Ride to _Kanawât_ (Kenath)--Impressive situation and
remains--Place-names in Palestine--Israelites and Arabs--Education--
A charming ride through mountain glades--_Suweida_.
WE left the city by the southern, the only double gate the city
boasted, as it is still the best preserved. Here also the city wall is
seen in something like its original proportions. Our way led straight
southwards from the gate, along a track lined on either side with
fallen and broken columns, which showed that the splendour of the old
city had been by no means confined within the walls. A large pool had
formed in the hollow to the right during winter, and, replenished by
the previous night’s rain, afforded refreshment to the horses ere they
faced the steep hill before them. By a zigzag path we soon ascended to
a considerable height, finding far more various vegetation than we had
thought possible.
Riding thus along the western slopes of the mountain, a wonderful
panorama spread out before us: _Shuhba_, which we had just left, black
and desolate-looking on its blasted hill; the whole extent of _Haurân_,
_el-Lejâʾ_, _Jaulân_, and Gilead; _Jebel esh-Sheikh_, throwing high his
gleaming shoulders in the north-west; while once again we could see
the Safed hills and the uplands of Lower Galilee, with Tabor’s rounded
cone distinctly visible above his fellows. We could almost trace all
our wanderings from the point where we entered the _Haurân_, through
the scorched fields of _el-Lejâʾ_, on to the mountain over which we
were passing. And here it was impossible to avoid noting once more the
dark spots over the far-stretching plains, marking the positions of
ancient towns now waste and ruined. To the traveller in this country,
almost fabulously rich in agricultural wealth, the phrase “a land of
ruins” ever and anon returns like the refrain of some sad song. A lower
road from _Shuhba_ leads by way of _Suleim_ and _ʿAtyl_, each with
ruins of interest--the former of a temple, subsequently a Christian
church; and the latter of two temples. But it was much longer, and
we feared the hollows would be heavy from the rain; and wishing to
have as much time as possible in _Kanawât_, we took the way across
the mountain. The immediate surroundings were dull, but descending a
little, and turning a spur of the hill, a scene of surpassing beauty
met our eyes. The valley below opened into a fair plain, embosomed
among the mountains, where teams of oxen, guided by peasant Druzes, in
their white turbans and tricoloured coats, drew furrows in the soft
soil with wooden ploughs, contrasting picturesquely with the brown and
green of the surrounding slopes. The southern edge of the plain is
washed by a little stream; beyond it the rising ground was covered with
glancing foliage, over which rose the tops of tall columns. Eastward
the valley narrowed, and the stream dashing down a precipice many feet
high, formed a delightful waterfall, on either side of which were
gathered the ruins of _Kanawât_. The mountains, grey in the changing
light, formed a pleasing background. Just as we swept round in full
view, a light shower drifted down the valley. The sun, striking through
the rain on glistening foliage, white waterfall, and stately ruins on
the brow of the hill, transformed the whole into a vision of fairyland.
It seemed as if the stream of time were suddenly turned back, and
the broken, hoary city on the height smiled again in the beauty and
splendour of her youth. So complete was the illusion, that the passage
of warriors long dead, with the kingly form of Herod in their midst,
hotly pursued by the wild Arabians, would have seemed so natural as
hardly to excite surprise.
We crossed the plain, waded the stream, and climbed the slope towards
the city. Leaving the ruins of a fine temple crowning a leafy knoll,
to the right, we pushed on through thickets of ground oak and thorn,
a strong prickly network of brambles covering all the undergrowth.
The lower part of the town presents nothing distinctive. It is only
partially inhabited by a colony of Druzes. Many of the empty houses are
quite perfect, stone doors and windows in position, and swinging as
easily as they did to the hands of their old possessors. Going as far
as we dared along the edge of the cliff, over which this part of the
town seems to impend, we obtained a fine view of the gorge into which
the waterfall descends, and also of the picturesque old mill by which
the water-power is utilised for the benefit of the inhabitants. Turning
cautiously, we retraced our steps, and entered the street leading to
the sheikh’s house. As he was absent we could not pay him our respects.
An easy ascent leads to the upper town, where, in open spaces, all
the great buildings were gathered. We crossed the broken remains of
a fine old aqueduct, just above the waterfall, beside the ruins of a
gigantic wall; and climbing over shapeless heaps of stones, many of
them beautifully cut and carved, we entered the largest of all the
structures that tell of glories long waxed dim. It is variously called
by the natives _es-Seraiah_--“the Palace,” and _Makâm Ayyûb_--“the
place of Job.” Thus, on either side of the great plain, on which in the
far past, as tradition hath it, his flocks browsed and his husbandmen
gathered the golden harvests, a spot is consecrated to the patriarch’s
memory.
[Illustration: KANAWÂT, RUINS OF TEMPLE]
The _Seraiah_ is a group of massive buildings, adorned with colonnades
and artistic sculptures. Around a doorway still almost entire, opening
on a wide paved space, are beautifully carved bunches of grapes,
leaves, and flowers. On the lintel of a door leading from one part
to another, a cross is cut in the stone, indicating the presence of
Christians at some period, while one of the halls has evidently been
used as a church. These apartments are of spacious dimensions, the
smallest of the three measuring eighty feet by seventy. Most likely
they were originally dedicated to heathen gods. What information as
to the ancient city and its noble buildings may be buried under the
great piles of debris no one can say; but few places, I should think,
on either side of Jordan would better repay the excavator’s toil.
Our cloth was spread on the stump of a fallen column, in the innermost
shrine. Sitting around on huge blocks, finding shelter from the sun,
we enjoyed our mid-day meal. Troops of kindly Druzes gathered about,
ready to bring _leban_, cheese, milk, bread, or whatever viands were at
their command. The horses, having been refreshed from the brook, seemed
to appreciate the cool shade of the middle chamber, haltered to the
stately columns.
The remains of _Kanawât_ might well engage attention for as many days
as we had hours to spend. On the opposite bank of the deep valley is
a small theatre almost wholly cut out of the solid rock, about sixty
feet in diameter, with a cistern in the centre of the area. A Greek
inscription intimates that it was built by Marcus Lysias, probably
a wealthy Roman officer, for the delectation of the inhabitants of
_Canatha_. A little higher up stands a temple of modest proportions,
and still further eastward a large tower, resting on massive
substructions, evidently of high antiquity. This is approached by
steps hewn in the rock. Close by is a lofty round tower, probably
sepulchral. Just visible over the oak thickets above us on our way
to _Suweida_, we saw several similar towers. If we cannot fix their
date, it is clear at least that they belong to a time in the far past.
Of the great reservoirs, whose arched roofs have in many places been
broken through, we could make no minute inspection. They lie between
the _Seraiah_ and the remains of a noble temple, of which the thick
side walls are standing, while in front a few columns of splendid
proportions rise from a huge confused mass of great stones. It was
perilous climbing, many of the blocks being ready to fall; but the view
from the top justified the risk and toil. The commanding situation
of the ancient city is seen to advantage. On a gentle slope of the
mountain, overlooking at no great distance the wide plain, then as
populous as it is desolate to-day, with plentiful natural supplies of
water, rich soil, and thick embowering forests, it was just such a spot
as the splendour-loving Herod might well select for lavish adornment.
Traces of a hippodrome are found close to this temple, and several of
the gardens cultivated by Druzes are surrounded partly by old walls
and partly by new walls of old materials. The grouping together of so
many noble buildings, within so small space, the graceful shafts of
beautiful columns rising in clusters here and there, reminded one of
Athens; but the dark stones lacked the dazzling effect of the white
marbles on the Acropolis.
The name _Kanawât_ probably points to that the city bore ere it fell
into the hands of the conquering Israelites, when it was called
Nobah--a name of which there is now no trace. Before the days of Christ
the old name had reasserted itself, and Josephus calls it _Canatha_--a
very slight change from the ancient _Kenath_. The identity of
_Kanawât_ with _Canatha_ is certain. It is interesting to observe, all
over Palestine, this reappearance of ancient names, and the practical
obliteration of those imposed by temporary rulers. The present _Beisân_
is clearly a modification of the old _Bethshean_, _Scythopolis_
being forgotten. _Banias_ is simply the Arabic form of the Greek
_Panias_, the Arabs having no _b_; _Cæsarea-Philippi_ is known only to
strangers. _Beitîn_ is evidently another case, representing the ancient
_Bethaven_; while _Bethel_ is locally unknown. It would be interesting
further to inquire how the characters of the trans-Jordanic tribes
affected the nomenclature of the land. They were essentially a pastoral
people. This tended to cut them off from the other tribes. They never
took kindly to the agricultural life prevalent on the west of Jordan.
Their nomadic habits would leave the captured cities more or less open
for the return of their inhabitants from the fastnesses to which they
had been driven; and of course they would bring the old names with
them. Thus _Nobah_ and _Bashanhavoth-Jair_ are names to be found only
in the Bible records.
The remarkable facial likeness to the Jews found among the people east
of the Jordan leads one to wonder if there is not a closer relationship
than that of cousinship between the two races--if, in short, the
eastern tribes did not in the end mingle freely with their nomadic
neighbours, and thus become gradually alienated in sympathy from the
people and religion of Israel, as they were already separated from
them by the mighty gorge of Jordan. It was this very calamity the
prophetic foresight of their fathers sought to obviate, when they
erected the gigantic altar of witness “in the forefront of the land of
Canaan, in the region about Jordan, on the side that pertaineth to the
children of Israel.” It should be an altar of witness to succeeding
generations of the unity of the people, lest the children of the tribes
westward should be tempted at any time to say, “What have ye to do with
the Lord, the God of Israel? For the Lord hath made a border between us
and you.” The real danger lay in another direction. Thus there was a
certain fitness in the fact that these eastward tribes were the first
to bear the brunt of the great invasions from the north by which Israel
was scourged.
[Illustration: KANAWÂT, SCULPTURED DOORWAY IN TEMPLE]
A Druze villager who attached himself to our company proved a pleasant
and chatty companion. Bright eyes looked out from under his spotless
turban; black whiskers and shining white teeth combined with a frank,
open countenance to prepossess us in his favour. He said he had been
teacher in a school which the _Englîze_ had supported for some time in
the village. By way of corroboration he aired a few words of English
picked up from his superior. Very strangely they sounded from his
lips, without any connection, and seemingly so out of place amid these
surroundings. His acquaintance with English was like that of a Syrian
gentleman friend of mine, who occasionally in company announces that
he knows English. “What,” he will ask, “is English for Narghîleh?”
And without waiting for reply, exclaims, “_Hubble-Bubble!_” laughing
heartily at his own joke.
The school had been summarily closed by the authority of the
Government, to the sorrow of the villagers, who were beginning to
appreciate the advantage of a rudimentary education. There is a great
field for missionary enterprise--medical by preference--in all this
region. The missionary’s efforts would find assistance in the generous
instincts of the people themselves. They are yet uncorrupted by the
unhappy influences associated with the passage of the great travelling
public. These are often, unfortunately, all of civilisation known to
the untutored inhabitants; and the barriers thus raised against the
missionary and his work can be fully appreciated only by those who have
had them to face.
Our cheery companion waited until we were all mounted, then led the
way, by many tortuous windings, through the old town, to an opening
which had once been a gate, on the road to _Suweida_. Few traces are
left of the ancient Roman road, and soon we were on a track of the
usual kind, very soft in parts, from the recent rains. We passed
between fruitful vineyards and cultivated patches, where the white
turbans of the vine-dressers moved to and fro among the green with
pleasing effect. Our ride that afternoon along the hillsides, through
oak and thorn thickets, the green interspaces sprinkled with flowers,
openings in the foliage affording glimpses of the wonderful plains of
Bashan, was the most agreeable by far of all we enjoyed in _Haurân_.
The freshness of the leaf, the music of the birds, and above all, the
cool breeze that met us, almost persuaded us that the Orient was but a
dream, and that we were traversing an upland in Bonnie Scotland.
Through a break in the forest we descried our tents, pitched on the
green sward, and ready for our reception, beside a curious-looking
block of masonry. Then sweeping round into the open, we obtained our
first view of _Suweida_, lying darkly on the farther bank of a little
ravine, by which it was separated from our camping-ground. The roofs
were alive with men straining their eyes in our direction. Our advent
clearly caused no small stir in that remote town. Arriving at our
tents, we found a large company assembled to survey us. They watched
all our movements with an amused curiosity, like that of children in
a menagerie. We were in time to witness the sunset, and in the calm
cool air were tempted to watch how long he took to disappear, from the
instant when his under rim touched the horizon. We looked earnestly,
and seemed relieved when at last he vanished. Our observers, I am
sure, entertained a shrewd suspicion that some remnants of sun-worship
still lingered among these curious westerns. Little thought they how
our hearts followed the departing beams to the land where, in the
slant rays of the longer evening, dear ones sat musing, drawing vague
pictures of regions famed in sacred story, and praying the Father of
all, the light of whose eye fades not from earth like the passing day,
to guard the wanderers from peril.