Bethlehem--Rachel's grave--Convent at Bethlehem--Beggars--Grotto of
the Nativity--Solomon's cisterns--St. John's--Franciscan church at
Jerusalem--Mourning women--Eastern weddings--Mish-mish--Excursion to
the Jordan and the Dead Sea--Wilderness near Jerusalem--Convent of
St. Saba.
On the 2d of June I rode, in the company of Counts Berchtold and
Salm Reifferscheit and Pater Paul, to Bethlehem. Although, on
account of the bad roads, we are obliged to ride nearly the whole
distance at a foot-pace, it does not take more than an hour and a
half to accomplish the journey. The view we enjoy during this
excursion is as grand as it is peculiar. So far as the eye can
reach, it rests upon stone; the ground is entirely composed of
stones; and yet between the rocky interstices grow fruit-trees of
all kinds, and grape-vines trail along, besides fields whose
productions force their way upwards from the shingly soil.
I had already wondered when I saw the "Karst," near Trieste, and the
desert region of Gorz; but these sink into insignificance when
compared to the scenery of the Judean mountains.
It is difficult to conceive how these regions can ever have been
smiling and fertile. Doubtless they have appeared to better
advantage than at the present period, when the poor inhabitants are
ground to the bone by their pachas and officers; but I do not think
that meadows and woods can ever have existed here to any extent.
On the way we pass a well, surrounded by blocks of stone. At this
well the wise men from the East rested, and here the guiding star
appeared to them. Midway between Jerusalem and Bethlehem lies the
Greek convent dedicated to the prophet Elijah. From hence we can
see both towns; on the one hand, the spacious Jerusalem, and on the
other, the humble Bethlehem, with some small villages scattered
round it. On the right hand we pass "Rachel's grave," a ruined
building with a small cupola.
Bethlehem lies on a hill, surrounded by several others; with the
exception of the convent, it contains not a single handsome
building. The inhabitants, half of whom are Catholics, muster about
2500 strong; many live in grottoes and semi-subterranean domiciles,
cutting out garlands and other devices in mother-of pearl, etc. The
number of houses does not exceed a hundred at the most, and the
poverty here seems excessive, for nowhere have I been so much
pestered with beggar children as in this town. Hardly has the
stranger reached the convent-gates before these urchins are seen
rapidly approaching from all quarters. One rushes forward to hold
the horse, while a second grasps the stirrup; a third and a fourth
present their arm to help you to dismount; and in the end the whole
swarm unanimously stretch forth their hands for "backsheesh." In
cases like these it is quite necessary to come furnished either with
a multiplicity of small coins or with a riding-whip, in order to be
delivered in one way or another from the horrible importunity of the
diminutive mob. It is very fortunate that the horses here are
perfectly accustomed to such scenes; were this not the case, they
would take fright and gallop headlong away.
The little convent and church are both situated near the town, and
are built on the spot where the Saviour was born. The whole is
surrounded by a strong fortress-wall, a very low, narrow gate
forming the entrance. In front of this fortress extends a handsome
well-paved area. So soon as we have passed through the little gate,
we find ourselves in the courtyard, or rather in the nave of the
church, which is unfortunately more than half destroyed, but must
once have been eminent both for its size and beauty. Some traces of
mosaic can still be detected on the walls. Two rows of high
handsome pillars, forty-eight in number, intersect the interior; and
the beam-work, said to be of cedar-wood from Lebanon, looks almost
new. Beneath the high altar of this great church is the grotto in
which Christ was born. Two staircases lead downwards to it. One of
the staircases belongs to the Armenians, the other to the Greeks;
the Catholics have none at all. Both the walls and the floor are
covered with marble slabs. A marble tablet, with the inscription,
"HIC DE VIRGINE MARIA JESUS CHRISTUS NATUS EST,"
marks the spot whence the true Light shone abroad over the world. A
figure of a beaming sun, which receives its light from numerous
lamps kept continually burning, is placed in the back-ground of this
tablet.
The spot where our Saviour was shewn to the worshipping Magi is but
few paces distant. An altar is erected opposite, on the place where
the manger stood in which the shepherds found our Lord. The manger
itself is deposited in the basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, in Rome.
This altar belongs to the Roman Catholics. A little door, quite in
the background of the grotto, leads to a subterranean passage
communicating with the convent and the Catholic chapel. In this
passage another altar has been erected to the memory of the
innocents slaughtered and buried here. Proceeding along the passage
we come upon the grave of St. Paula and her daughter Eustachia on
one side, and that of St. Hieronymus on the other. The body of the
latter is, however, deposited at Rome.
Like the church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, this great
church at Bethlehem belongs at once to the Catholics, the Armenians,
and the Greeks. Each of these sects has built for itself a little
convent adjoining the church.
After spending at least a couple of hours here, we rode two miles
farther, towards Mount Hebron. At the foot of this mountain we
turned off to the left towards the three cisterns of Solomon. These
reservoirs are very wide and deep, hewn out of the rock, and still
partially covered with a kind of cement resembling marble in its
consistency and polish. We descended into the third of these
cisterns; it was about five hundred paces long, four hundred broad,
and a hundred deep.
Not one of these cisterns now contains water; the aqueducts which
once communicated with them have entirely vanished. A single
rivulet, across which one may easily step, flows beside these giant
reservoirs. The region around is barren in the extreme.
On returning to our convent at about two o'clock to partake of our
frugal but welcome meal, we were surprised to find that another
party of travellers, Franks like ourselves, had arrived. The new-
comers proved to be Count Zichy and Count Wratislaw, who had
travelled from Vienna to Cairo in company with Counts Berchtold and
Salm Reifferscheit. At the last-mentioned place the voyagers parted
company, one party proceeding to Jerusalem by way of Alexandria,
Damietta, and Joppa, while the other bent their course across the
burning sands of Africa towards Mount Sinai, and thence continued
their journey to Jerusalem by land. Here at length they had the
pleasure of meeting once more. A great and general rejoicing, in
which we all joined, was the consequence of this event.
After dinner we once more visited all the holy places in company of
the new-comers; we afterwards went to the so-called "Milk Grotto,"
distant about half a mile from our convent. In this grotto there is
nothing to be seen but a simple altar, before which lights are
continually burning. It is not locked, and every passer-by is at
liberty to enter. This place is held sacred not only by the
Christians, but also by the Turks, who bring many a cruise of oil to
fill the lamps after they have cleaned them. In this grotto the
Holy Family concealed themselves before the flight into Egypt, and
the Virgin for a long time nourished the infant Jesus with her milk,
from which circumstance the grotto derives its name. The women in
the neighbourhood believe that if they feel unwell during the time
they are nursing their children, they have merely to scrape some of
the sand from the rocks in this grotto, and to take it as a powder,
to regain their health.
Half a mile from this grotto we were shown the field in which the
angel appeared to announce the birth of the Redeemer to the
shepherds. But our newly-arrived friends were not able to visit
this spot. They were fain to content themselves with a distant
view, as it was high time to think of our return.
ST. JOHN'S.
On the 4th of June I rode out, accompanied by a guide, to the birth-
place of St. John the Baptist, distant about four miles from
Jerusalem. The way to this convent lies through the Bethlehem Gate,
opposite the convent of the "Holy Cross," a building supposed to
stand on the site where the wood was felled for our Saviour's cross!
Not far off, the place was pointed out to me where a battle was
fought between the Israelites and the Philistines, and where David
slew Goliath.
Situated in a rocky valley, the convent of St. John is, like all the
monasteries in these lands, surrounded by very strong walls. The
church of the convent is erected on the spot where the house of
Zacharias once stood, and a chapel commemorates the place where St.
John first beheld the light. The ascent to this chapel is by a
staircase, where a round tablet of stone bears the inscription,
"HIC PRAECURSOR DOMINI CHRISTI NATUS EST."
Many events of the prophet's life are here portrayed by sculptures
in white marble.
About a mile from the convent we find the "Grotto of Visitation,"
where St. Mary met St. Elizabeth. The remains of the latter are
interred here.
On the very first day of my arrival at Jerusalem I had made some
observations, during a visit to the church of St. Francis, which
gave me any thing but a high opinion of the behaviour of the
Catholics here. This unfavourable impression was confirmed by
subsequent visits to the church, so that at length I felt obliged to
tell Father Paul that I would rather pray at home than among people
who seemed to attend to any thing rather than their devotions. My
Frankish costume seemed to be such a stumbling-block in the eyes of
these people, that at length a priest came to me, and requested that
I would make an alteration in my dress, or at any rate exchange my
straw hat for a veil, in which I could muffle my head and face. I
promised to discard the obnoxious hat and to wear a handkerchief
round my head when I attended church, but refused to muffle my face,
and begged the reverend gentleman to inform my fellow-worshippers
that this was the first time such a thing had been required of a
Frankish woman, and that I thought they would be more profitably
employed in looking at their prayer-books than at me, for that He
whom we go to church to adore is not a respecter of outward things.
In spite of this remonstrance, their behaviour remained the same, so
that I was compelled almost to discontinue attending public worship.
On great festival-days the high altar of the church of St. Francis
is very profusely decorated. It is, in fact, almost overloaded with
ornament, and sparkles and glitters with a most dazzling brilliancy.
Innumerable candles display the lustre of gold and precious stones.
Foremost among the costly ornaments appear a huge gold monstrance
presented by the king of Naples, and two splendid candelabra, a gift
of the imperial house of Austria.
I happened one day to pass a house, from within which a great
screaming was to be heard. On inquiring of my companion what was
the matter, I was informed that some person had died in that house
the day before, and that the sound I heard was the wail of the
"mourning women." I requested admission to the room where the
deceased lay. Had it not been for the circumstance that a few
pictures of saints and a crucifix decorated the walls, I could never
have imagined that the dead man was a Catholic. Several "mourning
women" sat near the corpse, uttering every now and then such frantic
yells, that the neighbourhood rang with their din. In the intervals
between these demonstrations they sat comfortably regaling
themselves with coffee; after a little time they would again raise
their horrible cry. I had seen enough to feel excessively
disgusted, and so went away.
I was also fortunate enough to visit a newly-married pair. The
bride was gorgeously dressed in a silk under-garment, wide trousers
of peach-blossom satin, and a caftan of the same material; a rich
shawl encircled her waist, and on her feet she wore boots of yellow
morocco leather; the slippers had been left, according to the
Turkish fashion, at the entrance of the chamber. An ornamental
head-dress of rich gold brocade and fresh flowers completed the
bride's attire; her hair, arranged in a number of thin plaits and
decorated with coins, fell down upon her shoulders, and on her neck
glittered several rows of ducats and larger gold pieces.
Costumes of this kind are only seen in the family circle, and on the
occasion of some great event. Seldom or never are strange men
allowed to behold the ladies in their gorgeous apparel; so that it
is fruitless to expect to see picturesque female costumes in the
public places of the East.
After the marriage ceremony, which is always performed during the
forenoon, the young wife is compelled to sit for the remainder of
the day in a corner of the room with her face turned towards the
wall. She is not allowed to answer any question put by her husband,
her parents, or by any one whatever; still less is she permitted to
offer a remark herself. This silence is intended to typify the
bride's sorrow at changing her condition.
During my visit, the bridegroom sat next to his bride, vainly
endeavouring to lure a few words from her. On my rising to depart,
the young wife inclined her head towards me, but without raising her
eyes from the ground.
In Jerusalem, almost all the women and girls wear veils when they go
abroad. It was only in church, and in their own houses, that I had
an opportunity of fairly seeing these houris. Among the girls I
found many an interesting head; but the women who have attained the
age of twenty-six or twenty-eight years already look worn and ugly;
so that here, as in all tropical countries, we behold a great number
of very plain faces, among which handsome ones shine forth at long
intervals, like meteors. Thin people are rarely met with in Syria;
on the contrary, even the young girls are frequently decidedly
stout.
Not far from the bazaar is a great hall, wherein the Turks hold
their judicial sittings, decide disputes, and pass sentence on
criminals. Some ordinary-looking divans are placed round the
interior of this hall, and in one corner a wooden cell, about ten
feet long, six wide, and eight feet high, has been erected. This
cell, furnished with a little door, and a grated hole by way of
window, is intended for the reception of the criminal during his
period of punishment.
Throughout the thirteen days I passed at Jerusalem, I did not find
the heat excessive. The thermometer generally stood in the shade at
from 20 to 22 degrees, and in the sun at 28 degrees (Reaum.), very
seldom reaching 30 degrees.
Fruit I saw none, with the exception of the little apricots called
mish-mish, which are not larger than a walnut, but nevertheless have
a very fine flavour. It is a pity that the inhabitants of these
countries contribute absolutely nothing towards the cultivation and
improvement of their natural productions; if they would but exert
themselves, many a plant would doubtless flourish luxuriantly. But
here the people do not even know how to turn those gifts to
advantage which nature has bestowed upon them in rich profusion, and
of superior quality; for instance, olives. Worse oil can hardly be
procured than that which they give you in Syria. The Syrian oil and
olives can scarcely be used by Europeans. The oil is of a perfectly
green colour, thick, and disgusting alike to the smell and taste;
the olives are generally black, a consequence of the negligent
manner in which they are prepared. The same remark holds good with
regard to the wine, which would be of excellent quality if the
people did but understand the proper method of preparing it, and of
cultivating the vineyards. At present, however, they adulterate
their wine with a kind of herb, which gives it a very sharp and
disagreeable taste.
On the whole, the neighbourhood of Jerusalem is very desolate,
barren, and sterile. I found the town itself neither more nor less
animated than most Syrian cities. I should depart from truth if I
were to say, with many travellers, that it appeared as though a
peculiar curse rested upon this city. The whole of Judea is a stony
country, and this region contains many places with environs as
rugged and barren as those of Jerusalem.
Birds and butterflies are rarely seen at the present season of the
year, not only in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, but throughout the
whole of Syria. Where, indeed, could a butterfly or a bee find
nourishment, while not a flower nor a blade of grass shoots up from
the stony earth? And a bird cannot live where there are neither
seeds nor insects, but must soar away across the seas to cooler and
more fertile climes. Not only here, but throughout the whole of
Syria, I missed the delightful minstrels of the air. The sparrow
alone can find sustenance every where, for he lives in towns and
villages, wherever man is seen. A whole flock of these little
twittering birds woke me every morning.
I was as yet much less troubled by insects than I had anticipated.
With the exception of the small flies on the plain of Sharon, and of
certain little sable jumpers which seem naturalised throughout the
whole world, I could not complain of having been annoyed by any
creature.
Our common house-flies I saw every where; but they were not more
numerous or more troublesome than in Germany.
EXCURSION TO THE RIVER JORDAN AND TO THE DEAD SEA.
To travel with any degree of security in Palestine, Phoenicia, etc.,
it is necessary to go in large companies, and in some places it even
becomes advisable to have an escort. The stranger should further be
provided with cooking utensils, provisions, tents, and servants. To
provide all these things would have been a hopeless task for me; I
had therefore resolved to return from Jerusalem as I had come,
namely, via Joppa, and so to proceed to Alexandria or Beyrout, when,
luckily for me, the gentlemen whom I have already mentioned arrived
at Jerusalem. They intended making several excursions by land, and
the first of these was to be a trip to the banks of the Jordan and
to the Dead Sea.
I ardently wished to visit these places, and therefore begged the
gentlemen, through Father Paul, to permit my accompanying them on
their arduous journey. The gentlemen were of opinion that their
proposed tour would be too fatiguing for one of my sex, and seemed
disinclined to accede to my request. But then Count Wratislaw took
my part, and said that he had watched me during our ride from
Bethlehem to Jerusalem, and had noticed that I wanted neither
courage, skill, nor endurance, so that they might safely take me
with them. Father Paul immediately came to me with the joyful
intelligence that I was to go, and that I had nothing to do but to
provide myself with a horse. He particularly mentioned how kindly
Count Wratislaw, to whom I still feel obliged, had interested
himself in my behalf.
The journey to the Jordan and the Dead Sea should never be
undertaken by a small party. The best and safest course is to send
for some Arab or Bedouin chiefs, either at Jerusalem or Bethlehem,
and to make a contract with them for protection. In consideration
of a certain tribute, these chiefs accompany you in person, with
some of their tribe, to your place of destination and back again.
The Counts paid the two chiefs three hundred piastres, with the
travelling expenses for themselves and their twelve men.
At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 7th of June our cavalcade
started. The caravan consisted of the four counts, Mr. Bartlett, a
certain Baron Wrede, two doctors, and myself, besides five or six
servants, and the two chiefs with the body-guard of twelve Arabs.
All were strongly armed with guns, pistols, swords, and lances, and
we really looked as though we sallied forth with the intention of
having a sharp skirmish.
Our way lay through the Via Dolorosa, and through St. Stephen's
Gate, past the Mount of Olives, over hill and dale. Every where the
scene was alike barren. At first we still saw many fruit-trees and
olive-trees in bloom, and even vines, but of flowers or grass there
was not a trace; the trees, however, stood green and fresh, in spite
of the heat of the atmosphere and the total lack of rain. This
luxuriance may partly be owing to the coolness and dampness which
reigns during the night in tropical countries, quickening and
renewing the whole face of nature.
The goal of our journey for to-day lay about eight miles distant
from Jerusalem. It was the Greek convent of "St. Saba in the
Waste." The appellation already indicates that the region around
becomes more and more sterile, until at length not a single tree or
shrub can be detected. Throughout the whole expanse not the
lowliest human habitation was to be seen. We only passed a horde of
Bedouins, who had erected their sooty-black tents in the dry bed of
a river. A few goats, horses, and asses climbed about the
declivities, laboriously searching for herbs or roots.
About half an hour before we reach the convent we enter upon the
wilderness in which our Saviour fasted forty days, and was
afterwards "tempted of the devil." Vegetation here entirely ceases;
not a shrub nor a root appears; and the bed of the brook Cedron is
completely dry. This river only flows during the rainy season, at
which period it runs through a deep ravine. Majestic rocky
terraces, piled one above the other by nature with such exquisite
symmetry that the beholder gazes in silent wonder, overhang both
banks of the stream in the form of galleries.
A silence of death brooded over the whole landscape, broken only by
the footfalls of our horses echoing sullenly from the rocks, among
which the poor animals struggled heavily forward. At intervals some
little birds fluttered above our heads, silently and fearfully, as
though they had lost their way. At length we turn sharply round an
angle of the road,--and what a surprise awaits us! A large handsome
building, surrounded by a very strong fortified wall, pierced for
cannon in several places, lies spread before us near the bed of the
river, and rises in the form of terraces towards the brow of the
hill. From the position we occupied, we could see over the whole
extent of wall from without and from within. Fortified as it was,
it lay open before our gaze. Several buildings, and in front of all
a church with a small cupola, told us plainly that St. Saba lay
stretched below.
On the farther bank, seven or eight hundred paces from the convent,
rose a single square tower, apparently of great strength. I little
thought that I should soon become much better acquainted with this
isolated building.
The priests had observed our procession winding down the hill, and
at the first knocking the gate was opened. Masters, servants,
Arabs, and Bedouins, all passed through; but when my turn came, the
cry was, "Shut the gate!" and I was shut out, with the prospect of
passing the night in the open air,--a thing which would have been
rather disagreeable, considering how unsafe the neighbourhood was.
At length, however, a lay brother appeared, and, pointing to the
tower, gave me to understand that I should be lodged there. He
procured a ladder from the convent, and went with me to the tower,
where we mounted by its aid to a little low doorway of iron. My
conductor pushed this open, and we crept in. The interior of the
tower seemed spacious enough. A wooden staircase led us farther
upwards to two tiny rooms, situated about the centre of the tower.
One of these apartments, dimly lighted by the rays of a lamp,
contained a small altar, and served as a chapel, while the second
was used as a sleeping-room for female pilgrims. A wooden divan was
the only piece of furniture this room contained. My conductor now
took his leave, promising to return in a short time with some
provisions, a bolster, and a coverlet for me.
So now I was at least sheltered for the night, and guarded like a
captive princess by bolt and bar. I could not even have fled had I
wished to do so, for my leader had locked the creaking door behind
him, and taken away the ladder. After carefully examining the
chapel and my neatly-furnished apartment in this dreary prison-
house, I mounted the staircase, and gained the summit of the tower.
Here I had a splendid view of the country round about, my elevated
position enabling me distinctly to trace the greater part of the
desert, with its several rows of hills and mountains skirting the
horizon. All these hills were alike barren and naked; not a tree
nor a shrub, not a human habitation, could I discover. Silence lay
heavily on every thing around, and it seemed to me almost as though
no earth might here nourish a green tree, but that the place was
ordained to remain a desert, as a lasting memorial of our Saviour's
fasting. Unheeded by human eye, the sun sank beneath the mountains;
I was, perhaps, the only mortal here who was watching its beautiful
declining tints. Deeply moved by the scene around me, I fell on my
knees, to offer up my prayers and praise to the Almighty, here in
the rugged grandeur of the desert.
But I had only to turn away from the death-like silence, and to cast
my eye towards the convent as it lay spread out before me, to view
once more the bustle and turmoil of life. In the courtyard the
Bedouins and Arabs were employed in ministering to the wants of
their horses, bringing them water and food; beyond these a group of
men was seen spreading mats on the ground, while others, with their
faces bowed to the earth, were adoring, with other forms of prayer,
the Omnipotent Spirit whose protection I had so lately invoked;
others, again, were washing their hands and feet as a preparation
for offering up their worship; priests and lay brethren passed
hastily across the courtyard, busied in preparations for
entertaining and lodging the numerous guests; while some of my
fellow-travellers stood apart, in earnest conversation, and Mr. B.
and Count Salm Reifferscheit reclined in a quiet spot and made
sketches of the convent. Had a painter been standing on my tower,
what a picture of the building might he not have drawn as the wild
Arab and the thievish Bedouin leant quietly beside the peaceful
priest and the curious European! Many a pleasant recollection of
this evening have I borne away with me.
I was very unwilling to leave the battlements of the tower; but the
increasing darkness at length drove me back into my chamber.
Shortly afterwards a priest and a lay brother appeared, and with
them Mr. Bartlett. The priest's errand was to bring me my supper
and bedding, and my English fellow-traveller had kindly come to
inquire if I would have a few servants as a guard, as it must be
rather a dreary thing to pass a night quite alone in that solitary
tower. I was much flattered by Mr. Bartlett's politeness to a total
stranger, but, summoning all my courage, replied that I was not in
the least afraid. Thereupon they all took their leave; I heard the
door creak, the bolt was drawn, and the ladder removed, and I was
left to my meditations for the night.
After a good night's rest, I rose with the sun, and had been waiting
some time before my warder appeared with the coffee for my
breakfast. He afterwards accompanied me to the convent gate, where
my companions greeted me with high praises; some of them even
confessed that they would not like to pass a solitary night as I had
done.