TERRA SANTA
THE enthusiasm that had glowed, or seemed to glow, within me for one
blessed moment when I knelt by the shrine of the Virgin at Nazareth, was
not rekindled at Jerusalem. In the stead of the solemn gloom and the
deep stillness that of right belonged to the Holy City, there was the hum
and the bustle of active life. It was the “height of the season.” The
Easter ceremonies drew near. The pilgrims were flocking in from all
quarters; and although their objects were partly at least of a religious
character, yet their “arrivals” brought as much stir and liveliness to
the city as if they had come up to marry their daughters.
The votaries who every year crowd to the Holy Sepulchre are chiefly of
the Greek and Armenian Churches. They are not drawn into Palestine by a
mere sentimental longing to stand upon the ground trodden by our Saviour,
but rather they perform the pilgrimage as a plain duty strongly
inculcated by their religion. A very great proportion of those who
belong to the Greek Church contrive at some time or other in the course
of their lives to achieve the enterprise. Many in their infancy and
childhood are brought to the holy sites by their parents, but those who
have not had this advantage will often make it the main object of their
lives to save money enough for this holy undertaking.
The pilgrims begin to arrive in Palestine some weeks before the Easter
festival of the Greek Church. They come from Egypt, from all parts of
Syria, from Armenia and Asia Minor, from Stamboul, from Roumelia, from
the provinces of the Danube, and from all the Russias. Most of these
people bring with them some articles of merchandise, but I myself believe
(notwithstanding the common taunt against pilgrims) that they do this
rather as a mode of paying the expenses of their journey, than from a
spirit of mercenary speculation. They generally travel in families, for
the women are of course more ardent than their husbands in undertaking
these pious enterprises, and they take care to bring with them all their
children, however young; for the efficacy of the rites does not depend
upon the age of the votary, so that people whose careful mothers have
obtained for them the benefit of the pilgrimage in early life, are saved
from the expense and trouble of undertaking the journey at a later age.
The superior veneration so often excited by objects that are distant and
unknown shows not perhaps the wrongheadedness of a man, but rather the
transcendent power of his imagination. However this may be, and whether
it is by mere obstinacy that they poke their way through intervening
distance, or whether they come by the winged strength of fancy, quite
certainly the pilgrims who flock to Palestine from the most remote homes
are the people most eager in the enterprise, and in number too they bear
a very high proportion to the whole mass.
The great bulk of the pilgrims make their way by sea to the port of
Jaffa. A number of families charter a vessel amongst them, all bringing
their own provisions, which are of the simplest and cheapest kind. On
board every vessel thus freighted there is, I believe, a priest, who
helps the people in their religious exercises, and tries (and fails) to
maintain something like order and harmony. The vessels employed in this
service are usually Greek brigs or brigantines and schooners, and the
number of passengers stowed in them is almost always horribly excessive.
The voyages are sadly protracted, not only by the land-seeking,
storm-flying habits of the Greek seamen, but also by their endless
schemes and speculations, which are for ever tempting them to touch at
the nearest port. The voyage, too, must be made in winter, in order that
Jerusalem may be reached some weeks before the Greek Easter, and thus by
the time they attain to the holy shrines the pilgrims have really and
truly undergone a very respectable quantity of suffering. I once saw one
of these pious cargoes put ashore on the coast of Cyprus, where they had
touched for the purpose of visiting (not Paphos, but) some Christian
sanctuary; I never saw (no, never even in the most horridly stuffy
ballroom) such a discomfortable collection of human beings. Long huddled
together in a pitching and rolling prison, fed on beans, exposed to some
real danger and to terrors without end, they had been tumbled about for
many wintry weeks in the chopping seas of the Mediterranean. As soon as
they landed they stood upon the beach and chanted a hymn of thanks; the
chant was morne and doleful, but really the poor people were looking so
miserable that one could not fairly expect from them any lively
outpouring of gratitude.
When the pilgrims have landed at Jaffa they hire camels, horses, mules,
or donkeys, and make their way as well as they can to the Holy City. The
space fronting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre soon becomes a kind of
bazaar, or rather, perhaps, reminds you of an English fair. On this spot
the pilgrims display their merchandise, and there too the trading
residents of the place offer their goods for sale. I have never, I
think, seen elsewhere in Asia so much commercial animation as upon this
square of ground by the church door; the “money-changers” seemed to be
almost as brisk and lively as if they had been _within_ the temple.
When I entered the church I found a babel of worshippers. Greek, Roman,
and Armenian priests were performing their different rites in various
nooks and corners, and crowds of disciples were rushing about in all
directions, some laughing and talking, some begging, but most of them
going round in a regular and methodical way to kiss the sanctified spots,
and speak the appointed syllables, and lay down the accustomed coin. If
this kissing of the shrines had seemed as though it were done at the
bidding of enthusiasm, or of any poor sentiment even feebly approaching
to it, the sight would have been less odd to English eyes; but as it was,
I stared to see grown men thus steadily and carefully embracing the
sticks and the stones, not from love or from zeal (else God forbid that I
should have stared!), but from a calm sense of duty; they seemed to be
not “working out,” but _transacting_ the great business of salvation.
Dthemetri, however, who generally came with me when I went out, in order
to do duty as interpreter, really had in him some enthusiasm. He was a
zealous and almost fanatical member of the Greek Church, and had long
since performed the pilgrimage, so now great indeed was the pride and
delight with which he guided me from one holy spot to another. Every now
and then, when he came to an unoccupied shrine, he fell down on his knees
and performed devotion; he was almost distracted by the temptations that
surrounded him; there were so many stones absolutely requiring to be
kissed, that he rushed about happily puzzled and sweetly teased, like
“Jack among the maidens.”
A Protestant, familiar with the Holy Scriptures, but ignorant of
tradition and the geography of modern Jerusalem, finds himself a good
deal “mazed” when he first looks for the sacred sites. The Holy
Sepulchre is not in a field without the walls, but in the midst, and in
the best part of the town, under the roof of the great church which I
have been talking about. It is a handsome tomb of oblong form, partly
subterranean and partly above ground, and closed in on all sides except
the one by which it is entered. You descend into the interior by a few
steps, and there find an altar with burning tapers. This is the spot
which is held in greater sanctity than any other at Jerusalem. When you
have seen enough of it you feel perhaps weary of the busy crowd, and
inclined for a gallop; you ask your dragoman whether there will be time
before sunset to procure horses and take a ride to Mount Calvary. Mount
Calvary, signor?—eccolo! it is _upstairs_—on the _first floor_. In
effect you ascend, if I remember rightly, just thirteen steps, and then
you are shown the now golden sockets in which the crosses of our Lord and
the two thieves were fixed. All this is startling, but the truth is,
that the city having gathered round the Sepulchre, which is the main
point of interest, has crept northward, and thus in great measure are
occasioned the many geographical surprises that puzzle the “Bible
Christian.”
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre comprises very compendiously almost all
the spots associated with the closing career of our Lord. Just there, on
your right, He stood and wept; by the pillar, on your left, He was
scourged; on the spot, just before you, He was crowned with the crown of
thorns; up there He was crucified, and down here He was buried. A
locality is assigned to every, the minutest, event connected with the
recorded history of our Saviour; even the spot where the cock crew when
Peter denied his Master is ascertained, and surrounded by the walls of an
Armenian convent. Many Protestants are wont to treat these traditions
contemptuously, and those who distinguish themselves from their brethren
by the appellation of “Bible Christians” are almost fierce in their
denunciation of these supposed errors.
It is admitted, I believe, by everybody that the formal sanctification of
these spots was the act of the Empress Helena, the mother of Constantine,
but I think it is fair to suppose that she was guided by a careful regard
to the then prevailing traditions. Now the nature of the ground upon
which Jerusalem stands is such, that the localities belonging to the
events there enacted might have been more easily, and permanently,
ascertained by tradition than those of any city that I know of.
Jerusalem, whether ancient or modern, was built upon and surrounded by
sharp, salient rocks intersected by deep ravines. Up to the time of the
siege Mount Calvary of course must have been well enough known to the
people of Jerusalem; the destruction of the mere buildings could not have
obliterated from any man’s memory the names of those steep rocks and
narrow ravines in the midst of which the city had stood. It seems to me,
therefore, highly probable that in fixing the site of Calvary the Empress
was rightly guided. Recollect, too, that the voice of tradition at
Jerusalem is quite unanimous, and that Romans, Greeks, Armenians, and
Jews, all hating each other sincerely, concur in assigning the same
localities to the events told in the Gospel. I concede, however, that
the attempt of the Empress to ascertain the sites of the minor events
cannot be safely relied upon. With respect, for instance, to the
certainty of the spot where the cock crew, I am far from being convinced.
Supposing that the Empress acted arbitrarily in fixing the holy sites, it
would seem that she followed the Gospel of St. John, and that the
geography sanctioned by her can be more easily reconciled with that
history than with the accounts of the other Evangelists.
The authority exercised by the Mussulman Government in relation to the
holy sites is in one view somewhat humbling to the Christians, for it is
almost as an arbitrator between the contending sects (this always, of
course, for the sake of pecuniary advantage) that the Mussulman lends his
contemptuous aid; he not only grants, but enforces toleration. All
persons, of whatever religion, are allowed to go as they will into every
part of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but in order to prevent
indecent contests, and also from motives arising out of money payments,
the Turkish Government assigns the peculiar care of each sacred spot to
one of the ecclesiastic bodies. Since this guardianship carries with it
the receipt of the coins which the pilgrims leave upon the shrines, it is
strenuously fought for by all the rival Churches, and the artifices of
intrigue are busily exerted at Stamboul in order to procure the issue or
revocation of the firmans by which the coveted privilege is granted. In
this strife the Greek Church has of late years signally triumphed, and
the most famous of the shrines are committed to the care of their
priesthood. They possess the golden socket in which stood the cross of
our Lord, whilst the Latins are obliged to content themselves with the
apertures in which were inserted the crosses of the two thieves. They
are naturally discontented with that poor privilege, and sorrowfully look
back to the days of their former glory—the days when Napoleon was
Emperor, and Sebastiani ambassador at the Porte. It seems that the
“citizen” sultan, old Louis Philippe, has done very little indeed for
Holy Church in Palestine.
Although the pilgrims perform their devotions at the several shrines with
so little apparent enthusiasm, they are driven to the verge of madness by
the miracle displayed before them on Easter Saturday. Then it is that
the Heaven-sent fire issues from the Holy Sepulchre. The pilgrims all
assemble in the great church, and already, long before the wonder is
worked, they are wrought by anticipation of God’s sign, as well as by
their struggles for room and breathing space, to a most frightful state
of excitement. At length the chief priest of the Greeks, accompanied (of
all people in the world) by the Turkish Governor, enters the tomb. After
this, there is a long pause, and then suddenly from out of the small
apertures on either side of the sepulchre there issue long, shining
flames. The pilgrims now rush forward, madly struggling to light their
tapers at the holy fire. This is the dangerous moment, and many lives
are often lost.
The year before that of my going to Jerusalem, Ibrahim Pasha, from some
whim, or motive of policy, chose to witness the miracle. The vast church
was of course thronged, as it always is on that awful day. It seems that
the appearance of the fire was delayed for a very long time, and that the
growing frenzy of the people was heightened by suspense. Many, too, had
already sunk under the effect of the heat and the stifling atmosphere,
when at last the fire flashed from the sepulchre. Then a terrible
struggle ensued; many sunk and were crushed. Ibrahim had taken his
station in one of the galleries, but now, feeling perhaps his brave blood
warmed by the sight and sound of such strife, he took upon himself to
quiet the people by his personal presence, and descended into the body of
the church with only a few guards. He had forced his way into the midst
of the dense crowd, when unhappily he fainted away; his guards shrieked
out, and the event instantly became known. A body of soldiers recklessly
forced their way through the crowd, trampling over every obstacle that
they might save the life of their general. Nearly two hundred people
were killed in the struggle.
The following year, however, the Government took better measures for the
prevention of these calamities. I was not present at the ceremony,
having gone away from Jerusalem some time before, but I afterwards
returned into Palestine, and I then learned that the day had passed off
without any disturbance of a fatal kind. It is, however, almost too much
to expect that so many ministers of peace can assemble without finding
some occasion for strife, and in that year a tribe of wild Bedouins
became the subject of discord. These men, it seems, led an Arab life in
some of the desert tracts bordering on the neighbourhood of Jerusalem,
but were not connected with any of the great ruling tribes. Some whim or
notion of policy had induced them to embrace Christianity; but they were
grossly ignorant of the rudiments of their adopted faith, and having no
priest with them in their desert, they had as little knowledge of
religious ceremonies as of religion itself. They were not even capable
of conducting themselves in a place of worship with ordinary decorum, but
would interrupt the service with scandalous cries and warlike shouts.
Such is the account the Latins give of them, but I have never heard the
other side of the question. These wild fellows, notwithstanding their
entire ignorance of all religion, are yet claimed by the Greeks, not only
as proselytes who have embraced Christianity generally, but as converts
to the particular doctrines and practice of their Church. The people
thus alleged to have concurred in the great schism of the Eastern Empire
are never, I believe, within the walls of a church, or even of any
building at all, except upon this occasion of Easter; and as they then
never fail to find a row of some kind going on by the side of the
sepulchre, they fancy, it seems, that the ceremonies there enacted are
funeral games of a martial character, held in honour of a deceased
chieftain, and that a Christian festival is a peculiar kind of battle,
fought between walls, and without cavalry. It does not appear, however,
that these men are guilty of any ferocious acts, or that they attempt to
commit depredations. The charge against them is merely that by their way
of applauding the performance, by their horrible cries and frightful
gestures, they destroy the solemnity of divine service, and upon this
ground the Franciscans obtained a firman for the exclusion of such
tumultuous worshippers. The Greeks, however, did not choose to lose the
aid of their wild converts merely because they were a little backward in
their religious education, and they therefore persuaded them to defy the
firman by entering the city _en masse_ and overawing their enemies. The
Franciscans, as well as the Government authorities, were obliged to give
way, and the Arabs triumphantly marched into the church. The festival,
however, must have seemed to them rather flat, for although there may
have been some “casualties” in the way of eyes black and noses bloody,
and women “missing,” there was no return of “killed.”
Formerly the Latin Catholics concurred in acknowledging (but not, I hope,
in working) the annual miracle of the heavenly fire, but they have for
many years withdrawn their countenance from this exhibition, and they now
repudiate it as a trick of the Greek Church. Thus of course the violence
of feeling with which the rival Churches meet at the Holy Sepulchre on
Easter Saturday is greatly increased, and a disturbance of some kind is
certain. In the year I speak of, though no lives were lost, there was,
as it seems, a tough struggle in the church. I was amused at hearing of
a taunt that was thrown that day upon an English traveller. He had taken
his station in a convenient part of the church, and was no doubt
displaying that peculiar air of serenity and gratification with which an
English gentleman usually looks on at a row, when one of the Franciscans
came by, all reeking from the fight, and was so disgusted at the coolness
and placid contentment of the Englishman (who was a guest at the
convent), that he forgot his monkish humility as well as the duties of
hospitality, and plainly said, “You sleep under our roof, you eat our
bread, you drink our wine, and then when Easter Saturday comes you don’t
fight for us!”
Yet these rival Churches go on quietly enough till their blood is up.
The terms on which they live remind one of the peculiar relation
subsisting at Cambridge between “town and gown.”
These contests and disturbances certainly do not originate with the
lay-pilgrims, the great body of whom are, as I believe, quiet and
inoffensive people. It is true, however, that their pious enterprise is
believed by them to operate as a counterpoise for a multitude of sins,
whether past or future, and perhaps they exert themselves in after life
to restore the balance of good and evil. The Turks have a maxim which,
like most cynical apophthegms, carries with it the buzzing trumpet of
falsehood as well as the small, fine “sting of truth.” “If your friend
has made the pilgrimage once, distrust him; if he has made the pilgrimage
twice, cut him dead!” The caution is said to be as applicable to the
visitants of Jerusalem as to those of Mecca, but I cannot help believing
that the frailties of all the hadjis, {166} whether Christian or
Mahometan, are greatly exaggerated. I certainly regarded the pilgrims to
Palestine as a well-disposed orderly body of people, not strongly
enthusiastic, but desirous to comply with the ordinances of their
religion, and to attain the great end of salvation as quietly and
economically as possible.
When the solemnities of Easter are concluded the pilgrims move off in a
body to complete their good work by visiting the sacred scenes in the
neighbourhood of Jerusalem, including the wilderness of John the Baptist,
Bethlehem, and, above all, the Jordan, for to bathe in those sacred
waters is one of the chief objects of the expedition. All the
pilgrims—men, women, and children—are submerged _en chemise_, and the
saturated linen is carefully wrapped up and preserved as a burial-dress
that shall enure for salvation in the realms of death.
I saw the burial of a pilgrim. He was a Greek, miserably poor, and very
old; he had just crawled into the Holy City, and had reached at once the
goal of his pious journey and the end of his sufferings upon earth.
There was no coffin nor wrapper, and as I looked full upon the face of
the dead I saw how deeply it was rutted with the ruts of age and misery.
The priest, strong and portly, fresh, fat, and alive with the life of the
animal kingdom, unpaid, or ill paid for his work, would scarcely deign to
mutter out his forms, but hurried over the words with shocking haste.
Presently he called out impatiently, “Yalla! Goor!” (Come! look
sharp!), and then the dead Greek was seized. His limbs yielded inertly
to the rude men that handled them, and down he went into his grave, so
roughly bundled in that his neck was twisted by the fall, so twisted,
that if the sharp malady of life were still upon him the old man would
have shrieked and groaned, and the lines of his face would have quivered
with pain. The lines of his face were not moved, and the old man lay
still and heedless, so well cured of that tedious life-ache, that nothing
could hurt him now. His clay was _itself again_—cool, firm, and tough.
The pilgrim had found great rest. I threw the accustomed handful of the
holy soil upon his patient face, and then, and in less than a minute, the
earth closed coldly around him.
I did not say “alas!” (nobody ever does that I know of, though the word
is so frequently written). I thought the old man had got rather well out
of the scrape of being alive, and poor.
The destruction of the mere buildings in such a place as Jerusalem would
not involve the permanent dispersion of the inhabitants, for the rocky
neighbourhood in which the town is situate abounds in caves, which would
give an easy refuge to the people until they gained an opportunity of
rebuilding their dwellings; therefore I could not help looking upon the
Jews of Jerusalem as being in some sort the representatives, if not the
actual descendants, of the rascals who crucified our Saviour. Supposing
this to be the case, I felt that there would be some interest in knowing
how the events of the Gospel history were regarded by the Israelites of
modern Jerusalem. The result of my inquiry upon this subject was, so far
as it went, entirely favourable to the truth of Christianity. I
understood that _the performance of the miracles was not doubted by any
of the Jews in the place_. All of them concurred in attributing the
works of our Lord to the influence of magic, but they were divided as to
the species of enchantment from which the power proceeded. The great
mass of the Jewish people believe, I fancy, that the miracles had been
wrought by aid of the powers of darkness, but many, and those the more
enlightened, would call Jesus “the good Magician.” To Europeans
repudiating the notion of all magic, good or bad, the opinion of the Jews
as to the agency by which the miracles were worked is a matter of no
importance; but the circumstance of their admitting that those miracles
_were in fact performed_, is certainly curious, and perhaps not quite
immaterial. {169}
If you stay in the Holy City long enough to fall into anything like
regular habits of amusement and occupation, and to become, in short, for
a time “a man about town” at Jerusalem, you will necessarily lose the
enthusiasm which you may have felt when you trod the sacred soil for the
first time, and it will then seem almost strange to you to find yourself
so entirely surrounded in all your daily pursuits by the designs and
sounds of religion. Your hotel is a monastery, your rooms are cells, the
landlord is a stately abbot, and the waiters are hooded monks. If you
walk out of the town you find yourself on the Mount of Olives, or in the
Valley of Jehoshaphat, or on the Hill of Evil Counsel. If you mount your
horse and extend your rambles you will be guided to the wilderness of St.
John, or the birthplace of our Saviour. Your club is the great Church of
the Holy Sepulchre, where everybody meets everybody every day. If you
lounge through the town, your Bond Street is the Via Dolorosa, and the
object of your hopeless affections is some maid or matron all forlorn,
and sadly shrouded in her pilgrim’s robe. If you would hear music, it
must be the chanting of friars; if you look at pictures, you see virgins
with mis-fore-shortened arms, or devils out of drawing, or angels
tumbling up the skies in impious perspective. If you would make any
purchases, you must go again to the church doors, and when you inquire
for the manufactures of the place, you find that they consist of
double-blessed beads and sanctified shells. These last are the favourite
tokens which the pilgrims carry off with them. The shell is graven, or
rather scratched, on the white side with a rude drawing of the Blessed
Virgin, or of the Crucifixion, or some other scriptural subject. Having
passed this stage it goes into the hands of a priest. By him it is
subjected to some process for rendering it efficacious against the
schemes of our ghostly enemy. The manufacture is then complete, and is
deemed to be fit for use.
The village of Bethlehem lies prettily couched on the slope of a hill.
The sanctuary is a subterranean grotto, and is committed to the
joint-guardianship of the Romans, Greeks, and Armenians, who vie with
each other in adorning it. Beneath an altar gorgeously decorated, and
lit with everlasting fires, there stands the low slab of stone which
marks the holy site of the Nativity; and near to this is a hollow scooped
out of the living rock. Here the infant Jesus was laid. Near the spot
of the Nativity is the rock against which the Blessed Virgin was leaning
when she presented her babe to the adoring shepherds.
Many of those Protestants who are accustomed to despise tradition
consider that this sanctuary is altogether unscriptural, that a grotto is
not a stable, and that mangers are made of wood. It is perfectly true,
however, that the many grottoes and caves which are found among the rocks
of Judea were formerly used for the reception of cattle. They are so
used at this day. I have myself seen grottoes appropriated to this
purpose.
You know what a sad and sombre decorum it is that outwardly reigns
through the lands oppressed by Moslem sway. Mahometans make beauty their
prisoner, and enforce such a stern and gloomy morality, or at all events,
such a frightfully close semblance of it, that far and long the wearied
traveller may go without catching one glimpse of outward happiness. By a
strange chance in these latter days it happened that, alone of all the
places in the land, this Bethlehem, the native village of our Lord,
escaped the moral yoke of the Mussulmans, and heard again, after ages of
dull oppression, the cheering clatter of social freedom, and the voices
of laughing girls. It was after an insurrection, which had been raised
against the authority of Mehemet Ali, that Bethlehem was freed from the
hateful laws of Asiatic decorum. The Mussulmans of the village had taken
an active part in the movement, and when Ibrahim had quelled it, his
wrath was still so hot, that he put to death every one of the few
Mahometans of Bethlehem who had not already fled. The effect produced
upon the Christian inhabitants by the sudden removal of this restraint
was immense. The village smiled once more. It is true that such sweet
freedom could not long endure. Even if the population of the place
should continue to be entirely Christian, the sad decorum of the
Mussulmans, or rather of the Asiatics, would sooner or later be restored
by the force of opinion and custom. But for a while the sunshine would
last, and when I was at Bethlehem, though long after the flight of the
Mussulmans, the cloud of Moslem propriety had not yet come back to cast
its cold shadow upon life. When you reach that gladsome village, pray
Heaven there still may be heard there the voice of free, innocent girls.
It will sound so dearly welcome!
To a Christian, and thoroughbred Englishman, not even the licentiousness
which generally accompanies it can compensate for the oppressiveness of
that horrible outward decorum, which turns the cities and the palaces of
Asia into deserts and gaols. So, I say, when you see and hear them,
those romping girls of Bethlehem will gladden your very soul. Distant at
first, and then nearer and nearer the timid flock will gather around you,
with their large burning eyes gravely fixed against yours, so that they
see into your brain; and if you imagine evil against them, they will know
of your ill thought before it is yet well born, and will fly and be gone
in the moment. But presently, if you will only look virtuous enough to
prevent alarm, and vicious enough to avoid looking silly, the blithe
maidens will draw nearer and nearer to you, and soon there will be one,
the bravest of the sisters, who will venture right up to your side and
touch the hem of your coat, in playful defiance of the danger, and then
the rest will follow the daring of their youthful leader, and gather
close round you, and hold a shrill controversy on the wondrous formation
that you call a hat, and the cunning of the hands that clothed you with
cloth so fine; and then, growing more profound in their researches, they
will pass from the study of your mere dress to a serious contemplation of
your stately height, and your nut-brown hair, and the ruddy glow of your
English cheeks. And if they catch a glimpse of your ungloved fingers,
then again will they make the air ring with their sweet screams of wonder
and amazement, as they compare the fairness of your hand with their
warmer tints, and even with the hues of your own sunburnt face.
Instantly the ringleader of the gentle rioters imagines a new sin; with
tremulous boldness she touches, then grasps your hand, and smoothes it
gently betwixt her own, and pries curiously into its make and colour, as
though it were silk of Damascus, or shawl of Cashmere. And when they see
you even then still sage and gentle, the joyous girls will suddenly and
screamingly, and all at once, explain to each other that you are surely
quite harmless and innocent, a lion that makes no spring, a bear that
never hugs, and upon this faith, one after the other, they will take your
passive hand, and strive to explain it, and make it a theme and a
controversy. But the one, the fairest and the sweetest of all, is yet
the most timid; she shrinks from the daring deeds of her playmates, and
seeks shelter behind their sleeves, and strives to screen her glowing
consciousness from the eyes that look upon her. But her laughing sisters
will have none of this cowardice; they vow that the fair one _shall_ be
their ’complice, _shall_ share their dangers, _shall_ touch the hand of
the stranger; they seize her small wrist, and drag her forward by force,
and at last, whilst yet she strives to turn away, and to cover up her
whole soul under the folds of downcast eyelids, they vanquish her utmost
strength, they vanquish your utmost modesty, and marry her hand to yours.
The quick pulse springs from her fingers, and throbs like a whisper upon
your listening palm. For an instant her large timid eyes are upon you;
in an instant they are shrouded again, and there comes a blush so
burning, that the frightened girls stay their shrill laughter, as though
they had played too perilously, and harmed their gentle sister. A
moment, and all with a sudden intelligence turn away and fly like deer,
yet soon again like deer they wheel round and return, and stand, and gaze
upon the danger, until they grow brave once more.
“I regret to observe, that the removal of the moral restraint imposed by
the presence of the Mahometan inhabitants has led to a certain degree of
boisterous, though innocent, levity in the bearing of the Christians, and
more especially in the demeanour of those who belong to the younger
portion of the female population; but I feel assured that a more thorough
knowledge of the principles of their own pure religion will speedily
restore these young people to habits of propriety, even more strict than
those which were imposed upon them by the authority of their Mahometan
brethren.” Bah! thus you might chant, if you chose; but loving the
truth, you will not so disown sweet Bethlehem; you will not disown or
dissemble your right good hearty delight when you find, as though in a
desert, this gushing spring of fresh and joyous girlhood.