PALESTINE.
From Port Said we sailed for Jaffa, the ancient Joppa of Scripture;
and the landing here was the most novel and exciting scene I had yet
witnessed in that way. So difficult is the landing sometimes that
passengers are always conditionally booked for Jaffa, and to be landed,
at the option of the captain, at Beyrout. In our case it was resolved to
land, but after some hesitation. The eastern border of the Mediterranean
although low is generally rocky, and is extremely subject to sudden and
violent storms of waves and breakers on the coast, and no place so much
so as Jaffa. There is no harbour, and passengers and goods are landed
on the beach; in front is a barrier of three low rocks, the passage
between which is only wide enough to admit a boat; the surf often runs
very high, and the least deviation would inevitably result in boat-wreck.
The pilotage of the boat few but a practised Arab would undertake, and
the excitement and bustle on the beach on such occasions are something
extraordinary. When we landed, nearly a thousand Arabs, all of the lower
class, and not overburdened with garments, congregated ready to fish us
out in the event of such an accident.
The moment our boat touched the beach, a crowd of these fellows—who
seem all legs and arms—rushed forward, up to the chest in the water,
and seized me, one by each limb, bearing me aloft to the shore without
leave asked, and carrying on all the while a violent quarrel amongst
themselves as to whom I belonged—each of them claiming me as his salvage.
The ladies certainly were treated with some measure of respect; but all
the other passengers and every article of our luggage passed through the
same ordeal, and notwithstanding the violence of the surf we were all
landed wonderfully dry—but still in custody of at least four clamorous
proprietors, each vociferously demanding payment for our rescue. How we
escaped with our luggage safe is wonderful: I presume it could not have
been managed but for our dragoman and his lieutenant. The clamour was
somewhat more than amusing; but on this as on numerous similar occasions
I remarked that, however threatening these Arab quarrels are, I never
saw one _seriously_ wound or strike another, even where I was prepared
by violence of language and fierceness of gesticulation, to see a murder
perpetrated. When no weapon is at hand, they arm themselves with large
stones, which are certainly plentiful everywhere.
The hotel, occupied I think by a Frenchman, is situated about a mile
beyond the town, beside an orange grove and a few new buildings
entirely in the European style. The town itself has a fine appearance
from a distance. It is walled and very old, of small size, but extremely
crowded, and built upon a rock rising almost out of the sea; the
streets—narrow, filthy, and crooked—are besides, generally speaking,
very steep. The buildings look as if they had been meant each for a
fort, with nothing pleasant-looking about them except the roofs, on
which the families appeared chiefly to live. The people at the bazaars
seemed a very bustling mixed class, and of a lower morale than any we had
met—blacklegs, gamblers, showmen, loafers, and waifs of many lands.
Here, as elsewhere, we found travellers of all nationalities—the
Americans perhaps the most numerous. Ladies formed no small fraction
of the number, and were in general—at least the Americans—the most
thoroughly in earnest, and best equipped. With many of them every
possible nook and corner must be explored, and while others were content
to see the tombs of patriarchs and saints, Pharaohs and sacred bulls,
some preferred to climb into and at least temporarily occupy the empty
sarcophagus or cell—often under circumstances of difficulty. As for
Eastern relics, I think America—if not England also—must now contain
waggon-loads of them.
We sometimes met the same faces again and again in our wanderings. Among
others here was an English lady from Cornwall whom we had met in the
drawing-room at Cairo. There she had told me she was obliged to travel a
second tour to take care of her nephew—a strong, handsome-looking youth,
apparently fit for the Life Guards—whose health, she assured me, was
suffering from overwork. He certainly became his illness remarkably well,
as half the invalids in Egypt do.
“I was,” said she, “first told, ‘Go to Cairo and die!’ and I went; then I
am told, ‘Go to Jerusalem and die!’ and so I am en route now.”
About a month later, as we rode up the beautiful valley of the Lebanons
to Balbec, we passed her party riding down—she was an excellent rider and
well mounted.
“Go to Damascus and die!” she cried.
She has been to Damascus, but I trust has not died even yet; and hope she
may live long enough to “Go to Livingstonia and die!”
Of course we visited the house and stood upon the roof said to be that
from which Peter saw the wonderful vision of the net let down from
Heaven. I did not believe the story, because the house could not be
more than a few hundred years old at the most; but it is by no means
improbable that it is built upon the site—the description answers so
well. In the neighbourhood of Jaffa, and not far from the hotel, is
a colony founded several years ago by a party of Latter Day Saints
from America. Although this proved a painful failure, and the parties
subsequently returned to their own country, they spent both money and
labour in the building of a few good houses, and introduced important
agricultural improvements, traces of which are yet visible.
I cannot leave Jaffa without making mention of the “Jaffa oranges,” which
are famous all the East over for their extraordinary size and excellence.
I should say that, on an average, each is nearly as large as four
ordinary oranges, and it was a very pleasant sight to see this splendid
yellow fruit hanging overhead in passing along the groves, which are all
irrigated artificially. Here the crop of fruits generally seemed rich,
and prepared us to expect many such gardens in our after journey in the
land of milk and honey. How great the disappointment was we shall see.
After a night’s rest, we found ourselves on horseback, en route for
Jerusalem. The Jaffa horses are Arabians, of small size, spirited, but
very sure-footed; and mine was one of the surest-footed of the lot—a
little vicious, but I afterwards found its skin was sadly broken under
the saddle, and so am now not surprised that he was frequently somewhat
restless. In fairness to our dragoman, however, it should be mentioned
that a German prince had started two days before us, who, with his large
suite, had taken all the best horses in the place. The Jaffa horse “boys”
are, I think, a somewhat mongrel class of Arabs—cruel and cunning, and
seemed to delight in mischief of every description.
Almost every one breaks the journey at Ramleh, which lies only an easy
journey south-eastwards, and is said to have been the property of Joseph
of Arimathea. Here there is a tower somewhat similar to the old Norman
square towers at home, and it did not appear to be much more ancient.
From its summit we obtained an extensive view of the country. On the
west, and northward along the coast, lay the once fertile plains of
Sharon, which we had just crossed; on the southward, the country of
the Philistines—Gaza, Askelon, Gath—the scene of Samson’s exploits and
sufferings, and of David’s victory over Goliath; and, later on, along the
plain south-west was the Ethiopian eunuch’s carriage stopped to take up
Philip the Evangelist. On the east was the “hill country of Judea,” which
we had already partly ascended.
Instead of erecting our tents, we put up in one of the convents, of which
there are two always ready to receive strangers—the Russian and the
French—both of which have very much the appearance of fortresses, and may
have been founded during the Crusades. We were not asked to join in any
religious service in the convent, which seemed to be almost deserted at
the time.
Next morning, after an early breakfast, we were again in the saddle, and
from this point upwards to Jerusalem the ascent was very considerable
almost all the way, and rendered even more steep by a very deep wady
or ravine in our route. Hitherto the road had been partly made, but
now we lost for a time all trace of it, other than the usual Palestine
bridle-track over hill and gully, and along paths which it is difficult
to describe, and which are in some places barely discernible.
Being our first day’s long journey, we gladly stopped at noon for lunch,
which, as on most other occasions, consisted of wheaten loaves, cold
fowl, fruit, and wine; the donkeys carrying the tents in the meantime
moved on, as they travel somewhat more slowly. The ascent had become
extremely wearisome both for horse and rider before we came in sight of
the great city, and, as in the case of the Crusaders of old, many an
eager outlook was made for Mount Sion before it actually came in sight.
But we had tarried so much on the way that the sun was rapidly sinking
in the west as we approached the walls of Jerusalem. The gates were just
being shut, and our first sight of it was therefore very imperfect.
Entering by the Jaffa gate, which fronts the south-west, we found
ourselves suddenly involved in darkness so great that our party lost
sight of each other before we reached the hotel. This was the Hotel
Damas, or Damascus Hotel, the only other good one being the Mediterranean
Hotel, which was occupied entirely by the Grand Duke Mecklenburg and
suite. A very large portion of travellers, however, obtain lodgings in
the several convents and hospices of the various religious houses.
How shall I describe Jerusalem? With its form all are familiar, but no
description which I can give would, I think, convey a correct idea of the
place; at least all the descriptions I previously read had completely
failed to do so to me. No doubt these descriptions are literally true
more or less, but there was an awful sense of desolation which seemed
to hang over the whole scene that no words can describe; and I can only
express my own feelings, which were those of absolute pain.
The Jerusalem of to-day is in no sense, except its site, the Jerusalem
of the Bible—Salem the Peaceful—Mount Moriah—Mount Sion—Calvary—names
which awaken by their very sound ideas of grandeur and victory! Jerusalem
the Golden—compassed about by the everlasting hills—beautiful for
situation, the joy of the whole earth—the city of the Great King!
Instead of these, there was only the idea of desolation and defeat.
“Is this the city that men call the perfection of beauty?”—a confused
mass of shapeless, dirty, half ruinous houses, built without plan, and
almost resembling the wreck of a conquered citadel. Yet every spot has a
history: here the house of Pilate—there the Temple site—yonder the tomb
of David; and deep in the chasms on the east and south the brook Kedron
and Gethsemane, with the tombs of Absalom and those of the Prophets, the
valleys of Jehoshaphat and Hinnom, of Gihon and the Field of Blood—all
really one vast overcrowded graveyard.
Much vain effort has no doubt been made to re-gild the departed glory,
but the illusion did not satisfy my mind, and I found it impossible
to realize the enthusiastic feelings of sanctity generally attached
to these or to the so-called “Holy Places.” I felt that many of them
were obviously false, and almost all of them improbable; indeed, it is
perhaps well that such is the case. Jerusalem the beautiful now sits in
the dust, _and how indeed should we expect it to be otherwise_ when we
read its foretold fatal doom, or consider that even since the beginning
of the Christian era the city has been destroyed four times after long
sieges—that of Titus being a complete destruction? Josephus gives upwards
of 450 acres as the area within the walls then—now it is only 213. The
very streets we walked through are evidently formed of the rubbish of
fallen houses, the original streets being probably in many cases ten
to fifty feet beneath the present surface. For here it is emphatically
true that “as the tree falls so it must lie,” and so of the fallen
houses—nothing is removed, and the new one is erected literally upon the
ruins of the old. And yet no question arises as to the identity of the
chosen city. The mountains still stand round about Jerusalem, but her
glory is gone, and there remains merely the skeleton of her former beauty
and comeliness.
There are very few Jews in Palestine, but in Jerusalem, which contains
only 20,000 inhabitants, about 5000 are Jews, the balance consisting
one-half of Arabs and Turks; the other of Armenians, Greeks, and Roman
Catholics—Latin Christians, as the latter are called; besides Maronites,
Copts, Druses, and others of less importance. Each of these has a church
of its own, and all vie with each other in rivalry for a precedence
by no means Christian. The Jews are poor and uninfluential; they have
seven small synagogues—very mean-looking buildings—once there were
several hundreds. However, under some unseen influence the Jews are by
immigration at present rapidly increasing. By far the largest and finest
erection in the city is the Mosque of Omar, and second is the El Aska,
both erected upon the Haram or Court of the ancient Temple, and partly
upon the original walls. These are beautiful buildings, and are rendered
more so by their site, than which a finer cannot be imagined. Worthy,
indeed, I think it must have been even of that magnificent Temple which
Solomon built upon it.
The Mosque of Omar is an octagonal building, about 180 feet in diameter.
Its marginal roof, nearly flat, but having a drum and large dome over
its centre, resting upon its inner row of marble columns. The walls
are covered externally and internally with marble, and higher up with
Persian tiles of porcelain, the blue and white giving a very fine effect.
There is round the frieze (written in large characters of gold upon
blue) texts from the Koran, and the small windows in the roof are of
beautifully variegated coloured glass of peculiarly subdued tints, but
without figures, which Mahomedans and Jews alike reject in their places
of worship as savouring of idolatry—they shed a pleasant light very
grateful to the eye when all outside is bathed in bright sunshine. The
outer circle of inside columns are of marble or granite, somewhat mixed,
I thought, in colour and design. This building is of doubtful age. Some
suppose it may have been originally erected for a Christian church. It
is evidently of Byzantine design, although its architecture is somewhat
of mixed character, and by no means of solid workmanship. The linings of
marble and porcelain tiles are a kind of mosaic ornamentation more rich
and beautiful than substantial and enduring. Suspended from the dome by
a long chain is a large crystal candelabrum over the centre of the rock,
the gift of a former sultan, and there are, as usual, numerous silver
lamps so suspended. There is an elegant marble pulpit, with columns and
arches of Arabic design, and altogether the interior is richly but not
showily ornamented. The marble mosaic floor is partly covered with
straw matting. Near the prayer niche in the wall I noticed several very
ancient-looking copies of the Koran, which Braham told us infidels were
not welcome to handle. This building may be called beautiful, but I
think the word “grand” is not applicable, and I doubt if it is so to any
Byzantine or Moorish architecture. Compared even with the second temple
or its successor, that of Herod, whose site it partially occupies, I
presume it would appear flimsy. With the grandeur and material glory of
that of Solomon, of course, it need not be named.
Standing here on the site of Solomon’s Temple, how crowded is the mind
with sacred associations! For it is probable that either on this spot or
on Mount Sion adjoining was Salem the Peaceful, the seat of Melchisedek’s
priesthood. And there seems no reason to doubt that this is the summit of
that same Mount Moriah where God provided Abraham and Isaac with a lamb
for a burnt-offering—typical of that Lamb “prepared from the foundation
of the world,” and to be offered up near the same spot nearly nineteen
centuries afterwards.
The building next in importance is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
a large, circular, domed building, erected upon what is supposed
with far less certainty to be Mount Calvary. The present is quite a
modern erection, as are also many of its contents, and of very poor
architectural merit, but the original erection was very old, probably
of the third century. It has been destroyed again and again by violence
and fire. Within its walls are the sites of the “Holy Cross,” a small
hole or socket cut into the rock, with those of the two thieves. Also
the Tomb of Christ, enclosed in the Rotunda, a small unseemly tabernacle
under the dome. This is the great object of veneration, where yearly
is performed at Easter that holy-fire miracle so long scandalous to
Christendom, and near it is a pillar marking the centre of the world!
Indeed, the objects of interest are so very numerous that, excepting
perhaps to a devotee, they become very confusing. The whole place is
overlaid with artificial trappings and ornaments, and monster-size wax
candles, silver lamps, jewels, polished marbles, and woodwork, wholly
incongruous with the ideas of a cross or a sepulchre. All is under lock
and key, and a Turkish soldier opens and shuts the gate at his good
pleasure, in a way very tantalizing and insulting to all the sects. This
is only tolerated because of their mutual jealousy—frequently breaking
out in quarrels and fights—in all which this Moslem must be the arbiter.
His manner of showing his authority scarcely conceals his contempt for
Christianity, and with such examples of it as are practised before
him—such masquerades, and fights, and holy fires, and other incredible
wonders and superstition—need we be surprised?
The Tomb of David is situate on Mount Sion, enclosed in a large plain
stone building, which is in possession of the Government, and is guarded
with much care. It is regarded with great veneration by all parties,
and especially so by the Mahomedans. No admission can be in ordinary
circumstances obtained into its interior, but it is said there are inside
upon its floor two very curiously constructed and ornamented tombs.
There is a small English Church on Mount Sion, which we attended on
Sunday, and enjoyed an excellent sermon from Bishop Gobat. Here, as
elsewhere in the East, Sabbath is scarcely different from other days.
The Mahomedans observe Friday, the Jews Saturday, and the Christians the
first day of the week; but all of these days seem only partially observed
at the best.
Outside the walls, of course, and on the south of the city, is the small
cluster of “Houses of the Lepers.” There seems always some inhabiting
them. No one appears to visit them except at some distance. The sight is
in no sense a pleasant one.
It is calculated that there are about 10,000 pilgrims visiting Jerusalem
per annum; of these, of course, our party was reckoned, but the real
pilgrims, I think, are the Jews, who come from all parts of the world.
They are chiefly elderly people, of both sexes, venerable-looking, and
evidently very much in earnest. Weekly, on Fridays, a number of them
may always be seen at the “Wailing Place,” which is situated in a quiet
alley, bounded on the one side by a portion of the walls of the ancient
Temple Court—a few courses of the large stones of which are generally
admitted to be of the original building. Here they stand with their
faces to the wall in the attitude of prayer, apparently unconscious of
the presence of straggling on-lookers like ourselves. A few of those we
saw were evidently educated Jews, furnished with manuscript copies of
the Law and the Prophets. They read earnestly, in a low tone of voice,
each for himself, alternately kissing the stones, smiting their breast,
and weeping. Some of them were seated on the ground, a few feet distant,
apparently exhausted by fatigue. It was impossible to laugh in such a
presence, and indeed even the Arabs seemed in pity to pay them an outward
respect.
The Mahomedan pilgrims, although they allow Christ was a true prophet,
did not appear to visit the sepulchre at all; their devotions were
performed in the Mosque of St. Omar, the sacredness of which is held
second only to that of Mecca. This is because of the famous vision
related by Mahomet, in which he declares that in one night he was carried
by the angel Gabriel from Mecca to Jerusalem, to the summit of a rock on
Mount Moriah, and from thence he ascended on a winged pegasus to heaven,
returning back to Mecca the same day laden with new inspirations! The
mark of his presence he _of course_ left behind on the rock in the shape
of a large hole, and hence the Moslems call St. Omar the “Dome of the
Rock.” This rock is supposed by some to have formed the great altar of
burnt-offering of Solomon’s Temple, and over it is now built this temple
of the False Prophet!
The rock is of great size, covering a space of about fifty feet diameter,
but is irregular in shape, and may be about six feet high, and, in
accordance with Moslem ideas, is strictly watched and enclosed. It is
also partly veiled, and rests, they say, upon nothing. To my eyes,
it palpably rested on its own edges, inasmuch as there is a hollow
excavation cut out under it, communicating, as some suppose, with the
underground drains by which the blood and water of the sacrifices may
have been washed away.
Although the followers of Mahomet look with contempt upon the credulous
superstition of other religions, there is nothing too absurd for the
devout Moslem to believe in connexion with his own, however contrary
to the evidence of his senses; many curious instances of this I
might relate, did space permit. But some Christians are not much more
enlightened. There is a very crooked street called the “Via Dolorosa,”
because that by which the Saviour walked from Pilate’s Judgment Hall to
Calvary. Here the monks show a built-up arch in a wall where once stood
the now famous “Holy Stair” by which Jesus descended from the hall. This
stair we were shown at Rome, whence it was transported, some say by
miracle, and is now erected in St. Giovanni, one of the churches there.
When in Rome we witnessed several female devotees climbing painfully
up its steps upon their bare knees, while some who proposed walking up
upon their feet were prohibited. Farther north in Via Dolorosa is shown
the “Ecce Homo” Arch, also the house of Dives, with the stone on which
Lazarus sat; and there is shown an indentation in the stone wall made by
Jesus in leaning there to rest, wearied with His heavy cross; and so on,
with many other interesting spots equally authentic!
Amongst travellers generally the subject of religion is very seldom
introduced, although the Bible narrative is evidently in most men’s
thoughts as these scenes pass before the eye. Here in Jerusalem we were
privately informed, on very good authority, that a well-known wealthy
Scotch marquis, probably to confirm his recent conversion, or perversion,
was, through some very potent influence, permitted to remain within
the Church of the Holy Sepulchre all night, which he either passed in
religious devotions or slept in the so-called Saviour’s grave! He was
attended only by his religious director and his dragoman, and I am not
aware that such liberty has ever been accorded by the Turkish Government
in any other instance. The story I believe to be quite true, and probably
somewhat reveals the secret working of his mind at the time.
The Hall of Pilate, subsequently called the Castle of Antonia, was
situated adjoining the Haram or Temple Court on the north, an eminence
commanding that portion of the city, and on its site now stands the
Turkish barracks. The Pasha until of recent years was subsidiary to the
Governor of Syria. There is a telegraphic wire connecting Jerusalem
with Damascus, Nabulous, and other centres, very necessary for military
purposes.
The inhabitants of Jerusalem consist largely of Arabs, who appear to be
rather more domesticated than we had hitherto seen them. They are, as
well as the Turks (of whom the chief men are the governing class), all
strict Mahomedans. The Arabs are, like the Jews, descendants of Abraham,
and are probably—next to them—the most remarkable people on the globe.
They are, as it were, the Anglo-Saxons of the East, occupying only the
fertile and tropical, as the latter do the more temperate and arctic
portions of the world, and both possessing in a high degree the faculty
of displacing other races. Physically they are a fine race, living
generally in the open air, and having a high degree of elasticity and
muscle. I think no other nation could long compete with them in running
a race. They seem governed by numerous sheiks, and are formed into
clans, very much like the Scotch Highlanders of old. They frequently
look and act like boys set free for the holidays—noisy, restless, and
quarrelsome as boys are. Mentally they do not appear to rank high; and
yet this people have overrun all others with whom they came in contact,
and occupy the places of the most renowned ancient races. The Assyrians,
Babylonians, Medes, and Egyptians have disappeared, with many others,
and Arabs fill their place. They have supplied kings for vacant thrones
in abundance; and although at present largely governed by Turks (whom
even now they maintain by their swords upon the Byzantine throne of the
Cæsars) they are to be found swarming with semi-independence from Syria
and the Great Valley of the Euphrates on the north to the islands in the
Indian Ocean. Dr. Livingstone found them in Central Africa, the real
although not the nominal masters. To describe them in the mass, I know
no way of doing so better than saying that they are simple and purely
_practical_ in character, and extremely migratory in habits. Under no
king, nor government, nor army, nor fortification, nor priesthood, except
his own sheik (unless by force), each is a king, a priest, a government
to himself; and so he declares no wars, but lets other potentates fight
to clear the way for his own occupation and profit, or that of his sheik.
Between them and the Jews there is, I think, a remarkable resemblance as
well as contrast. Both are descended from Abraham, and both inherited
the temporal blessings promised to his seed, but with Isaac only was the
spiritual covenant established. “As for Ishmael, I will multiply him
exceedingly; twelve princes shall he beget, and I will make him a great
nation. But my covenant will I establish with Isaac.” The Jews were
confined within the narrow compass of an extremely rich and fertile
land, whose “defence was the munition of rocks.” The Arabs, while “living
in presence of their brethren,” and indeed nearly surrounding the Holy
Land, were at the same time scattered far and wide, and the Desert and
Wilderness everywhere around has been their home—their hand against every
man and every man’s hand against them. By them the Eastern slave trade is
even yet carried on in defiance of all laws; and yet Arabia, their native
home, has never been really violated by foreign step, but preserved
intact for forty centuries—I think a fact unparalleled in the history of
the world! And still it remains a sealed country; we know really far less
of Arabia than of Japan. Like the Jews, they seem almost impervious to
religious teaching; and while all other races are in some degree being
Christianized, we never hear of any real breach made amongst the Arabs.
We saw no manufactures in Jerusalem except a little pottery work, some
hand-spinning of wool and cotton for home use, and the making of
numerous articles for pilgrims, such as beads, crosses, little olive-wood
boxes, and the like, which I found were of very poor material and
workmanship. There is quite a market for the sale of such articles on
the paved outer court of the Church of the Sepulchre, where are two rows
of sellers, chiefly monks, daily watching for buyers, and almost every
visitor becomes one. There are also many articles of lace and fine sewed
work to be obtained at one of the Latin religious houses, called “The
Sisters of Sion.”
One day we endeavoured to walk round the city on the top of the walls,
which are about twelve feet wide, and, commencing on the north, we
obtained a very good view of the interior of the city, but the walls
were so filthy that we were obliged to give up our walk. The houses have
generally flat roofs, or otherwise dome-shaped. The gates are large,
and arched over—the spacious porches just inside would still do for
holding Courts of Justice as of old. The finest one—the Golden Gate,
on the east—is built up because of some Moslem superstition that the
Christians are at some future day to take the Holy City, entering by the
Golden Gate! The walls have, of course, been rebuilt again and again.
There are several remains of the original to be seen, especially the deep
foundation of the south-east corner, and the remains of an ancient arch
at the south-west angle of the Haram wall. These indicate a noble and
very different style of building from the present.
There are no scavengers in Jerusalem—nor, indeed, in any of the cities
of the Turks—except dogs, which have a sort of sacred respect paid them;
and the Arabs, who practise cruelty to all the brute creation otherwise,
respect the dog. In a state of semi-wildness, they seem the property of
no one; but each street appears to belong to one or more of these dogs by
a sort of prescriptive right, and woe betide the intruder who seeks to
invade their domain! They are one of the pests of the place, and often
snarl at strangers as they ride through the streets. Their colour is
generally brown, and their size nearly that of our shepherd’s collie.
Unlike Cairo, carriages of any kind are rarely seen—the streets, in
fact, being very unsuitable for them. The city is largely undermined.
Under the Temple Court is a fine subterranean arched building, generally
called Solomon’s stables, into which we descended, and near them are some
water cisterns of great extent, also underground. The storage of spring
and also of rain water seems to have been a very important matter, and
the remains of such cisterns and aqueducts are very numerous, chiefly
underground.
Entering by a simple hole under the walls near the Damascus Gate on the
north, we were each provided with a lighted candle, and crept rather than
walked in a distance of 100 feet or so, when we found ourselves in an
underground vault, or series of vaults, of great extent. They vary in
height from five to thirty feet, looking like natural overhead archways
of limestone rock, with here and there a pillar left for support. It is
supposed they were excavated for supplying building stones for the city
in ancient times, and the impression conveyed to my mind, after exploring
this vast and dark range of caverns, was the instability of some portions
of the city overhead.
The excavations being made by the London Palestine Exploration Society,
of which the Earl of Shaftesbury is President, have led to important
discoveries underground in Jerusalem, and no doubt will yet throw much
light upon its ancient history, as well as that of the land of Palestine
throughout, which seems mainly a land of ruins. Indeed, indications
have already been obtained that the whole country is very much one vast
sepulchre of ancient cities, buried under the stones and rubbish of
their own ruins, the débris of hills, and the dust of ages. If so, many
doubts frequently expressed as to the excessive population of the land,
as indicated in the Bible records, will be removed. I called upon the
secretary (a medical gentleman), whom I found professionally engaged at
the fever hospital of the city; but he mentioned that the operations of
the Society were at that time in abeyance; they have since been resumed,
however.
We generally dined about six o’clock, at the table d’hôte, which was
served after the French fashion. I wish to give, if I can, a description
of the building of this hotel, as it is characteristic of very many
houses in Jerusalem and other cities of Palestine. Situated in a street
about twenty feet wide, we enter by an inside narrow and steep flight
of stone steps, strong and solid looking, but not finer than that
by which we would approach a hay-loft in this country. The landing
consists of a platform, which also forms the roof of the ground flat
of the building—how occupied I could not find out. Surrounding this
landing—which looked like a paved or asphalted court in the open air—is a
range of houses forming the second story of the erection, and containing
also a third story above it, ascended by an inner flight of open stone
steps. Here were the dining-room and parlour of the hotel—plainly
furnished rooms, with windows looking into the inner court or platform,
and others looking down into the street. The other rooms were variously
occupied for bedrooms and other purposes. Mine was a full-sized room,
about ten feet high, with a roof in the form of a very flat arch. The
building was thus almost completely fireproof, perhaps the reason being
that there are almost no timber trees in Palestine worthy of the name,
nor indeed much wood of any kind.
In the little parlour adjoining I one day noticed an English gentleman
sitting alone, evidently sorely wounded, and very unwell—like the man
who fell among thieves. I found he was from England—a partner in a highly
respectable and well-known mercantile house, and in fact a correspondent
of my own. He had, as I afterwards found, a clerk as travelling companion
to take charge of him. A man of excellent business talents, he had
recently fallen one more victim to intemperance, and was now making this
tour to be out of temptation’s reach. So far, I understood, it was quite
a failure. Alexandria and the steamers had proved too potent trials for
him; and at Ismailia, notwithstanding his being strictly watched, he
had—to get at the beer shops at the harbour—escaped during the night by
the window of his bedroom, but, falling in the descent, had broken his
arm and created some scenes amongst the Arabs, which his attendant had
got settled up at some trouble and cost. Fortunately there is no Bow
Street there, and no penny-a-liners. He said he was not enjoying his
journey; indeed his getting up to Jerusalem at all had proved a tedious
and most trying difficulty. I pitied him, and his companion too. He
talked very sagely, but took no interest in anything around, and so there
seemed little hope for him; and so soon as able to sit on horseback, he
proposed to return. Although his condition was painfully obvious to all,
he told me quite confidentially that he had met with an accident in his
journey. He seemed a sad wreck morally, mentally, and physically—the
first perhaps includes all; but having been “a man of mind” once, let us
hope he has “come to himself” ere now. I mention this incident because I
have been told that sending such cases to travel in Egypt and Palestine
is—when the expense is not a barrier—by no means very uncommon.
Jerusalem is best seen from the Mount of Olives, the summit of which is
about 100 feet higher than the city walls. It is separated from the city
by a deep gorge—extremely steep, especially on the Jerusalem side—called
the Valley of Jehoshaphat; flowing through it is the Brook Kedron, which
we found almost dry, although the rains had only ceased falling the
previous week. From this brook on the east of Jerusalem commences the
ascent of the Mount; and here also, I confess, my disappointment was
extreme. The Mount of Olives was associated in my mind with the ideas of
beauty, of rich verdure, shady groves, and stately trees, but instead
there were barren rock, almost no soil, and here and there a few trees
stunted in height, with their trunks hollow, and wrinkled with age,
growing out of the dry ground. There was very little verdure of any kind
other than the leaves of the few very aged evergreen olive trees, which
afforded a partial shade from the sun, then shining brightly overhead;
but where were the luxuriant fig and the palm trees? My life-long
pleasant illusions were completely dispelled. More especially was this
the case in the garden of Gethsemane, or what is now called such. This
is a roughly walled-in corner of the lower margin of the Mount, in
possession I think of the Latin Church. There have been some attempts
made at giving it the appearance of a garden—a few rudely-made walks,
lined with a shabby low wooden fence, and some efforts at cultivation
made—but with poor success. The enclosure contains some seven olive
trees, large and spreading but not proportionally lofty, centuries old,
propped up to keep them from falling, and having their large hollow
trunks filled with loose stones; also two or three modern cypresses. A
few paltry pictures of devotional subjects are affixed to the enclosing
wall, not artistically superior to the children’s halfpenny pictures of
a dozen years ago. The Mount being then, as is generally understood,
unenclosed and bounded by the public road, it is very difficult to
suppose that Jesus could here have retired for privacy, as we read He did
on that eventful evening.
Indeed, this consideration suggests doubts as to this being the site
of Gethsemane at all, or if it is, shows that the Mount of Olives of
the present day must be but the shrunk-up skeleton of the richly wooded
Olivet of the New Testament. And yet, of all the sacred places, as they
are called, none satisfies the mind of the traveller for its undoubted
genuineness more than this Mount of Olives. These remarks apply to
Oliphet as seen fronting to Jerusalem, but there are a number of trees
at its summit and north-west, but they are disappointing in size and
luxuriance. Except by contrast with the surrounding barrenness, they
could not boast of much beauty or comeliness.
Passing outward from Jerusalem by the St. Stephen’s or eastern gate of
the city—inside of which is the pool of Bethesda, substantially built of
stone, large and deep but empty and uncared for—we pass through a crowd
of Moslem tombstones, then by the spot of St. Stephen’s martyrdom, from
which in a steep slanting direction we descend a narrow roadway down to
and across the small bridge of the Kedron. Here, at the corner of the
wall of Gethsemane, commences the ascent over the Mount of Olives in the
direction of Bethany, and being also the main road from Jerusalem to
Jericho, it is a good deal frequented.
Over the mountain, and a short way down its eastern slope, is the little
village of Bethany, which was, perhaps more than any other, the home
of our Saviour during His residence in Judea. This road must have been
traversed by Him daily to and from Jerusalem, very probably accompanied
by His friend Lazarus; and few travellers fail to stand upon the summit
of Olivet, and imagine themselves on the spot from which He beheld the
city and wept over it, and from which perhaps were uttered the words,
“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets!” The barren
fig tree[4] imagination can very easily supply, and the whole view is
calculated to bring many incidents of Scripture so strongly before the
mind as never again to be forgotten. One feels certain of the truth of
the history, as certain as any fact can be—then not being really acted
out before the bodily eye.
I sat down and looked once more upon the city. I thought of the Jews’
Wailing Place, now almost opposite, and then of that other wailing place
by the river of Babylon, where they hanged their harps upon the willows
and wept when they remembered Sion. And as I sat in silence an historical
mental retrospect arose unbidden—profound and solemn, but tinged with a
beauty, somewhat sad, yet indescribably pensive and pleasing.
We were to leave Jerusalem on the morrow for a journey down to the Dead
Sea, but returning in two or three days for a final sight of the ancient
city.
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