From Jaffa to Jerusalem.
The Garden of Jaffa--Breakfast at a Fountain--The Plain of Sharon--The
Ruined Mosque of Ramleh--A Judean Landscape--The Streets of Ramleh--Am I
in Palestine?--A Heavenly Morning--The Land of Milk and Honey--Entering
the Hill-Country--The Pilgrim's Breakfast--The Father of Lies--A Church
of the Crusaders--The Agriculture of the Hills--The Valley of
Elah--Day-Dreams--The Wilderness--The Approach--We see the Holy City.
--"Through the air sublime,
Over the wilderness and o'er the plain;
Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,
The Holy City, lifted high her towers."
Paradise Regained.
Jerusalem, _Thursday, April_ 29, 1852.
Leaving the gate of Jaffa, we rode eastward between delightful gardens of
fig, citron, orange, pomegranate and palm. The country for several miles
around the city is a complete level--part of the great plain of
Sharon--and the gray mass of building crowning the little promontory, is
the only landmark seen above the green garden-land, on looking towards the
sea. The road was lined with hedges of giant cactus, now in blossom, and
shaded occasionally with broad-armed sycamores. The orange trees were in
bloom, and at the same time laden down with ripe fruit. The oranges of
Jaffa are the finest in Syria, and great numbers of them are sent to
Beyrout and other ports further north. The dark foliage of the
pomegranate fairly blazed with its heavy scarlet blossoms, and here and
there a cluster of roses made good the Scriptural renown of those of
Sharon. The road was filled with people, passing to and fro, and several
families of Jaffa Jews were having a sort of pic-nic in the choice shady
spots.
Ere long we came to a fountain, at a point where two roads met. It was a
large square structure of limestone and marble, with a stone trough in
front, and a delightful open chamber at the side. The space in front was
shaded with immense sycamore trees, to which we tied our horses, and then
took our seats in the window above the fountain, where the Greek brought
us our breakfast. The water was cool and delicious, as were our Jaffa
oranges. It was a charming spot, for as we sat we could look under the
boughs of the great trees, and down between the gardens to Jaffa and the
Mediterranean. After leaving the gardens, we came upon the great plain of
Sharon, on which we could see the husbandmen at work far and near,
ploughing and sowing their grain. In some instances, the two operations
were made simultaneously, by having a sort of funnel attached to the
plough-handle, running into a tube which entered the earth just behind the
share. The man held the plough with one hand, while with the other he
dropped the requisite quantity of seed through the tube into the furrow.
The people are ploughing now for their summer crops, and the wheat and
barley which they sowed last winter are already in full head. On other
parts of the plain, there were large flocks of sheep and goats, with their
attendant shepherds. So ran the rich landscape, broken only by belts of
olive trees, to the far hills of Judea.
Riding on over the long, low swells, fragrant with wild thyme and
camomile, we saw at last the tower of Ramleh, and down the valley, an
hour's ride to the north-east, the minaret of Ludd, the ancient Lydda.
Still further, I could see the houses of the village of Sharon, embowered
in olives. Ramleh is built along the crest and on the eastern slope of a
low hill, and at a distance appears like a stately place, but this
impression is immediately dissipated on entering it. West of the town is a
large square tower, between eighty and ninety feet in height. We rode up
to it through an orchard of ancient olive trees, and over a field of
beans. The tower is evidently a minaret, as it is built in the purest
Saracenic style, and is surrounded by the ruins of a mosque. I have rarely
seen anything more graceful than the ornamental arches of the upper
portions. Over the door is a lintel of white marble, with an Arabic
inscription. The mosque to which the tower is attached is almost entirely
destroyed, and only part of the arches of a corridor around three sides of
a court-yard, with the fountain in the centre, still remain. The
subterranean cisterns, under the court-yard, amazed me with their extent
and magnitude. They are no less than twenty-four feet deep, and covered by
twenty-four vaulted ceilings, each twelve feet square, and resting on
massive pillars. The mosque, when entire, must have been one of the finest
in Syria.
We clambered over the broken stones cumbering the entrance, and mounted
the steps to the very summit. The view reached from Jaffa and the sea to
the mountains near Jerusalem, and southward to the plain of Ascalon--a
great expanse of grain and grazing land, all blossoming as the rose, and
dotted, especially near the mountains, with dark, luxuriant olive-groves.
The landscape had something of the green, pastoral beauty of England,
except the mountains, which were wholly of Palestine. The shadows of
fleecy clouds, drifting slowly from east to west, moved across the
landscape, which became every moment softer and fairer in the light of the
declining sun.
I did not tarry in Ramleh. The streets are narrow, crooked, and filthy as
only an Oriental town can be. The houses have either flat roofs or domes,
out of the crevices in which springs a plentiful crop of weeds. Some
yellow dogs barked at us as we passed, children in tattered garments
stared, and old turbaned heads were raised from the pipe, to guess who the
two brown individuals might be, and why they were attended by such a
fierce _cawass_. Passing through the eastern gate, we were gladdened by
the sight of our tents, already pitched in the meadow beside the cistern.
Dervish had arrived an hour before us, and had everything ready for the
sweet lounge of an hour, to which we treat ourselves after a day's ride. I
watched the evening fade away over the blue hills before us, and tried to
convince myself that I should reach Jerusalem on the morrow. Reason said:
"You certainly will!"---but to Faith the Holy City was as far off as ever.
Was it possible that I was in Judea? Was this the Holy Land of the
Crusades, the soil hallowed by the feet of Christ and his Apostles? I must
believe it. Yet it seemed once that if I ever trod that earth, then
beneath my feet, there would be thenceforth a consecration in my life, a
holy essence, a purer inspiration on the lips, a surer faith in the heart.
And because I was not other than I had been, I half doubted whether it was
the Palestine of my dreams.
A number of Arab cameleers, who had come with travellers across the
Desert from Egypt, were encamped near us. François was suspicious of some
of them, and therefore divided the night into three watches, which were
kept by himself and our two men. Mustapha was the last, and kept not only
himself, but myself, wide awake by his dolorous chants of love and
religion. I fell sound asleep at dawn, but was roused before sunrise by
François, who wished to start betimes, on account of the rugged road we
had to travel. The morning was mild, clear, and balmy, and we were soon
packed and in motion. Leaving the baggage to follow, we rode ahead over
the fertile fields. The wheat and poppies were glistening with dew, birds
sang among the fig-trees, a cool breeze came down from the hollows of the
hills, and my blood leaped as nimbly and joyously as a young hart on the
mountains of Bether.
Between Ramleh and the hill-country, a distance of about eight miles, is
the rolling plain of Arimathea, and this, as well as the greater part of
the plain of Sharon, is one of the richest districts in the world. The
soil is a dark-brown loam, and, without manure, produces annually superb
crops of wheat and barley. We rode for miles through a sea of wheat,
waving far and wide over the swells of land. The tobacco in the fields
about Ramleh was the most luxuriant I ever saw, and the olive and fig
attain a size and lusty strength wholly unknown in Italy. Judea cursed of
God! what a misconception, not only of God's mercy and beneficence, but of
the actual fact! Give Palestine into Christian hands, and it will again
flow with milk and honey. Except some parts of Asia Minor, no portion of
the Levant is capable of yielding such a harvest of grain, silk, wool,
fruits, oil, and wine. The great disadvantage under which the country
labors, is its frequent drouths, but were the soil more generally
cultivated, and the old orchards replanted, these would neither be so
frequent nor so severe.
We gradually ascended the hills, passing one or two villages, imbedded in
groves of olives. In the little valleys, slanting down to the plains, the
Arabs were still ploughing and sowing, singing the while an old love-song,
with its chorus of "_ya, ghazalee! ya, ghazalee!_" (oh, gazelle! oh,
gazelle!) The valley narrowed, the lowlands behind us spread out broader,
and in half an hour more we were threading a narrow pass, between stony
hills, overgrown with ilex, myrtle, and dwarf oak. The wild purple rose of
Palestine blossomed on all sides, and a fragrant white honeysuckle in some
places hung from the rocks. The path was terribly rough, and barely wide
enough for two persons on horseback to pass each other. We met a few
pilgrims returning from Jerusalem, and a straggling company of armed
Turks, who had such a piratical air, that without the solemn asseveration
of François that the road was quite safe, I should have felt uneasy about
our baggage. Most of the persons we passed were Mussulmen, few of whom
gave the customary "Peace be with you!" but once a Syrian Christian
saluted me with, "God go with you, O Pilgrim!" For two hours after
entering the mountains, there was scarcely a sign of cultivation. The rock
was limestone, or marble, lying in horizontal strata, the broken edges of
which rose like terraces to the summits. These shelves were so covered
with wild shrubs--in some places even with rows of olive trees---that to
me they had not the least appearance of that desolation so generally
ascribed to them.
In a little dell among the hills there is a small ruined mosque, or
chapel (I could not decide which), shaded by a group of magnificent
terebinth trees. Several Arabs were resting in its shade, and we hoped to
find there the water we were looking for, in order to make breakfast. But
it was not to be found, and we climbed nearly to the summit of the first
chain of hills, where in a small olive orchard, there was a cistern,
filled by the late rains. It belonged to two ragged boys, who brought us
an earthen vessel of the water, and then asked, "Shall we bring you milk,
O Pilgrims!" I assented, and received a small jug of thick buttermilk, not
remarkably clean, but very refreshing. My companion, who had not recovered
from his horror at finding that the inhabitants of Ramleh washed
themselves in the pool which supplied us and them, refused to touch it. We
made but a short rest, for it was now nearly noon, and there were yet many
rough miles between us and Jerusalem. We crossed the first chain of
mountains, rode a short distance over a stony upland, and then descended
into a long cultivated valley, running to the eastward. At the end nearest
us appeared the village of Aboo 'l Ghosh (the Father of Lies), which takes
its name from a noted Bedouin shekh, who distinguished himself a few years
ago by levying contributions on travellers. He obtained a large sum of
money in this way, but as he added murder to robbery, and fell upon Turks
as well as Christians, he was finally captured, and is now expiating his
offences in some mine on the coast of the Black Sea.
Near the bottom of the village there is a large ruined building, now used
as a stable by the inhabitants. The interior is divided into a nave and
two side-aisles by rows of square pillars, from which spring pointed
arches. The door-way is at the side, and is Gothic, with a dash of
Saracenic in the ornamental mouldings above it. The large window at the
extremity of the nave is remarkable for having round arches, which
circumstance, together with the traces of arabesque painted ornaments on
the columns, led me to think it might have been a mosque; but Dr.
Robinson, who is now here, considers it a Christian church, of the time of
the Crusaders. The village of Aboo 'l Ghosh is said to be the site of the
birth-place of the Prophet Jeremiah, and I can well imagine it to have
been the case. The aspect of the mountain-country to the east and
north-east would explain the savage dreariness of his lamentations. The
whole valley in which the village stands, as well as another which joins
it on the east, is most assiduously cultivated. The stony mountain sides
are wrought into terraces, where, in spite of soil which resembles an
American turnpike, patches of wheat are growing luxuriantly, and olive
trees, centuries old, hold on to the rocks with a clutch as hard and bony
as the hand of Death. In the bed of the valley the fig tree thrives, and
sometimes the vine and fig grow together, forming the patriarchal arbor of
shade familiar to us all. The shoots of the tree are still young and
green, but the blossoms of the grape do not yet give forth their goodly
savor. I did not hear the voice of the turtle, but a nightingale sang in
the briery thickets by the brook side, as we passed along.
Climbing out of this valley, we descended by a stony staircase, as rugged
as the Ladder of Tyre, into the Wady Beit-Hanineh. Here were gardens of
oranges in blossom, with orchards of quince and apple, overgrown with
vines, and the fragrant hawthorn tree, snowy with its bloom. A stone
bridge, the only one on the road, crosses the dry bed of a winter stream,
and, looking up the glen, I saw the Arab village of Kulonieh, at the
entrance of the valley of Elah, glorious with the memories of the
shepherd-boy, David. Our road turned off to the right, and commenced
ascending a long, dry glen between mountains which grew more sterile the
further we went. It was nearly two hours past noon, the sun fiercely hot,
and our horses were nigh jaded out with the rough road and our impatient
spurring. I began to fancy we could see Jerusalem from the top of the
pass, and tried to think of the ancient days of Judea. But it was in vain.
A newer picture shut them out, and banished even the diviner images of Our
Saviour and His Disciples. Heathen that I was, I could only think of
Godfrey and the Crusaders, toiling up the same path, and the ringing lines
of Tasso vibrated constantly in my ear:
"Ecco apparir Gierusalemm' si vede;
Ecco additar Gierusalemm' si scorge;
Ecco da mille voci unitamente,
Gierusalemme salutar si sente!"
The Palestine of the Bible--the Land of Promise to the Israelites, the
land of Miracle and Sacrifice to the Apostles and their followers--still
slept in the unattainable distance, under a sky of bluer and more tranquil
loveliness than that to whose cloudless vault I looked up. It lay as far
and beautiful as it once seemed to the eye of childhood, and the swords of
Seraphim kept profane feet from its sacred hills. But these rough rocks
around me, these dry, fiery hollows, these thickets of ancient oak and
ilex, had heard the trumpets of the Middle Ages, and the clang and
clatter of European armor--I could feel and believe that. I entered the
ranks; I followed the trumpets and the holy hymns, and waited breathlessly
for the moment when every mailed knee should drop in the dust, and every
bearded and sunburned cheek be wet with devotional tears.
But when I climbed the last ridge, and looked ahead with a sort of painful
suspense, Jerusalem did not appear. We were two thousand feet above the
Mediterranean, whose blue we could dimly see far to the west, through
notches in the chain of hills. To the north, the mountains were gray,
desolate, and awful. Not a shrub or a tree relieved their frightful
barrenness. An upland tract, covered with white volcanic rock, lay before
us. We met peasants with asses, who looked (to my eyes) as if they had
just left Jerusalem. Still forward we urged our horses, and reached a
ruined garden, surrounded with hedges of cactus, over which I saw domes
and walls in the distance. I drew a long breath and looked at François. He
was jogging along without turning his head; he could not have been so
indifferent if that was really the city. Presently, we reached another
slight rise in the rocky plain. He began to urge his panting horse, and at
the same instant we both lashed the spirit into ours, dashed on at a
break-neck gallop, round the corner of an old wall on the top of the hill,
and lo! the Holy City! Our Greek jerked both pistols from his holsters,
and fired them into the air, as we reined up on the steep.
From the descriptions of travellers, I had expected to see in Jerusalem an
ordinary modern Turkish town; but that before me, with its walls,
fortresses, and domes, was it not still the City of David? I saw the
Jerusalem of the New Testament, as I had imagined it. Long lines of walls
crowned with a notched parapet and strengthened by towers; a few domes and
spires above them; clusters of cypress here and there; this was all that
was visible of the city. On either side the hill sloped down to the two
deep valleys over which it hangs. On the east, the Mount of Olives,
crowned with a chapel and mosque, rose high and steep, but in front, the
eye passed directly over the city, to rest far away upon the lofty
mountains of Moab, beyond the Dead Sea. The scene was grand in its
simplicity. The prominent colors were the purple of those distant
mountains, and the hoary gray of the nearer hills. The walls were of the
dull yellow of weather-stained marble, and the only trees, the dark
cypress and moonlit olive. Now, indeed, for one brief moment, I knew that
I was in Palestine; that I saw Mount Olivet and Mount Zion; and--I know
not how it was--my sight grew weak, and all objects trembled and wavered
in a watery film. Since we arrived, I have looked down upon the city from
the Mount of Olives, and up to it from the Valley of Jehosaphat; but I
cannot restore the illusion of that first view.
We allowed our horses to walk slowly down the remaining half-mile to the
Jaffa gate. An Englishman, with a red silk shawl over his head, was
sketching the city, while an Arab held an umbrella over him. Inside the
gate we stumbled upon an Italian shop with an Italian sign, and after
threading a number of intricate passages under dark archways, and being
turned off from one hotel, which was full of travellers, reached another,
kept by a converted German Jew, where we found Dr. Robinson and Dr. Ely
Smith, who both arrived yesterday. It sounds strange to talk of a hotel
in Jerusalem, but the world is progressing, and there are already three. I
leave to-morrow for Jericho, the Jordan, and the Dead Sea, and shall have
more to say of Jerusalem on my return.