gospels.
We crossed the Valley of Jehoshaphat, passed the wall of the so-called Gethsemane, and began to ascend one of the steep stony paths which led across the mountain to Bethany.
"Do you know, Miss Lindsay," said Mr. Stanley, "that these paths, on the hillsides, are probably less changed than anything in the whole country? They must have gone in the same direction years ago, and this is, without doubt, the very road our Lord's feet so often trod to and from the city on His way to Martha's house."
I felt as if it were almost too sacred ground. I did not answer him, for I could not have done so without tears. So we rode on in silence, a little way behind the others, and Evelyn told me afterwards she would have been very thankful to have been with us, for Claude and Alice were laughing and talking the whole way, telling amusing stories of things and people in England, and taking little or no notice of the scenes and places around them. The Mount of Olives was nothing to them!
Mr. Stanley rode forward as we came to a turn in the road on the shoulder of the hill, and made them all stop and look round at the city: for it is at this place that, when coming from Bethany, Jerusalem first comes in sight, and there, he said, must have been the very spot on which our Lord stood when "He beheld the city and wept over it."
Evelyn came close to me and whispered, "Oh, May, I cannot help it, the tears will come; let us go a little way off by ourselves; Claude and Alice will chatter so."
We got off our horses, and left them with the dragoman, and went a short distance from the road to a clump of olive trees; and here we stood, looking down upon the city. If our Lord wept as He gazed on it in its glory, because He saw, in the far distance, the shadow of ruin and desolation creeping towards it, how much more should we weep, who saw the once beloved city, the joy of the whole earth, made a very curse amongst men!
"Look forward as well as backward," said Mr. Stanley's voice behind us.
"Forward to what?" Evelyn asked.
"Forward to that day when the Lord will no longer weep over Jerusalem, but will rejoice over her. Do you remember that passage in Isaiah lxv.:
"'Be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which I create: for, behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing, and her people a joy. And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in My people: and the voice of weeping shall be no more heard in her, nor the voice of crying.'
"You see the Lord will rejoice in Jerusalem Himself, and call upon us to rejoice with Him; and surely those who have been one with Him in His sorrow will be the ones whom He will call to rejoice with Him in His joy."
"Doesn't it remind you of the shepherd's joy," I said, "as he brought back his lost sheep, rejoicing himself, and calling together his friends, saying to them,—
"'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost'?"
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Stanley; "I never thought of that; the two passages are wonderfully alike."
"Oh, Mr. Stanley," said Evelyn, as he turned round, "must we go? It is so delightful to be here."
"I think we must come again another day, by ourselves," said Mr. Stanley, in a whisper, "your friends are rather impatient to be moving; they find very little to interest them on the Mount of Olives."
"I am not surprised," said Evelyn; "half the Bible they do not believe in, and the other half they do not care for; but, oh dear, I do wish they had not come with us; I did not think we should feel it so much."
Evelyn went on, reluctantly, to join her father. Mr. Stanley stayed behind a moment, and gathered a spray of olive-leaves, which he gave to me, and asked me to keep it, "as a remembrance of the place, and of our coming here together." I have that spray of olive-leaves now, and shall keep it as long as I live.
So we went on to Bethany. The road must have taken the same course in our Lord's time, for there is a deep valley, and the road runs at its head. And it must have looked just the same then, with the same wild flowers growing by the wayside, the same blue mountains of Moab in front, and the same green valley beneath. Mr. Stanley pointed out to me some fig trees, growing close to the road, just as they did when the Saviour, hungry with His long walk from Bethany, searched amongst the loaves for fruit to refresh him on the way. I had had no idea before that it was so far from Jerusalem to Bethany; He must have been very weary as He went backwards and forwards every day of that last, sad week of His life on earth. Only once do we read of Him riding; it was all on foot, in the weariness and heat of the day, with the same sun beating on His head as was shining on us at that very moment.
And then, as I rode at Mr. Stanley's side, he reminded me of that last walk, when Jesus led His disciples out as far as to Bethany, and we wondered if, as they trod this road, they knew that He was so soon to leave them, and that it was the last walk that they would take with Him. If so, surely they must have been very sorrowful, surely their hearts must have been so full of the parting with Him that they must have lost sight, for a little time, of the blessing that parting was to bring to them, and the realisation of which was so soon to make them return, by that very road, to Jerusalem, "with great joy, praising and blessing God."
I never enjoyed anything so much as that ride to Bethany; it was very quiet and peaceful, for Sir William and Claude were some way in front with the dragoman, and Evelyn, who rode next with Alice, was not much inclined for conversation, and kept her laughing companion tolerably still, so that we were not interrupted in our quiet talk together.
Then we came to Bethany, a miserable, wretched, dirty village, and here a troop of squalid Arabs came out of their houses to look at us, and to beg of us, and a number of noisy dogs barked, and howled, and jumped up at our horses' heads, and we were very glad to get as quickly as possible out of the narrow, filthy street, and gradually to ascend the eastern side of the Mount of Olives.
"I think the Ascension must have taken place somewhere here," said Mr. Stanley; "it would be just far enough away from the noise of the village, and such a likely place for them to come to."
A lovely view was spread out before us; the village of Bethany lay at our feet, and then there stretched far away the great wilderness of Judea, and, beyond it, in the far distance, the fertile plain of the Jordan, like a line of silver running into the deep blue Dead Sea. Then the view was shut in by the grand Moab mountains, standing out like a wall against the sky.
"This is very fine!" said Claude, as we stood looking at it. "This is well worth coming to see!"
It was the same view that Lot had gazed on; yet where were the cities of the plain which he had seen in their glory?
Then we crossed over the top of the mountain, and began to descend the western side, by the very path which David took when fleeing from Absalom, when we read, he climbed up the ascent barefoot, and with his head covered, weeping, as he went, at the ingratitude and cruelty of his son.
We had a different view now, and yet a very beautiful one. The city of Jerusalem was lying at our feet, nestling amongst the hills.
"'As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people from henceforth even for ever,'" said Mr. Stanley to Evelyn and to me, as he rode between us.
"If we could only remember that," said Evelyn, "how happy it would make us!"
"Yes," said Mr. Stanley, "it would indeed; but is it not a comfort to know that He is round us, whether we remember it or not? The mountains do not remove, even though the clouds hide them from our sight."
"I shall never forget this ride," said Evelyn, after a pause.
"I am sure I shall never forget it!" said Mr. Stanley.
"But I thought—" said Evelyn.
"What did you think, Miss Trafford?"
"I thought that it would not seem quite the same to you as it does to us. I thought you would have become so accustomed to it that you would not enjoy it so much."
"Oh, I never feel 'that' about the Mount of Olives," said Mr. Stanley; "other places in Jerusalem, I grant, have somewhat lost their sacredness in my eyes, but the Mount of Olives always seems holy ground. I think we can never forget that this was the last place our Lord's feet touched before He left us, and that it will be the very first place they will touch when He comes again; for 'His feet shall stand in that day upon the Mount of Olives, which is before Jerusalem on the east.'
"And then," he added, after a pause, "I have enjoyed it specially to-day."
Claude and Alice left Jerusalem the next morning, to continue their journey through Samaria and Galilee; and we were not sorry to be alone when we visited the other deeply interesting places in and near Jerusalem.
Sight-seeing in Palestine is, in this respect, perfectly different from sight-seeing in other places; unless there is some communion of heart between you and those who are with you, unless they love the Book and the Name which make every place around you so sacred, their remarks, and indeed the whole tone of their conversation, cannot fail to jar upon you, and to be somewhat trying and irksome to you.
Alter they were gone, we thoroughly enjoyed our daily excursions in the city and its neighbourhood. Although Mr. Stanley was comparatively a stranger, still we had learnt to know him so well in those few weeks that he seemed more like an old and tried friend! He was a wonderful help to us in our exploration of the city, for not only did he know Jerusalem well himself, but he had, during his long stay there, made many friends among the residents in the city, who obtained for us admittance into several places which are closed to ordinary travellers.
One of these, a German gentleman, was most kind in guiding us to several very interesting spots, and, amongst others, to Solomon's Quarry.
"Would you like to see Solomon's Quarry?" said Mr. Stanley to Sir William, one day.
"Solomon's Quarry!" repeated Sir William. "Where may that be, pray?"
"It is underneath the city," said Mr. Stanley, "and is a most curious and interesting place. My friend, who will guide us through it, has been very active in its exploration, and he has made a splendid plan of the whole place; so that he knows every inch of the way."
"But is it really Solomon's Quarry?" said Sir William, incredulously.
"Probably so; for it is evident that stone has been taken out of it for some very great building, and then you remember what is told us of the building of Solomon's Temple:
"'The House, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither: so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.'
"Now we have only to look at the stones which still remain of the wall which Solomon built round the Temple platform, to see that the stones he used were so enormous, that they could not have been brought from any great distance. In order to move them at all, the labour must have been immense, and it has always been a mystery how such huge blocks could be hewn from any rock within a short distance of the building, so that they could be easily moved to it, and yet be so far away that no sound of axe or hammer should be heard in the Temple itself."
"I see," said Sir William; "and the discovery of this quarry explains the mystery, for the stones could be hewn and finished underground, and then brought to the surface, and put at once in their proper positions. How very interesting!"
"But we have a still stronger reason," said Mr. Stanley, "for feeling sure that this is Solomon's Quarry, for there is no other place, in the whole country round, which shows signs of having been used as a quarry, from which stone could have been taken for any large building; and the stone in these underground quarries is, moreover, the very same kind of stone as we find in the Temple buildings."
"How very, very interesting!" said Sir William. "When can we go there?"
"I have arranged with my friend to meet us at the Damascus Gate to-morrow morning, if that will suit you," he added, turning to Evelyn.
We had no engagement for the next day, so it was settled that Mr. Stanley should call for us at eleven o'clock.
But when the morning came, poor Evelyn was not well enough to go. She had a slight attack of the ague fever, which is so common in Jerusalem, and the doctor advised her to keep quiet for a day or two, lest she should have it more severely. I wanted to stay with her, but she would not hear of it, and insisted on my leaving her in Clemence's care.
"If you don't go, May," she said, "I shall never hear anything about it. Papa never can describe places; now don't be unkind and disobedient, but put on your hat and get ready." So, rather against my will, I set forth with the others.
The gentleman who was our guide was most kind in explaining everything to us, and in giving us most varied and interesting information.
"How were these quarries discovered?" Sir William asked.
"In a very curious way," he said. "Not many years ago there was a lad shooting rock-pigeons outside the northern wall. He had a dog with him, and the dog suddenly disappeared. He had seen it last going behind an olive tree which grew at the bottom of the rock on which you see the wall is built. He went to look for the dog, and found on the face of the rock quite a small hole, so small that he could not get through it himself, though he heard his dog barking inside. So he came back into the city for help, and then the hole was made bigger, and they discovered this place."
"How very curious!" said Sir William.
"Here we are," said Mr. Stanley, "here is the hole; now, Miss Lindsay, are you ready to leave the sunshine behind?"
We had brought candles with us, and we lighted them and began slowly to descend, crouching for some distance almost on our hands and knees, for there was not room to stand upright. But after we had gone thus for a few yards, we found ourselves in a large, rock-hewn cave, as spacious as an immense church, and from this point, passage after passage went in different directions.
Our guide led the way and we followed; hall after hall, passage after passage, we explored; we went for nearly a mile underneath the streets of Jerusalem.
"Can you picture the scene, 3,000 years ago," said Mr. Stanley to me, "when the place was full of Solomon's workmen? Look! Here are the marks of their tools in the stone, as fresh as ever. And do you see this?" he said, as he pointed to a little niche in the wall. "This is where the workman put his lamp whilst he was at work; you see even the black smoke which the flame left on the stone above is still here."
"How very wonderful!" I said. "Oh, Mr. Stanley, it is an interesting place!"
"Yes," he said, smiling, "I knew you would like it, that is why I wanted so much to come here; it is one of my favourite places, and I wanted you to see it. It is a great comfort to me, oftentimes, this deserted quarry."
"How can it be a comfort to you?" I asked.
"It is such a wonderful picture," he said.
"A picture of what?"
"Is not there a temple being built now?" he said, gently. "A far grander and more beautiful one than Solomon's—the temple in the Heavenly Jerusalem; you see now?"
"Yes," I answered, "I think I do; but please tell me; I like to hear your thoughts about it, and why it comforts you."
"Don't you think the dark, dismal quarry is like this world; it is not a very bright place, is it? And you and I both know what trouble is."
"How did you know that I did, Mr. Stanley?"
"I knew it by your face; I can read faces very well," he said, smiling; "but though we are both in the dark quarry now, we shall not always have to stay here—for God, the Master Builder, has hewn us from the rock, cut us away from old surroundings, and from the old nature. We are no longer a part of the old rock, but by God's grace have been taken out of it; do you see?"
"You mean when we were converted?"
"Yes, and it was a hard wrench at the time, was it not? But we can be thankful for the work of the crowbar now."
"But we are still in the quarry," I said.
"Yes, and why? Because the work is not done, we are not yet fit for the Temple—a rough stone would be a disfigurement to God's beautiful building—each stone must be cut, and chipped, and faced, and squared after it is hewn out of the rock. Our bad tempers, and habits, and unholy thoughts must all, by degrees, be done away with. It is a work of time and patience; and it is not always pleasant to feel the pick and the chisel at work on us, but it is such a comfort to know in whose Hand the tool is, and that He can make no mistakes."
"What are the tools?" I asked.
"Don't you think there are different tools for different kinds of work?" he said. "Look how many tools have been used here. There is the mark of a heavy crowbar, which has severed the block from the side of the rock. And look here at this stone which has been left on the ground, you can see the mark of the pick, with which the block was brought a little into shape. And here you can see the marks of the finer tools, the chisels, which were used to give the necessary finish to the stones."
"And God's tools?" I said.
"Are just as varied, are they not? A great trouble comes—a heavy blow like the great crowbar, and separates us from the world. But, after that, day by day, and hour by hour, God must work upon us with His finer tools—small vexations, little crosses, little losses, home troubles; all these, I think, are God's tools, making us ready for a place in the Temple. Don't you think it is a wonderful comfort to look upon worries and cares as God's tools?"
"Yes," I said, "that is a nice thought."
"And soon," said Mr. Stanley, "the work will be finished, and then we shall leave the dark quarry behind for ever, and be carried to our place in the sunshine and light of the glorious Temple above. So, you see, I was not wrong in saying that this deserted quarry was a comforting place; you will think of it sometimes, will you not?"
"Indeed I shall," I said.
"And next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which seems so very hard to bear, just say to yourself, 'It is God's chisel at work upon me.'"
I had much to tell Evelyn when I came back to the hotel, and much, very much, to treasure up in my own heart for use in days to come.
Mr. Stanley got for me a piece of stone from the walls of the quarry, with the marks of the chisel upon it, and I put it carefully away, with my spray of olive-leaves.
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image051
A MYSTERY.
image052THE next morning Evelyn was much better. The fever had passed away, but she felt tired and exhausted, so she decided to keep quietly in her room until lunch time, as she was very anxious to join us in an expedition which Mr. Stanley had planned for that evening. We were to visit an old tomb, which had just been discovered on the road to Bethlehem, and in which Mr. Stanley's German friend, Mr. Schwarz, took a great interest. Mr. Schwarz would not be able to guide us there himself, as he was going away from Jerusalem for some weeks on business; but he very kindly promised that his daughter would show us the way to the tomb, as Mr. Stanley had never been there before.
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THE next morning Evelyn was much better. The fever had passed away, but she felt tired and exhausted, so she decided to keep quietly in her room until lunch time, as she was very anxious to join us in an expedition which Mr. Stanley had planned for that evening. We were to visit an old tomb, which had just been discovered on the road to Bethlehem, and in which Mr. Stanley's German friend, Mr. Schwarz, took a great interest. Mr. Schwarz would not be able to guide us there himself, as he was going away from Jerusalem for some weeks on business; but he very kindly promised that his daughter would show us the way to the tomb, as Mr. Stanley had never been there before.
Evelyn was most anxious to go with us, so we arranged to start when the day began to grow cooler, for Mr. Schwarz said that, as it was not a long ride, we could easily be back before sunset.
I was up very early that morning, and leaving Evelyn in bed, I went downstairs to write an account of our visit to Solomon's Quarry in a letter to my sister Maggie. Her aunts took great interest in hearing of all the places I was visiting, although they still predicted that I should not come back alive.
I was busy with my letter, sitting at a little table in the window of our sitting-room, waiting till Sir William should come downstairs for breakfast, when the door opened and Mr. Stanley came in.
"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed, as soon as I turned round.
He had a pretty little basket in his hand, filled with maiden-hair ferns, scarlet anemones, and cyclamen.
"Oh, how very beautiful, Mr. Stanley; where did you get them?"
"I have been for an early walk in the Valley of Hinnom, and climbing about on the hills on either side. I am so glad you like them; I thought you would."
"They are very lovely!" I said. "Evelyn will be charmed, she is so fond of flowers; I will put them in water, and take them upstairs to her. She is better to-day, Mr. Stanley."
"I am glad of that," he said; "the fever soon passes away if care is taken. But I gathered these flowers for you—if you will have them."
"Thank you, very much indeed," I said; "I did not know they were for me; it was very good of you."
"I am so glad you like them," he said; "I could see you were fond of flowers the other day on the Mount of Olives. I must be going now; will you tell Sir William I will meet you at the Jaffa Gate, at four o'clock? There are several people I must see to-day about various things, so I am afraid I must leave you all to your own devices until evening. Good-bye, take care of yourself; I don't want you to have fever."
He was half-way to the door when he turned back again.
"There is a little piece of paper here, in the middle of the flowers," he said; "that is for you, for no one else, remember. The verses are only written in pencil; I don't know whether you will be able to make them out. They are only about the flowers," he added, smiling; "you will not be angry, will you?"
"Oh no," I said; and he was gone.
I put the paper, which I found among the ferns, in my pocket, for a minute afterwards Sir William entered the room. I gave him Mr. Stanley's message, and he admired the flowers, and rang the bell for water that I might arrange them before they withered. I did not tell him that they were for me.
After breakfast Sir William asked me to read aloud to him the leading articles in a copy of the "Times" which had arrived by the mail that morning, and so it was some time before I could find an opportunity to look at my paper.
I opened it at last, as soon as I was alone, and read it more than once:
THE FLOWERS' MESSAGE.We grew upon the very hillsWhere Jesus used to stand;We blossomed on the lonely pathsOf God's once Holy Land.There is a city near our home—A sad and ruined place—For those who lived within her wallsLet slip the day of grace!Yet beautiful in all the earthMount Zion used to be—The city of the Heavenly King,And Israel's glory she!Now, filled with misery and sin,Defiled by guilt and shame,And trampled under foot by thoseOf every creed and name.Oh pray, then, for Jerusalem,The city of our birth;Oh shed a tear for her who wasThe joy of all the earth.The ancient promise holdeth good,It hath not been reversed—"Blessed is he who blesseth thee,And he who hates is cursed."So we from the Judean hills,This simple message bring—"Oh pray for poor Jerusalem,The city of the King."For M. L., from her friend HOWARD STANLEY.
I looked forward very much to that evening ride, and four o'clock seemed as if it would never come.
At last the horses arrived, and Sir William, Evelyn, and I mounted and rode to the Jaffa Gate.
Mr. Stanley had not come, but Miss Schwarz was there waiting for us. We had been introduced to her the day before, so she came at once and spoke to us, and we rode up and down together, looking from time to time at the gate to see if Mr. Stanley were coming.
"It is very extraordinary," said Sir William, "that he should be late! We have always found him such a very punctual man. Are you sure he said four o'clock, Miss Lindsay?"
"Oh yes," I said, "quite sure. 'Four o'clock at the Jaffa Gate,' that was what he said."
"Yes, he told me to be here at four o'clock," said Miss Schwarz; "he will come in a few minutes, I should think; shall we ride towards 'the big tree,' as we always call it? It is not really a very large tree; but you see we have no trees that deserve the name in Jerusalem, so it looks very big to us. It is only a little way, and Mr. Stanley will see us there, and we shall get some shade."
"Very well," said Sir William; "you had better go there; I want you to keep out of the sun as much as possible, Evelyn, and I will wait at this corner and catch Mr. Stanley as he comes through the gate."
So we rode down to the big tree, and Miss Schwarz told us how she used to come and play there with her little friends when she was a child, and how beautiful and green she thought it till she had been to Germany, and had seen the trees in Europe.
We found Miss Schwarz a very pleasant companion, and the first few minutes passed away quite happily; but, as time went on, we began to wonder very much why Mr. Stanley did not appear.
After about half an hour Sir William came slowly down the road to meet us.
"I cannot see him," he said; "it is very strange! He must have forgotten it! I think I will go as far as the Latin Convent, and inquire for him."
"I do not think he would forget it," I said.
"Oh, I don't know," said Sir William, "young men often have short memories, and you said he was going to visit various friends this morning. I will just go and inquire for him. Will you ride up and down till I come back? I shall not be long."
It was, however, some time before Sir William reappeared at the Jaffa Gate, and then he was alone; Mr. Stanley was not with him.
"Well, papa," said. Evelyn, "did you find our runaway dragoman?"
Sir William looked grave and perplexed.
My heart beat very fast, for I felt sure that something was the matter.
"I can't make it out," he said; "he has gone to Jaffa!"
"Gone to Jaffa!" we all exclaimed together.
"Yes," he said, "the porter tells me, he took a horse early this morning; it must have been soon after you saw him, Miss Lindsay, about ten o'clock the man said, and he went down to Jaffa. The porter thinks he was going back to England. I can't understand it; it is very strange!"
"What can be the matter?" Evelyn said.
"I cannot imagine," said Sir William; "I think he might have let us know. The porter said he did not even take his luggage, but left it to be sent after him by the next steamer. It seems there is a steamer that leaves Jaffa for Alexandria to-night, and I suppose he wanted to catch that."
"Did not the man know why he left in such a hurry?" Evelyn asked.
"No, he did not seem to know. I asked him if a telegram had arrived for Mr. Stanley, and he said he did not think so, he had not taken one in; but the man talked such extraordinary French that I could not understand him very well. I wonder Stanley did not let us know he was going; it was very thoughtless of him."
"Perhaps he will write from Jaffa," Evelyn suggested.
"Well, I hope so," said Sir William; "but I think he might have let us known before this afternoon, and not have kept us waiting here in the sun. I gave him credit for more thoughtfulness. It is a very strange thing; I do not like it at all. Well, what are we to do? Miss Schwarz, we ought not to keep you standing here; will it be too late to go to the tomb?"
"Oh no," she said, "not at all; it is quite a short ride, we shall be back long before sunset. Shall we go at once?"
"Yes, I think, perhaps, we had better go," said Sir William, with some hesitation.
"You can talk Arabic, I suppose, Miss Schwarz, in case we need an interpreter?"
"Oh yes," she said, laughing, "as well as an Arab. I could talk Arabic before I could talk German."
So we set off for the tomb. But we were none of us in very good spirits. Sir William was complaining all the way of Mr. Stanley's bad behaviour to us, and Evelyn was defending him to the best of her power, and assuring her father that there was certain to be a letter from Jaffa.
I am afraid that Miss Schwarz must have thought us very dull and uninteresting people. She was an exceedingly nice girl, just my own age, and, at any other time, I should so much have enjoyed my ride with her. But that afternoon I could not tell what was the matter with me, but it was an effort to talk. I roused myself, once or twice, to take an interest in the places and the people that we were passing on the green Bethlehem plain; but I found it very difficult, my thoughts seemed to be far away. I was ashamed of myself, and struggled against it, and asked Miss Schwarz many questions about the place to which we were going, and she took great pains to explain everything to us, and to make our ride pleasant and interesting to us. I hope she did not think us ungrateful.
We went for some distance along the road to Bethlehem, and then we turned up amongst the mountains. It was a very wild, rough road, indeed after a time we had no road at all, but had to cross over ploughed fields and the shingle-covered hillsides. The view was splendid; a valley was beneath us, quite surrounded by hills, on the sides of which we could see the remains of many of the ancient terraces. It must, indeed, have been a lovely place when it was planted with trees; but the bare, sandy heights were very tiring to the eye, and had it not been for a few patches of green, and the scarlet anemones and yellow Bethlehem stars which were peeping up between the stones, the hillsides would have been very uninteresting and monotonous. In the distance we could see the blue waters of the Dead Sea, and the white limestone mountains of Quarantania.
At last we reached a place where there were many ruins, the remains of an ancient village; there were several old wells, and stones with crosses carved upon them, which showed that they dated back to the times of the Crusaders. We passed through these ruins, and Miss Schwarz took us to the side of the hill, where the newly-discovered tomb was to be found.
It seems that the Arabs, living in a village near, were ploughing on the hillside, and one of them moved a large stone out of the way of his plough. To his astonishment he saw that the stone had covered a deep, dark hole; he went down into this hole and found himself in a stone chamber, the masonry of which was quite perfect. Another entrance had been afterwards made into the tomb, and through this Miss Schwarz led us. She told us that her father thinks it was a burying-place for Christians in the fifth or sixth century, so it is not very old compared with most of the places in Jerusalem, but it is most curious and interesting. There are five stone steps leading down to the door of the tomb, and the door itself is made of one block of stone, and is still on its hinges, and moves backwards and forwards most easily.
All round the chamber were places cut out of the stone for the coffins to lie in—there were twelve of these in the principal room, but two other smaller chambers, leading out of the first one, contained more graves; these, however, had not been fully opened out when we were there. A large stone was at the mouth of each grave when it was discovered, and the Arabs had torn these away with the greatest haste, hoping to find some treasure buried with the dead. But though they opened every grave, they found inside nothing but dust.
We were just peeping into one of the further chambers, and trying to count the number of graves in it, when we heard a great noise outside—shouting, and yelling, and jabbering, and, to our great alarm and dismay, a number of Arabs rushed into the tomb, shaking their fists at us, and screaming at the top of their voices. Sir William was very much agitated and frightened, for it was a wild and lonely place, far out of the reach of any European building or any public road.
We scrambled out as quickly as we could, followed closely by the Arabs. Miss Schwarz was haranguing them in Arabic, but as we could not understand either what they were saying to her or she was saying to them, we were very much alarmed indeed, and felt sure that they intended to rob us, or even to murder us.
When we came out of the tomb we were still more terrified, for we saw that some of the Arabs had seized our horses, which we had tied to a tree near, and were preparing to lead them away.
"Oh dear, I wish we had never come!" said Sir William. "What shall we do? If I could only talk to these fellows! Don't be frightened, Evelyn darling. What do they want, Miss Schwarz? What do you think had better be done?"
"I think they only want money," she said, turning away from the Arabs, who were shaking their fists at her most fiercely. "I will see what can be done. They say we have insulted the sheik of the village by entering the tomb without leave, and of course they threaten all sorts of dreadful things. But I will manage them; don't be alarmed! Have you any money with you, Sir William?"
"Yes, a little," he said, "not very much. How much will they want?"
"Oh, they shall not have very much," she said. "Have you a mejedie? It is a large Turkish coin—larger than half a crown; it is worth about three and sixpence."
"Yes, I think I have," he said; "I will look."
"No, not now, please," she said; "wait a minute or two."
So she had another long conversation with the Arabs, and then, to our astonishment, they brought up our horses, and helped us to mount in the most gallant manner. Then, when we were quite ready to start, Miss Schwarz turned to Sir William.
"They may have the mejedie now," she said; "if you will give it to me, I will hand it to the sheik, and he will divide it amongst them."
For they were all holding out their hands greedily to Sir William to receive the coin.
"Now it is all right," she said; "let us ride on quickly."
"You are a splendid dragoman, Miss Schwarz!" said Sir William. "How did you manage them so well?"
"Oh, I threatened them with the English consul, and the German consul, and with the Pacha, and with all sorts of other authorities," she said, laughing. "I knew they would not dare to hurt us; they would never hear the last of it if they did. And, besides, the sheik knows my father well, and as soon as I mentioned his name they became very civil. I hope you did not mind giving them the mejedie, Sir William; but I promised them a little reward if they were good."
"Oh, not at all," he said, laughing; "it was a cheap way of getting off! They would not get much each, poor fellows!"
"Oh, quite plenty," said Miss Schwarz; "if they had been more civil we might have given them a little more. I hope you were not very much frightened, Miss Trafford."
"Oh, only a little," said Evelyn; but she looked pale and tired, and we were all very glad to get safely back to the hotel.
Evelyn lay on the sofa in the sitting-room all the evening, and I sat beside her, whilst Sir William went into the coffee-room and discussed the adventures of the day with a party of English travellers who had arrived that evening from Jaffa.
My beautiful ferns and flowers looked withered after the heat of the day, so I gave them fresh water, and pressed one or two of the prettiest in blotting-paper. Then I sat down beside Evelyn, with my work in my hand, but I did not feel inclined to sew. I felt very dull and depressed, and Evelyn seemed so likewise. I said to myself that it was only the reaction after the excitement and fright we had experienced that afternoon, and yet I felt that, after all, that was not the real reason.
Was it because—could it be because—Mr. Stanley had gone away? For, after all, he was only a stranger; a pleasant—yes, a very pleasant—travelling companion, who had been very kind and useful to us when we were in his company, but who would think no more of us now that he had gone away. Like ships meeting on the sea, we had gone side by side for a little time, but now we had parted—probably near to meet again. That was all; it was nothing to be dull or miserable about. And I was quite angry with myself for having given way to the feeling of depression which had crept over me. I tried to think of my work, of Maggie, of our encounter with the Arabs in the tomb, of anything but of Mr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance!
But, somehow or other, I could not tell why, my thoughts would come back to it, in spite of all my efforts to turn them to other subjects. I could not help wondering whether Evelyn was thinking of the same thing. Why was she so quiet this evening? Could it be that she missed Mr. Stanley? Was I right in fancying that was the reason? Did she really care for him more than for an ordinary acquaintance?
I looked up at her, and found she was watching me, with a curious expression on her face—half amused, half inquiring. I rather resented it, I am afraid, and looked down again quickly, and went on steadily with my work.
"It will all come right, May, dear," she said, after a pause.
"What will come right, Evelyn?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean about Mr. Stanley's mysterious disappearance," she said, smiling; "I am sure we shall get a solution of the mystery in a day or two."
"Oh yes," I said, carelessly; "we shall have to find another dragoman; that is the only drawback."
"The only drawback!" she repeated.
"You don't think so," I said.
"You don't think so either, May," she said; "I know you don't."
"Well, perhaps not," I said. "How close it is to-night, Evelyn! Would you mind me taking a little walk on the verandah outside the window—to get cool before bed-time?"
"Oh, not at all," she said, smiling; "go, May, dear, it will do you good."
So I left my work and went outside the window.
It was a quiet, starlight night, and the stars in the East are wonderfully brilliant and beautiful. I walked up and down for some time, not exactly thinking, not exactly praying, but with my heart lifted upwards, above this changing world, to the unchanging Friend above. And an answer came to that upward appeal. It came in the recollection of some words I had heard a few days before:
"'Next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which seems so very hard to bear, just say to yourself it is God's chisel at work upon me—you will find it such a help.'"
And it was a help to me; the very help that I needed—God's chisel at work upon me, then I must not complain; I must not murmur; I must not even wonder; I must just trust and wait.
Looking up at the bright starry sky, I said, in the words of a favourite verse:
"He doeth all things well,We say it now with tears;But we shall sing it with those we love,Through bright eternal years."