PALESTINE.
After spending a day or two more in this desolate but interesting city,
we resumed our journey on horseback, northward to Samaria, our exit being
by the Damascus Gate on the north. Outside of the city at a very short
distance are the “Tombs of the Kings”—a building with a stone front quite
underground, containing several chambers, but all empty. The entrance is
a very fine and rare specimen of what seems to be old Hebrew workmanship,
and is cut in the solid rock. Their history is somewhat doubtful, but
they seem to be very ancient. If permitted to hazard a conjecture I would
say this locality was probably Calvary.
Passing the upper end of the Kedron and along Mount Scopus, from which
eminence we had our farewell look at the Holy City, we descended along
the sloping pathway of the Mountain of Benjamin. Our first day’s journey
brought us to Bethel, where we found an open somewhat elevated plain full
of stones, on one of which “of course” Jacob had rested his head, but
the pillar he had set up cannot be recognised. It is a very retired spot
indeed, and there was certainly nothing to disturb communication with
the Heavens above. Looking out of our tents after sundown the multitude
of constellations in the deep blue empyrean were remarkably brilliant.
Here at a yet earlier period Abram had set up his tent, and here also at
a later date the Kings of Israel defiled the plains by erecting an altar
to Baal. The modern name of the place is Betin, a mere village. The ruins
of the ancient town (originally Luz-thar Bethel—“the House of God”) are
scarcely traceable. Joshua gave it to the tribe of Benjamin as their
northern border, adjoining to Ephraim. In it was one of Samuel’s Courts
of Judgment, and here the Ark was deposited for some time. Ai, which once
so withstood Joshua, is about six miles distant.
As we had now commenced a journey of some duration, travelling by day and
sleeping in tents, it may be well here to describe our cavalcade. Our
own party consisted only of four, each riding on horseback, as did also
our dragoman, but our tents, our beds, our whole luggage and provisions,
were carried on donkeys’ backs—the burdens generally being much more
bulky than the animals which carried them, and were accompanied by the
dragoman’s assistants and our Arab “muleteer boys,” who rode and walked
alternately. But we had been joined at Jaffa by a very agreeable party
of four, with whom we mutually agreed that it would be advantageous and
pleasant to travel in company, although they were also already provided
with a dragoman and attendants of their own—bipeds and quadrupeds—quite
as numerous as ours. Including the _two_ French cooks, therefore, with
their travelling kitchens, our joint cavalcade consisted of no fewer
than twenty-eight horses and donkeys, and travelling in single file, as
we generally did, presented, as may be supposed, a somewhat formidable
appearance. Our traveller friends consisted of an American party—a
gentleman, his wife, and his son, who had resided some time in China, and
another young gentleman, his friend. No home friends could have been more
agreeable.
As before mentioned, the horses which we rode were spirited Arabians,
and of small size. They almost never stumble, and my chief care was
not to slip over their ears or their tail, as their alternating up and
down course was as often at an angle of forty-five degrees or more as
otherwise. In fact, I again confess my inability to give any idea of
the roughness and unevenness of the roads, the word road indeed being
entirely inapplicable to the “highways” or pathways of Judea generally,
and the same remark applies to many portions of Samaria.
Among the other illusions of Eastern story is the care the Arab has for
his horse. Instead of being kindly treated and tended, as I had always
read, they are neither treated with kindness nor tended with ordinary
care. Instead of kindly calling his horse by name when he has got loose,
he chases him with a very large stone, which, when sufficiently near, he
throws with force enough to seriously injure the animal. The horse, quite
prepared for this, very dexterously eludes the missile, and this kind of
hunt is sometimes a serious loss of time. I noticed several instances of
their slyly pricking the horses with a short thick needle; whether from
sheer cruelty or to serve some object of their own I could not ascertain.
As to the saddlery, it was quite a delusion—often broken, and as often
mended with cords, on the strength of which depended in many situations
the safety of the rider. With us, fortunately, no mishap of any note
occurred; but I would advise any lady going the journey to provide an
English saddle and girth at starting (which can be done at Alexandria),
and not trust to the assurances of dragomans on this point. Fortunately,
most of our party and all of the ladies were excellent riders; but in
truth, the most inexperienced rider has not much difficulty in making the
journey under ordinary circumstances if he is at all careful of his seat.
We generally rose daily soon after the sun, which was about six in the
morning; and although it at first felt sensational to put our feet down
on a cold stone, or in some cases on a few blades of grass, we soon liked
the change, and, Mark Twain notwithstanding, we never once required to
empty our boots of stray lizards! After performing our ablutions and
breakfasting, the tents were struck, and we started on our journey for
the day. The rest at noon for lunch was always most enjoyable—that is,
if we got under a shade, which, however, was by no means always the
case, for at noon the sun is high in the heavens, and trees are now few
and far between in the land of Canaan; but even eaten in the sunshine we
relished the oranges, the dates, and the figs as “pleasant fruit,” and
very refreshing.
A day’s journey consisted of from twenty to thirty miles, which often
occupied us seven or eight hours in the saddle, because our speed was
slow, and the roads, if they must be called such, neither level nor
straight. The distances are therefore generally described by hours’ ride
instead of miles, for in some cases we might travel over three miles for
one of forward progress. On reaching our journey’s end for the day, we
generally found our tents erected and our dinner-table set out, graced
with a pair of wax candles in tall silver candlesticks, and the dinner
cooking in the distance upon a charcoal fire.
In the East no coal is seen, nor is wood used as fuel, but charcoal made
of burnt wood. It is very portable, being carried in a brazen vessel,
of basin shape, and, being lighted, gives out an intense heat, without
either flame or smoke. It appeared to me to burn without attention for
a very long time. Round about it the Arabs sleep, and watch, and sing,
by turns continuously during the night, in the open air surrounding our
tents, and the horses and donkeys are picketed immediately adjoining them.
An excellent dinner was served, consisting generally of soup and fowls,
or meat of some kind—occasionally mutton—a few glasses of claret, and
sometimes a cup of tea. These last the dragomans do not provide, and I
believe they cannot well be obtained in Palestine. We owed them to a
fortunate circumstance, and I found them the most refreshing and safest
of beverages. Thus altogether we were provided with better dinners, and
as superbly cooked, as any we had eaten since leaving Alexandria. This is
a point of very great rivalry amongst dragoman cooks. Extremely simple
and abstemious themselves, the Arabs must imagine that the Englishman’s
god is his belly. Our table was served by the lieutenant of the dragoman,
whom, as is usual, we observed to be the tallest and finest-looking Arab
of the party—thoroughly trained, and, of course, politely ignorant of
English.
Our evenings were very pleasantly spent in visiting each other in our
tents on alternate evenings, when conversation, both interesting and
amusing, filled up the time most pleasantly till eleven o’clock, when
we generally retired to bed. Here we learned to sleep with enjoyment,
notwithstanding the noises of the night, consisting almost invariably of
the songs of the Arabs, monotonous in the extreme, but amply relieved by
the howling of the jackals, the neighing of the horses, the braying of
the donkeys, and, if we were near to a village, the barking of the dogs.
Once only we had a wakeful night. A storm of wind threatened, but did
not quite blow down our tents; and a still more exciting scene—if scene
it can be called in total darkness—arising from our horses having broken
loose. I had no idea that even Arab horses and men could have made such
a Babel of noise and confusion. I am not sure that it was not done, or
at least prolonged on purpose, for to me it seemed that nothing is so
enjoyed by an Arab as noise, confusion, and mischief of whatever kind.
We found our travelling companions remarkably agreeable, well informed,
and intelligent, and our evenings were greatly enlivened with home
stories. The party, although Americans, were of Scotch families, and,
to enliven the time, we occasionally got up a lecture or a recitation.
The senior (Mr. Dickson of Scranton, Pa.—a gentleman who, I have since
ascertained, is well known and highly respected in America) being well up
in Burns and Scott, the former of whom he seemed to have nearly by heart,
was the life of our party. Altogether the addition of these friends was
a great acquisition to us in every respect. They had left the United
States in the previous September for a voyage and journey round the
world, travelling westward; and had now so far completed the circuit—for
which they had allowed themselves twelve months; and I may here mention
that I subsequently learned they really accomplished this to a day.
Passing from Judea into Samaria, as we now were, it may be well to say
a few words upon the general aspect of the country as it appeared in
my eyes, and without reference to the opinions of other travellers. I
had of course understood from them generally that the country was no
longer one flowing with milk and honey, but the reverse, still one-half
of its desolation and barrenness had not been told, or at least not
realized in my mind. Three things struck me forcibly. There are really
no timber trees in Judea worthy the name; there is scarcely any soil
upon the mountains (and Judea is very mountainous), and almost the whole
land is covered with loose stones, not in heaps, but spread nearly all
over the surface—in many places it might be called a land of stones. No
doubt these facts have been stated by the historians, but I think must
have been so in a way too much qualified, otherwise I would have been
better prepared for the deplorable aspect everywhere around. Perhaps the
pictures which illustrate the books on Palestine are more at fault than
the letterpress, for they are almost all—whether true or not—made very
picturesque, and generally contain one or two beautiful palms or other
trees in the foreground; whereas I do not think I saw even one fine palm
in Judea, and I fear they are as rare as orange trees are in this country.
The only trees one meets are the olives, which, however, are by no means
plentiful in Judea, and mostly old and stunted-looking. In Samaria we
saw several considerable plantations of them, but yet that country is
also sadly deficient in trees. Where now is the oak tree on which
Absolom hung by his bushy locks? There is, I believe, only one remaining
sufficiently large for this; and yet we read that the “Wood of Ephraim,”
where he was defeated, destroyed more men than did the sword. And where
is the sycamore tree up which Zaccheus climbed? I doubt if there be one
such within many miles; and yet we know that Jericho was once richly
clothed with trees and verdure, and called the “City of Palms.” Indeed,
that Palestine generally was once extremely fertile, and rich in woods
and verdure, is evident from the meaning of many of the Scripture proper
names.[6]
The words grass, mown grass, and green grass, which frequently occur in
Scripture, show that the country must have been rich in pastures. Then we
read of the “High Places” and of the altars of Baal and Ashtaroth being
built in the “woods” and “groves” on every high hill, and again of their
being “burned down.” No doubt there are some trees left, but they are
found in deep ravines, and generally very sparsely even there. However,
that valuable fruit tree the olive—I presume the most important source of
wealth in Palestine—is cultivated in some parts, especially in Samaria,
although far too sparingly, but even this tree is by no means so grand as
I had expected, and rarely seems twenty feet high. The leaf is of a very
dark green, with a light grey coloured under-side, and when moved by the
wind has a peculiar appearance.
There is along almost every little water-course a number of what are
called trees, but they are generally willows or mere copse or brushwood.
A tree of any description, of size sufficient to make an ordinary beam
for building purposes, is quite a rarity—such are only to be found miles
apart. The vine, so much alluded to in the Bible, is somewhat rarely
seen; but that it was extensively grown is evident by the traces of
terraces upon the steepest hills still abundantly visible.
Then as to flowers—“The Rose of Sharon” and the “Lily of the Valley”
cannot be found. There are many wild flowers certainly, but generally
they grow out of a “dry ground,” and have, with very good blossom, almost
no green foliage. “Thorns and briers” are abundant, but with very little
foliage also, and seem useful only for burning. The fig trees even are
few and far between, and the orange, apricot, and almond still more so.
The fields are not enclosed, except in some rare cases, where a wise
husbandman has gathered the loose stones into piles around his border.
Hedges are rare, but when seen they are generally formed of large cacti
covered with dust, and having in the twilight a somewhat weird look.
Cultivated lands in Judea are very rare, and even in Samaria are much
covered with stones, making ploughing with the miserable piece of crooked
wood a very superficial operation.
We felt surprised and ashamed oftener than once to see our dragoman
(who frequently rode considerably in advance) lead his followers right
through a field of growing corn, without the slightest compunction or any
consideration for the husbandman, merely to save a few minutes’ time in
going to see some object or reach some desired path. The inhabitants seem
so accustomed to submission under any and every Turkish oppression that
no complaint nor opposition was offered. We seldom met the inhabitants
in the country, and when we did I fear their muttered words were oftener
curses than blessings. Our dragoman acknowledged this; only once he
willingly gave us the translation, and on that occasion it was a very
rich blessing, I think won by giving a woman with a donkey the pathway
instead of monopolizing it, as is too much the rule both with Turks and
other travellers.
The wild birds mentioned in Scripture are still to be seen, and small
ones are numerous, as also are bees; but we rarely heard the singing
of birds in the land. Wild beasts—the lion, the bear, and leopard—are
almost never seen, except perhaps in Galilee and in the vicinity of
Carmel, notwithstanding that the population is now very sparse. Another
proof this, I think, that the country must formerly have afforded much
greater cover amongst its trees and rank vegetation for those animals so
frequently mentioned in Scripture (even though the multitude of its caves
was as great as now), seeing the population was then so large.
Of rivers, streams, and fountains we find frequent mention, but now
these are, with a few exceptions, dry as Kedron, except during the rainy
season, consequent on the destruction of the trees, and so barrenness is
the result. Still there are several springs even in Judea, and Samaria is
better watered generally, but in neither are they utilized as they ought
to be.
Never before did the immense importance of trees adequately impress
itself upon my mind. In our country they certainly ameliorate the
climate, but in lower latitudes they are really _invaluable_. Without
them the rains wash away the soil from off the stony ground; but once
planted wherever they can live, they by their own falling leaves
gradually make soil out of the disintegration of the rocks. They attract
rain, and by themselves and the vegetation which grows around they retain
it for weeks, instead of its rushing down the bare hills in a single
day, carrying off every loose grain of soil as at present. The same
important purposes are served—to some extent—by snow, when the mountains
are sufficiently high to retain it during the summer months, as Hermon
does. Trees and vegetation generally are intimately connected with water
and are mutually dependent, for if water fails they suffer, and if they
are destroyed rain fails—a very obvious truth, but not appreciated by the
Turks.
Even in our own country, I think every man who cuts down a tree should
be bound to plant two young ones; but in the East generally, and even
in Spain, the enormous evils resulting from an opposite policy are now
apparent, and remind one of the men who, during the storm, are said to
“pull down the rooftree of their house to feed the fire.” And so with the
Turks. Instead of encouraging the rearing of trees, they tax the patriot
who plants them! Truly some writers have well described this Government
as “desolating.” The once learned and wise Caliphs have now degenerated
into perhaps the worst Governors that exist, destroying the finest and
fairest portion of the East, and as locusts eating up every green thing.
With vegetation, the “shepherd” of the Scriptures and his flocks have
nearly disappeared. In our journeyings I did not notice over two dozen
flocks, and they would at home be reckoned small ones. These consisted
partly of sheep and partly of goats, and they did not intermingle, for
the one seemed to keep to the right hand and the other to the left.
One-half of the sheep are black and the other of a whitish-brown colour;
and, as of old, they follow the shepherd and seem to know his voice. The
common domestic fowls are pretty plentiful, but camels, horses, asses,
and oxen by no means so; mules are now more rarely seen.
I have dwelt on these matters somewhat more than travellers generally do,
because I think it is well that to its fullest extent the _magnificent
desolation_ of the land of Canaan should be fully acknowledged. I do
not say that writers conceal the facts, but they generally dwell, I
think, too much upon whatever is good and beautiful and fertile. From
a pardonable sentimental feeling they unconsciously throw a poetic
veil over the sad scene, so that readers I fear are not fully aware
of the ruined condition of that grand old land physically, morally,
and politically. But the unwelcome truth needs no apology, for it
corresponds too well with the Scriptural predictions. And if these have
proved so true to the letter, much more may we believe will its promised
restoration to more than pristine beauty, fertility, and size. I once or
twice noticed a tendency to sneer at this desolation, and I have since
seen a letter from one of a small party of probably very young naval
officers who, having obtained leave of absence from their commanding
officer off Jaffa to go up to Jerusalem, reported the Holy City and the
“whole thing a sell, equal to any of Barnum’s.” When reading over the
grand old Book, let us hope they may yet come to see this matter in its
true light, as I believe all candid men must who seriously consider it.
And thus, as already described, we journeyed on from day to day, further
details of which are unnecessary. Our next point of interest was Jacob’s
Well. It is situated at the foot of Mount Gerizim, distant from the city
of Sychar, the capital of Samaria, about a mile. Here we dismounted, and
sat down by the mouth of this famous well, wearied with our journey.
Considering the circumstances of Jacob, and the difficulty of the work
of digging a well so very deep, and in a manner which would do credit to
any builder of the present day, it is no wonder that the woman of Samaria
looked back with feelings of thankfulness to her father Jacob, “who gave
us the well.”
This water seems to have been of rarely excellent quality, and whatever
the Easterns consider as peculiarly valuable or sacred, they veil by
erecting a dome or a tabernacle or other covering over it, as witness
the holy sepulchre, the dome of the rock, the tombs of the prophets in
the valley of Jehoshaphat, and hundreds of other instances elsewhere
throughout Palestine. Here, accordingly, a small dome, or tabernacle, had
been built by the Moslems, who venerate Moses and the prophets, but in
course of years it had fallen down, filling up the well considerably, and
as usual some rubbish remains, partially blocking up its mouth, with the
aid of a number of the large stones, so that it is difficult to see into
it. Moreover, every passing traveller seems to consider it necessary to
pitch a stone into it. Notwithstanding all this it is still about eighty
feet deep, and seven feet in diameter, with still a foot or so of water
in the bottom. It is therefore extremely probable that originally the
well had been _very deep_, as indeed the woman of Samaria states it to
have been in her day—eighteen hundred years ago. In another century I
believe it will be filled with stones up to the brim.
Seated round the well, just under the shadow of Mount Gerizim and in view
of Joseph’s tomb adjacent, we listened with great interest to the 4th
chapter of St. John’s Gospel, which Mr. Smith (one of our party) read,
and the thrilling interest of the narrative will not soon be forgotten
by any of us. “If,” said the Great Master, “thou knewest the gift of
God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest
have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water. The woman
saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet. Our fathers
worshipped in this mountain. And Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe
me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at
Jerusalem, worship the Father. Ye worship ye know not what. But the hour
cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father
in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God
is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and
in truth.” “This mountain” to which she referred now towered right over
our heads, and was at that time the Holy Mount of the Samaritans. What a
wonderful sermon—and then the Preacher!—and the audience was _one_ poor
woman, and she a Samaritan and “a sinner!”
Remounting, we rode up to Sychar, no doubt by the same path taken by the
woman with her waterpots. Its modern name is Nabulous, one of the most
important towns of Palestine, having a Turkish garrison and numerous
manufactories of soap, which is made from the fruit of the olives. It
is seated near the west-end of the narrow valley lying between the
mountains of Gerizim and Ebal, called in Scripture respectively the mount
of blessing and the mount of cursing. This city was the most crowded
we saw in Palestine—the houses are piled up in a confused fashion over
dark arches, and the narrow streets looked dirty, although well whited
externally. The people seemed to be fierce and fanatical sons of the
Prophet. Here we encamped for the night in an open space beyond the
city, beside a pretty stream of water flowing down from Gerizim, but not
of good quality. There is along its course a show of verdure and small
trees pleasant to behold, and all around are fields partially, but for
Palestine well cultivated.
Next morning we were visited by the Patriarch or Chief of the
Samaritans—now a very small body—I think he said 120 in all, and fast
dying out. They have a small tabernacle in the city, which we visited,
and saw the celebrated manuscript of the Samaritan Pentateuch, which he
stated was the oldest MS. in the world. It is preserved upon two rollers,
in a brass case, and watched with great and jealous care. He seemed
poor, and had a book for visitors’ names, with the small money gifts
of each. He sat in the door of our tent for an hour, and seemed anxious
for English news, being pretty well acquainted with our leading men in
English ecclesiastical matters. He was attended by his “purse-bearer!”
a lad who carried his Nargile pipe, which he smoked at intervals, and
sipped a glass of our claret. On leaving he gave an invitation to sup
with him, which, however, we found it not convenient to accept.
Gerizim contains on its summit remains of temples connected with the
religious worship of Israel after the days of Jeroboam. There the small
body of Samaritans now remaining perform sacrifices and other religious
ceremonies in imitation of those instituted by Moses connected with the
Passover. Those of our party who climbed the mountain, stated that the
view from its summit was very extensive.
Next day we rode on to the City of Samaria, generally called “Sabaste,”
which stands upon a fine rising ground north-eastward, with a very
fertile-looking soil. Southward along the coast lies the Valley of
Sharon, bounded on the west by the Mediterranean. The city now consists
of a few houses of modern appearance, and some rows of ancient stone
columns and other ruins, evidently of Roman erection, probably of the
days of Herod. It seems to have been a royal residence, and once the
capital of the kingdom of Samaria. It commands a fine and extensive
view; on the north but distant horizon the range of Mount Carmel, north
and east the great plains of Esdraelon, the battlefields of most of the
great wars of Judah and Israel with their foreign invaders, and under its
surface lie the bones of countless combatants with their weapons of war;
beyond, Galilee in the distance with Mount Tabor; and eastward the hills
of Samaria.
Camels and dromedaries are not now used in Palestine for travelling, but
as beasts of burden. We occasionally met them carrying large building
stones and heavy goods generally. As the path or track was too narrow for
our passing them, I noticed that the camels, heavily laden as they were,
always stepped aside, giving place to the far less noble quadrupeds—no
doubt from habit. Indeed everything native must give precedence to the
superior Turk and his friends, whether English or American. We oftener
than once saw the skeletons of the dead camels picked clean by the
vultures, and bleaching in the sun, exactly as shown in pictures. This
noble-looking animal, sorely oppressed as he is, works on till he dies
at his post—a picture of loyal endurance; but I think he does so under
protest—expressed in his looks although not in word. One day I saw in
Samaria a man and boy striking with a stick two camels, which they had
just unmercifully overloaded. One of them seemed unable to rise, and when
the blow was repeated the dumb creature turned round his head to look at
his load, and then he looked his master in the face! The look struck me
as almost human—a dignified rebuke and appeal as it were of instinct to
reason—against a monstrous injustice! I thought of Balaam’s ass, and
that if this poor camel could have spoken he would have been equally
eloquent. The East has many great wants, and one of them is the want of
an Eastern Baroness Burdett Coutts and her Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals.
In our wanderings through the land we saw many of the “High Places” of
Scripture, where, amidst the groves and oaks, the idolatrous kings of
both Judah and Israel again and again erected altars to the gods of the
heathen around them. It seems very natural to believe that the first
idolatrous religion had been the worship of the Sun, and it is certainly
possible to conceive that to the great architect of the Tower of Babel
and the advanced thinkers of that age among the proud and intelligent
descendants of Ham, the worship of the heavenly bodies would not only
appear consonant with the highest reason and true natural science, but
such a religion may originally have been celebrated by them in a manner
at once sensuous, æsthetic, and refined. However, like every evil and
falsehood, this idolatry appears to have gradually become more and more
senseless, absurd, and cruel as the centuries rolled on, and as it spread
over the face of the earth, so true it is that “that which is born of
error ever begets evil.”
Pre-eminent amongst idolaters were the Canaanites, who seem to have
reached its very lowest depth. Greece had not yet fully concealed
this Baal or Sun worship under its absurd although beautiful poetical
mythology. Egypt had debased it to the worship of golden calves,
“four-footed beasts and creeping things,” but the Canaanites had
developed the evil into the worship of gods, the very personification of
cruelty and abomination beyond expression. And so the decree went forth
to Joshua that they had filled up their cup, and must now be rooted out
of the land.
And yet the remnant of these spared peoples not only proved thorns in
the side of the Hebrews in their every time of weakness, but gradually
corrupted their worship, even seducing them from their allegiance to
their King Jehovah, to Baal and Ashtaroth, and Dagon and Moloch! Surely
nothing is more unaccountable amongst the many perversities of these
Israelites than this hankering after the gods of their enemies—and such
gods too!
Of the exact nature of the various ancient idolatrous worship there is
much uncertainty, but it must have been very ensnaring when even so
perfect a man as Job alludes to the possibility of his falling into
this sin. “If,” said he, “I beheld the sun when it shined or the moon
walking in brightness, and my heart had been secretly enticed, or my
mouth had kissed my hand: This also were an iniquity to be punished
by the judge; for I should have denied the God that is above.” And it
certainly contained much of the æsthetic and sensuous when so wise a man
as Solomon fell under its enticements. For the Jews indeed it, must
have had some peculiar and powerful temptation that they were beguiled
into it so willingly, notwithstanding the heavy punishments it brought
upon them again and again, and the awful warnings and denunciations of
their Prophets. From Moses downwards they were continually being reminded
that their King was a “jealous God”—and both by awful threatening and
gracious promises that on their true allegiance to Him depended their
prosperity, and even their existence as a nation. And yet nothing seemed
sufficient to eradicate this plague spot until after nearly a thousand
years of alternate temporary punishments and repentings—all unavailing.
The doom long foretold fell—the dispersion of the Israelites as a nation
and the seventy years’ captivity of the Jews. These calamities certainly
completely cured them, and ever since idolatry has, I believe, been held
by the Jews in great detestation.
It is a somewhat curious coincidence that the Arabs, the descendants of
Ishmael, who also fell into gross idolatry, now hold it in the same
detestation. This at least was one good work Mahomet did—Moslems and
Jews, hating each other, agree in this and in believing that they alone
of all the world—not excepting the “Christians”—are free of idolatry.
This detestation of idolatry I believe to be the chief ground of the
Moslem’s contempt and dislike to the religion of the “Christians.” Of
Protestant Christianity indeed they are wholly ignorant, nor do they
anywhere, so far as I observed, come into contact with it.
During the last few years immense additional materials have been and
still are being discovered of extreme antiquity, and in both hemispheres,
all more or less seeming to confirm the veracity of Moses. The present
generation has been putting the grand old prophet upon his trial, and now
year by year witnesses dusty with antiquity are rising from their graves
to bear him witness. Like Banquo’s ghost, they rise with forty hoary
centuries on their crowns to push from their stools the camp followers
of the modern “men of culture.”
There certainly are and always have been a few honest doubters—sometimes
men of the highest culture—and generally distinguished by a silence
eminently golden. Much learning and research have already been expended
in speculations bearing upon the subject, but to use the language of Mr.
Ruskin, “absolutely right no one can be in such matters; nor does a day
pass without convincing every honest student of antiquity of some partial
error, and showing him better how to think, and where to look. But I
knew that there was no hope of my being able to enter with advantage on
the fields of history opened by the splendid investigation of recent
philologists; though I could qualify myself, by attention and sympathy,
to understand, here and there, a verse of Homer’s, as the simple people
did for whom he sung.” And again, “Let me ask pardon of all masters in
physical science, for any words of mine, that may ever seem to fail in
the respect due to their great powers of thought, or in the admiration
due to the far scope of their discovery. But I will be judged by
themselves, if I have not bitter reason to ask them to teach us more than
they have yet taught.”
Since then we have been receiving some strange theories certainly, but
no “teachings,” and plain people have yet more “bitter reason” to ask
anew for teaching in the direction of tracing all the facts of antiquity
with these recent discoveries, and with the hieroglyphics and writings
of the oldest historians, without, as hitherto, omitting Moses. If this
were done in the line of the most ancient Idolatries, after the manner
and spirit of Max Müller in the line of Language, perhaps some traces
might be obtained more valuable than volumes of theory, although less
sensational.
This, indeed, is a matter in which we must wait. No authority exists in
any one whatever to decide as umpire amongst the endless decisions which
only “more embroil the fray,” and “make confusion worse confounded.” The
different theories of so-called scientific experts only prove that they
really know nothing with certainty more than “the simple people” who sit
at their feet. If any one will take the trouble to collate the hundred
and one different theories—scientific, philosophical, and literary—of
the self-named “advanced thinkers” even of this generation, perhaps he
would be better cured of doubts, if he has any, than by any elaborate
“vindications” of the old Book. Surely a humble teachable spirit like
the great Newton’s is more likely to see the way than that of some
self-confident philosophers of our day, who, like the lost sheep of the
parable, climb up to the mountain top and there from its uppermost peak
gaze up into the blue empyrean, and demand, as it were, of the great
Creator, to give an account of His actings for their review!
If not ridiculous, surely such presumption (even in the interest of
so-called science) is sublime![7] What if there be in these questions
something in which science can have no standing, unless perhaps to
shed by the reflection of its little tapers just enough light to make
the darkness visible? It may be that much of the present confusion
and conflict of opinion arises out of _words_, and I will close this
digression by again quoting “Athena.” “On heat and force, life is
inseparably dependent; and I believe, also, on a form of substance which
the philosophers call ‘protoplasm.’ I wish they would use English instead
of Greek words. When I want to know why a leaf is green, they tell me it
is coloured by ‘chlorophyll,’ which at first _sounds very instructive_;
but if they would only say plainly that a leaf is coloured green by a
thing which is called ‘green leaf,’ we should see more precisely _how far
we had got_.”
Our journey from Sabaste with its Romanesque ruins[8] was now southward
through the great plains of Sharon to Jaffa. The soil was rich-looking,
and we passed several small streams, but, as elsewhere, stones were too
abundant, and the cultivation very defective. The barley crop was just
coming into ear, but seemed very poor for such a soil.
Here we re-embarked for Beyrout by a steamer of the Austrian Lloyd’s
fleet—a very comfortable vessel in every respect: the cabin arrangements
were especially so, and I observed her engines were made in this country.
The weather was moderate, and so we had no difficulty in embarking. Our
passage money was paid by Braham, as he had discharged our horses and
retinue, which otherwise he would have had to take all the way through
Galilee and the Hauran to Damascus and back to Jaffa. He seemed quite
willing that we should go by this sea route and diligence journey
instead, although a longer circuit, so that I presume it had not cost him
more. To us it was an agreeable change, although we had enjoyed our tent
life very much indeed. The weather had been excellent and dry, and as to
temperature, we had experienced all varieties between a tropical and a
coolness quite bracing.
And so we bade a tender and silent adieu to the “Holy Land”—interesting
exceedingly even in its ruins.
“Still ’mid its relics lives a nameless charm,
By age unwithered, and in ruin warm.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]