his cell at Bethlehem, when there entered an enormous lion, limping
from an injured paw. The tender-hearted saint bound up the wound,
which speedily healed, whereupon the great beast was overwhelmed with
gratitude and attached himself permanently to his deliverer.
The lion followed Jerome about everywhere like a dog, and slept at the
feet of the holy man while he was pursuing his Scriptural studies.
Upon occasion, however, the complacent creature was not above minding
the monastery donkey when it was put out to pasture, or even acting
as a beast of burden; while at night the fearful roar of the saint’s
protector brought terror to the hearts of any evil-doers who might be
prowling near the monastery grounds.
The story was accepted without question during the Middle Ages, and
many a valiant Crusader was willing to make oath that he had seen the
ghosts of the saint and his attendant lion strolling silently among the
hilltops of Judea in the midnight shadows.
* * * * *
A whole group of legends tell of the miraculous deliverances of the
Church of the Nativity from destruction by the Moslems.
At one time the Sultan gave orders to dismantle the interior, and carry
off the precious marble slabs from the floor and walls of the church.
But when the workmen prepared to tear away the wall near the stairways
which go down to the sacred cave, suddenly there came out of the solid
stone a serpent of enormous size, who struck at the piece of marble
before which the Moslems were standing. And lo, the rock split under
the force of his fiery tongue! Swiftly the reptile glided to the next
slab, which he likewise cracked; and so he passed through the church,
splitting in all no less than forty pieces of marble, after which he
disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. The Sultan and his helpers
were stricken with terror at the apparition, and gave up their purpose
to deface the church.
The cracks in the marble apparently disappeared as soon as the danger
was past; but in substantiation of the truth of the story, mediæval
pilgrims were shown traces of the serpent’s path, which appeared as
though the stones had been marked by an intense flame.
[Illustration: _THE LONG WHITE ROAD_]
XIII
THE LONG WHITE ROAD
The Jaffa Gate of Jerusalem opens out upon two historic highways. The
one which gives its name to the gate leads westward to the sea; the
other, which we are to take, passes southward along the Valley of
Hinnom between the Sultan’s Pool and the western wall of the city, and
then climbs over the brow of a steep hill on its way to Hebron, beyond
which the caravan trail leads farther on to the South Country and the
desert and the land of the Pharaohs.
A good walker could go from Jerusalem to Bethlehem in a little more
than an hour, for the distance is hardly five miles; but it will be
more pleasant to stroll along leisurely, studying the other wayfarers,
and stopping now and then to admire some rugged old olive tree or to
watch the changing colors on the distant hills.
[Illustration: THE BETHLEHEM ROAD (To the Right)
From the Jaffa Gate of Jerusalem]
As soon as we are fairly started down the Hebron road, we begin
to pass little companies of men and women who are coming up from
Bethlehem to the Holy City with their merchandise. There is a striking
difference between the appearance of these people and that of the other
inhabitants of Judea; a difference not only in dress, but in feature.
The men wear large yellow turbans, and have full lips, long noses, and
high, sloping foreheads, so that they fit in very closely with our
common idea of the Hebrew type. They are not Jews, however, but
Christians, and it is said that in the veins of many of them flows the
blood of the Crusaders. The boys we meet are frank and independent,
tramping merrily along, with little caps on their heads, their one
long, loose garment tucked up into the leather belt, and their brown,
bare legs ending in tremendous slippers which flop clumsily with every
step.
The women of Bethlehem are known throughout Palestine for their
peculiar headdress. Over a high cap is thrown a large white kerchief
or veil, which falls behind the shoulders and often reaches below the
waist. Seen from behind, the Bethlehemite woman is a square of blue
skirt, topped by a tall triangle of white; from the front she looks
like a nun of some unfamiliar order. It is a singular costume, but
you soon come to like it, and when the clean, white headdress is seen
in the distance, it is pleasant to be able to recognize its wearer as
a woman of Bethlehem. As we pass one little company after another, we
cannot help looking rather closely to see what kind of women these are
who are coming out from the town of Ruth and of Mary.
[Illustration: BETHLEHEM GIRLS]
Outside of poetical romances, one does not find many examples of
Oriental beauty. There are multitudes of pretty children, and the
girls of twelve or fourteen have large, soft eyes, regular features
and graceful figures; but early marriages and the subsequent drudgery,
combined with a lack of proper dentistry, usually turn them into
toothless, wrinkled hags at an age when they should be most
attractive. There are exceptions among the richer classes and among
girls who have been educated in schools connected with European or
American missions; but on the whole there are very few fine-looking
women over twenty-five years old to be found in Palestine.
We are therefore surprised to notice that many of these Bethlehem
women are really handsome; not with the rich, voluptuous beauty which
is usually associated with the East, but with a matronly dignity
which appeals more strongly to our Western eyes. We enjoy watching
that young mother who is carrying the baby upon her shoulder; she is
such a straight, slender woman, with clean-cut features and honest
eyes. We like the old woman beside her; an old woman who looks like a
grandmother, not like a withered witch, and who carries herself with a
dignity that wins our admiration.
It may be due to nothing more than good food and pure water, or to
the great headdresses which make it necessary to stand so erect; but
whatever the cause, it seems to us that not even in Nazareth have we
seen so many self-respecting, motherly-looking women as in this town
which once witnessed the apotheosis of motherhood.
As we stroll along the well-paved road, we pass one spot after another
which is not only connected by tradition with the sacred history, but
which has been noted by such a long succession of pious pilgrims that
even the most trivial fables seem to bind us more closely with the
innumerable throng which for nineteen centuries has been treading with
reverent feet this ancient highway to the birthplace of our Lord.
Off to our right is the Wâdi el-Werd, “The Valley of Roses,” which
recalls the quaint tale of Sir John Mandeville. At the left of the
road is a well by which Mary is said to have rested on her way to
Bethlehem, and in which a few days later the Wise Men found again the
reflection of the guiding Star. Some distance further on, near the
venerable monastery of St. Elijah, the “Field of Peas” is still strewn
with its little, rounded stones. A sudden rise in the road broadens our
horizon so that we can see, off to the left and very far below us, the
dark blue waters of the Dead Sea. Six or seven miles to the southeast
there rises the striking profile of the Frank Mountain, shaped like a
truncated pyramid, upon whose platform lie the ruins of Herod’s famous
castle. Glimpses of Bethlehem itself are caught now and then between
the surrounding heights. We pass the tomb of beautiful, warm-hearted,
impulsive Rachel, the sadness of whose lonely burial by the roadside
has touched the hearts of passers-by for nearly forty centuries.
Here we leave the main road, which goes on southward to Hebron,
and turn in to the left to Bethlehem. “David’s Well” has long been
identified with a series of cisterns hewn in the rock some distance
before we reach the modern city. Somewhere in the fields below us Ruth
gleaned among the harvesters of Boaz. Somewhere among those same fields
the youthful David tended his father’s sheep. Somewhere above them rang
the glad music of the angelic Gloria. Somewhere on the long hilltop,
now covered by the white, closely-built houses of the town, the Saviour
of the world was born.
The heart must be dead to romance as well as to religion, which does
not beat with a strange, solemn excitement upon entering the Christmas
City.
[Illustration: _THE HOUSE OF BREAD_]
XIV
THE HOUSE OF BREAD
Bethlehem Ephrathah, which was once “little to be among the thousands
of Judah,” is now one of the largest and wealthiest Christian towns in
all Palestine.
The Hebrews called it _Beth Lehem_, “the House of Bread”; and its
modern Arabic name is no less significant—_Beit Lahm_, “the House of
Meat,” that is, of course, the Prosperous City. The soil takes on
a greater fertility as Jerusalem is left behind; but we are hardly
prepared for the beautiful greenness that is seen when a sudden turn
in the road brings into view the two large Christian towns of Beit Jala
and Beit Lahm. One is on an eminence to the right of the Hebron road;
the other is on an elevation to the left; and they both look very clean
and white and well-to-do, in the midst of their vineyards and orchards.
[Illustration: BETHLEHEM
The massive buildings at the left are all connected with the Church of
the Nativity]
Bethlehem, which is the larger of the two, is built along the summit
of a crescent-shaped hill, about two-thirds of a mile long, with its
concave side toward the north, so that practically the entire town
is spread out before us as we approach it from Jerusalem. At the
right-hand horn of the crescent are large, square buildings belonging
to various Latin monastic orders. At the left are the dark, heavy walls
of the Church of the Nativity, with its low, open belfry. Between these
larger structures is a confused mass of closely-built white houses,
whose profile is broken only by the tall, slender spire of the chapel
of the German Mission. Immediately in front of us the steep slope of
the hill below the town is carefully terraced, and planted here and
there with small olive and fig orchards.
The town is the market of all the district around, which is rich in
agricultural products. For many centuries Bethlehem has also been
famous for the manufacture of souvenirs, which are sold to pilgrims
and tourists, not only here, but in Jerusalem and Damascus and Beirût.
Rosaries, paper-cutters, cigarette holders and stamp boxes are made
from olive wood, the bituminous “Moses-stone” from the Dead Sea is
shaped into little vases and paper weights, and mother-of-pearl is
carved into elaborate bas-reliefs of sacred scenes. The shop-keepers
are busy and energetic, and a prosperous self-respect seems
characteristic of everything about the place.
The inhabitants number eight or nine thousand, nearly all of whom
are Christians; adherents of one or other of the Oriental Catholic
churches. The population seems to be increasing; for we found some of
the streets almost impassable because of the piles of stone and lumber
for the new buildings. The modern Bethlehemites have lived up to the
ancient reputation of their town for fierce and reckless courage; and
until comparatively recent times there were frequent and sanguinary
clashes between the Christian and Moslem residents. The latter,
however, were completely driven out of Bethlehem about seventy-five
years ago, and their houses destroyed; and though some few have
returned, the Moslems still number only three or four per cent of the
population.
In Palestine to-day there is much that is unclean and unhealthy,
poor and degrading; and many sites that should be hallowed by the
most sacred memories have been profaned by the hands of idolatry and
oppression. Even Bethlehem and Nazareth have not entirely escaped; yet
these two have somehow kept a peculiar dignity; and, indeed, it seems
fitting that the place where our Lord was born, and the place where He
made His earthly home, should maintain a certain pre-eminence among the
cities of the Holy Land.
[Illustration: _THE CHURCH WHICH IS A FORT_]
XV
THE CHURCH WHICH IS A FORT
The Church of St. Mary in Bethlehem or, as it is more commonly called,
the Church of the Nativity, was built about the year 330, during the
reign of the Emperor Constantine; and, as we have already seen, a very
ancient tradition ascribes its erection to the emperor’s mother, St.
Helena. Through all the wars which have raged over Palestine and during
which the city of Bethlehem has again and again been devastated and its
houses and castles and monasteries overthrown, the old church alone
has escaped destruction. It is no wonder that its preservation has so
often been ascribed to miraculous interventions. Although the building
has been slightly altered and restored from time to time, its essential
features have not been changed, and there can be little doubt that this
is the oldest church in the world.
Except for the single low belfry, the heavy, confused mass looks more
like a fort than a religious edifice. Besides the central church,
there lie practically under the same roof three large monasteries,
belonging to the Greek Orthodox, Gregorian Armenian, and Roman Catholic
communions. The collection of buildings is at the extreme eastern
end of the town, so that while the front faces the public square of
Bethlehem, the rear is at the very edge of a steep cliff, below which
stretches the open country. Viewed from the east, the massive pile
resembles a great feudal castle overlooking the farm lands of the
vassals in the valley beneath.
There are very few windows in the thick stone walls, and the main
entrance from the square is by a single narrow door, so low that one
must stoop in passing through. The two other doorways at the front
have been walled up and this one purposely made so small, for fear of
attack by the Moslems. Yet to-day we find just inside the vestibule a
half-company of Turkish infantry. It seems strangely incongruous that
Moslem soldiers should be encamped in a Christian church, but we shall
see later that there is a good reason for their presence here.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY
Showing the high stone wall which separates the nave from the choir and
transepts]
The church proper is only about one hundred and twenty feet long and
the whole interior cannot be seen at one view; for, as an additional
protection in case of conflict with the Moslems, the transepts and
choir are concealed by a high wall built right across the church, so
that from the entrance only the nave is visible. This is plain to the
point of bareness. Except for a few dimly burning lamps, the only light
comes from small windows set high up in the wall, just under the roof.
Above the reddish limestone columns which separate the nave from the
aisles can still be seen the remains of the famous mosaics given by
the Emperor Comnenos; but these are so badly defaced that it is often
difficult to determine the subject of the pictures. To the right a
small door leads to the Greek monastery; another door at the left opens
into the buildings belonging to the Latin monks. The dividing wall
at the back is pierced by three doors. Two of these can be entered by
no priests except those of the Greek Orthodox Church, but the use of
the third is shared also with the Armenian clergy. The Roman Catholic
monks enter the transepts directly from their adjoining monastery: they
have little to do, however, with the part of the building which is
above ground.
These entrances bring us abruptly from the impressive simplicity of
the nave to the transepts and choir, which are well lighted and are
almost oppressive in their lavish ornamentation. The great altar facing
us belongs to the Greeks, and in front of it are the stalls of the
Greek clergy and the tall patriarchal throne. The smaller altar of
the Armenians is off at one side in the northern transept. Lamps of
gold and silver swing from the ceiling; bright-colored pictures hang
here and there; tawdry, tinsel decorations glitter everywhere; and on
the upper part of the walls are portions of quaint mosaic pictures
representing scenes from the life of Christ. All that we have yet seen,
however, is a mere antechamber to the holy places which lie in the rock
beneath the church.
[Illustration: _THE SACRED CAVES_]
XVI
THE SACRED CAVES
At each side of the central altar of the Church of the Nativity a
narrow stairway leads down to a series of six underground chambers,
which undoubtedly were originally natural caverns, although they have
since been somewhat enlarged and the native rock in many places has
been overlaid with marble slabs. In one of these caves St. Jerome is
said to have lived; in the next he is buried, near to the tomb of his
friend and pupil, Paula. In other chambers the monks point out the
exact spot where the worshipping Magi stood, the opening in the wall
from which a spring miraculously gushed forth out of the solid rock
for the use of the Holy Family, the place where the angel appeared to
Joseph and commanded him to go down into Egypt, and the corner where
the soldiers of Herod massacred a number of children who had been
brought here for refuge.
The largest cave, and the first we enter from the church above, is
about forty feet long. At one end of it there is let into the pavement
a large silver star with the inscription, _Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus
Christus natus est_, “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.”
[Illustration: THE ALTAR OF THE NATIVITY
In the floor beneath is seen the Silver Star]
If the inscription is true, there is no other spot on earth so sacred
as this, save only Calvary and the Garden Tomb. And it is quite
probable that the stable was really in a cave; for in hilly Judea it
often happens that a house or an inn is built on a slope, with the
living quarters entirely above ground, but with the stable beneath
partly excavated in the rock. Sometimes, indeed, there is a natural
cavern which, with very little alteration, can be used for housing the
animals.
Tradition concerning the place of the Nativity goes back to the very
early ages of Christianity. In the middle of the second century Justin
Martyr states that Christ was born in a cave. In the third century
Origen says, “There is shown at Bethlehem the cave where He was born,
and the manger in the cave where He was wrapped in swaddling clothes.
And this site is greatly talked of in surrounding places, even among
the enemies of the faith, it being said that in this cave was born
that Jesus who is worshipped and reverenced by the Christians.” In the
fourth century Eusebius tells of the building of this very church by
St. Helena, who “dedicated two churches to the God whom she adored,
one at the grotto which was the scene of the Saviour’s birth, and the
other on the mount of His ascension. For He who was ‘God with us’ had
submitted to be born even in a cave of the earth, and the place of His
nativity was called Bethlehem by the Hebrews.” And from the fourth
century on, there is an unbroken chain of testimony concerning the
identification of this particular cavern with the scene of the Nativity.
The star is in a little recess at the end of the cave, and above it is
an altar, small but very richly furnished. Of the fifteen altar-lamps
of gold and silver which hang around the star, six belong to the
Greek, five to the Armenian and four to the Latin monks, who divide
in this way the ownership of most of the shrines in the church. The
floor of the entire cave is of marble, upon its walls are marbles and
rich tapestries, and many lamps hang from the ceiling; yet, on coming
from the bright transepts above, the first impression is one of deep
gloom. The low roof can hardly be distinguished, and the back of the
cave is lost in impenetrable darkness. The smoking lamps give to the
atmosphere a heavy, reddish color. The chanting of the priests in the
choir overhead is heard only as a dull murmur. We are the only visitors
to-day, except that in front of the little altar there kneel four
French nuns, great tears rolling down their pallid faces as they pray
in a frightened whisper.
_Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est!_
[Illustration: _THE GUARD OF THE SILVER STAR_]
XVII
THE GUARD OF THE SILVER STAR
Our eyes are now growing accustomed to the subdued light, and off in
one corner of the cave where the gloom is very deep, a form is slowly
coming into view. Dark, indistinct, immovable; it would be possible
for a worshipper to come and go, and never see that shape at the end
of the altar; but by day and by night it is always there—the Moslem
guardian of the Silver Star. That is why there is a garrison in the
church above. The soldier is half-fed and paid not at all, and his blue
uniform is ragged and dirty; but he holds a modern repeating rifle in
his hand as he stands there by the hour without moving a muscle, ready
when need comes to face valiantly any odds in the performance of his
duty.
He needs to be brave; for when the Christmas season comes round,
Bethlehem is thronged with worshippers of the Prince of Peace. They
fill the church to overflowing. They rush down the narrow stairways
that lead to the little cave, and there they crowd and curse and fight
for a glimpse of the Silver Star; so that sometimes the air grows foul
and the lamps burn even more dimly and women faint and strong men fall
down and are trampled to death in the horrible confusion.
And quiet does not come with the passing of the Christmastide; but all
through the year the monks from the convents above quarrel over the
possession of the little shrine, and open warfare is not uncommon.
Then the rival parties snarl and scratch; they seize heavy lamps and
holy candlesticks from the altars, and priestly garments are torn and
priestly heads are broken, until soldiers from the Turkish garrison
come down and assist the sentry in clubbing the unruly ones into
submission.
I often wonder what the silent sentinel thinks about as he stands there
hour by hour, watching the smoky lights that glow above the Silver
Star.
[Illustration: _SONG OF THE KNEELING WOMEN_]
XVIII
THE SONG OF THE KNEELING WOMEN
We turned in sadness of heart to shake the dust of Bethlehem from our
feet. Up out of the cave and out of the transept we hurried; but then
we took the wrong door, and instead of reaching the public square,
we found ourselves in the church of the Franciscans. It was the time
of the vesper service, and among the shadows of the unlighted nave
there stretched long lines of kneeling women. They were all natives of
Bethlehem, with the tall white headdress whose spotless cleanness is in
such contrast to the costumes of most Palestinian villagers.
It was a service of song, and every woman seemed to be taking part.
After the officiating priest chanted each brief stanza, the loud chorus
was taken up by the full volume of sweet soprano voices. As the light
died away, and the white-veiled forms of the kneeling worshippers grew
indistinct and dreamlike, the music of the oft-repeated chorus sank
into our hearts, and we stayed on and on, until our anger against the
sham and idolatry in the caves below had all been driven away and there
remained only the Bethlehem calm.
None of us knew the name of that evening hymn. It was very simple, yet
one of the sweetest melodies we had ever heard. We shall never forget
the song, or the calm faces of the women who sang it. I have listened
for it since in many cathedrals. Two years later I went back to the
Bethlehem church in the hope of hearing it again; but there seemed to
be no vespers that evening. We could not understand the words of the
song; we could not even tell whether it was in Latin or Arabic, but I
like to believe that it was a hymn about the Babe of Bethlehem. And
now, when I think of that village among the beautiful hills of far-away
Judea, the bigotry and jealousy do not seem so very important. I am
even ready to forgive the Moslem guardian of the Silver Star, for the
sake of that nameless melody of the women of Bethlehem.
[Illustration: _ACROSS THE AGES_]
XIX
ACROSS THE AGES