Haifa, July 31.—The greatest religions festival of the year in these
parts takes place on the 20th of July at the Monastery of Mount Carmel,
and is called the Feast of St. Elias. It does not rank in the Roman
Catholic Church generally as one of the highest importance, but among
the Maronites, Melchites, and the Latin Oriental Church, as well as
among the Carmelites themselves, it is par excellence the great annual
ecclesiastical event. From all parts of Palestine worshippers of all
ranks flock to the sacred grotto, and on the evening before the saint's
day as many as five or six thousand souls are often assembled on the
rugged promontory and in the enclosures surrounding the monastery.
Hither I repaired about six o'clock on the evening of the 19th, and
sipped coffee, smoked cigarettes, and chatted with the reverend fathers,
while I looked out of the iron-barred windows on the multitude
assembling beneath them. It was composed for the most part of vendors of
fruit, sweetmeats, and refreshments of all sorts, who were establishing
their stalls for the night in sheltered nooks, for the feast begins at
midnight, and is carried on till nine o'clock next day, being, in fact,
a species of religious orgy, which appears to have great fascination for
the native Christian mind. It must be admitted that devotions which
consist chiefly in dancing and drinking, with an occasional free fight,
all through the small hours of the morning, are religious exercises of a
kind not unlikely to attract the country people, who go in for a sort of
holy spree on a scale of large proportions. This year, however, a
general panic which pervaded the country in consequence of the cholera
in Egypt reduced the numbers materially, especially of the Fellahin,
among whom all kinds of absurd rumours were prevalent that the disease
had spread to Haifa, and that the monastery itself was in quarantine.
After watching the picturesque arrivals for some time, I declined an
invitation to spend the night in the monastery, and determined to return
next morning at five o'clock, when I was assured that the fun would be
fast and furious.
As I approached at that hour my expectations were excited by the reports
of the discharge of pistols and guns, and the sounds of the discordant
chorus-chanting which forms the usual accompaniment to the native
dances. Passing under the archway and entering the large courtyard of
the monastery, I found it nearly full of excited groups in large
circles, their arms clasped around each other's necks, swaying their
bodies to and fro, and keeping time with their feet to their songs,
while they occasionally waved their arms aloft and fired in the air.
This is the regular Syrian dance of the towns, and it is sufficiently
monotonous. The Fellahin, however, have a far more picturesque
performance, in which the girls, in bright-coloured garments, join,
dancing singly, or in twos and threes. Of these, unfortunately, there
were very few. No doubt it was in consequence of the small attendance
that there had not been so much drinking as usual, and I only saw one
man captured by half a dozen Turkish soldiers, who must have a curious
idea of Christian devotions, for an improper use of his fist.
About this time the guest-chambers and corridors of the monastery—where
families of the better class who had come from Acre, Tyre, Nazareth,
Jaffa, and other towns had passed the night, in the lodging provided for
them—began to disgorge, and the variety of costume displayed by the
shouting, singing, and dancing multitude formed a scene sufficiently
picturesque and animated. Sometimes processions are formed, where
offerings are made to the miracle-working statue of Notre Dame de Mont
Carmel, in return for a child that has been prayed for, or a sick person
who has been healed, but on this occasion her protection did not seem to
have been invoked, or, at all events, there was no public display of
gratitude. There is a large terrace in front of the monastery, and here
a dozen horsemen or so were throwing the djerrid and exhibiting their
equestrian skill, much to the detriment of the unfortunate animals they
bestrode, whose flanks were bleeding profusely from the pointed angles
of the iron stirrups which serve as spurs, and from the cruel bits by
which, when going at full speed, they were jerked back upon their
haunches.
While all this was going on outside, mass was being performed in the
church for those who wished to vary the entertainment. This is a
spacious, vaulted building in the form of a Greek cross, with a
fine-toned organ in one transept, and a statue of the miraculous Lady of
Mount Carmel, between four Corinthian columns, seated on a sort of
throne in a richly decorated dress of white satin, in the other. Both
the Virgin and the Infant in her arms had golden crowns on their heads,
the result of a miracle, for when the Frère Jean Baptiste undertook the
reconstruction of the monastery fifty years ago, he intrusted the
carving of the statue to Caraventa, a sculptor of Genoa, and, not having
money enough to buy her a crown suitable to her position, procured her
one of silver, and one of copper gilt for the Child, saying as he did
so, “You will know how to procure yourself a better one;” and this she
achieved shortly after at Naples, where a rich nobleman presented her
with two in return for a miraculous cure of which he was the subject.
There is a book sold in the monastery containing a list of the miracles
that have been performed by this statue, which was gazed upon with the
greatest awe and veneration by the country people. They prostrate
themselves before her, touching the ground with their foreheads, and
offering up their supplications after a fashion that would shock an
enlightened Buddhist by the superstition and credulity thus suggested.
On each side of the figure are two altars, one dedicated to St. Jean
Baptiste, and the other to St. Simon Stock, an Englishman, who was made
Prior-General of the Order of Carmelites in 1245, and who in his day did
more than any other to increase their renown. On the right of this is
the statue of Elijah slaying a prophet of Baal, which was sculptured at
Barcelona by Dom Amédéo. The prophet has got his false rival on the
ground between his feet, and, with uplifted sword, is in the act of
cutting his head off. He is hung round with votive offerings, and
worshippers crowd around to touch some part of the statue, and then kiss
the finger that has touched it. On a table in front a monk was selling
engravings to the worshippers. I bought one of these, representing
Elijah sending Elisha to look for the sign of rain. In the distance is
the small cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, and emerging from it is
the figure of the Virgin and Child, for the Roman Catholic tradition has
it that in this cloud was revealed to the prophet the dogma of the
immaculate conception, in which he was a firm believer from that time
forward.
Descending a few rock-cut steps close to this image, we find ourselves
in the cave of Elijah, a small grotto about ten feet by fifteen, at one
end of which is an altar, which the devotees firmly believe is the
actual rock that he used as his bed. Here a priest was performing mass.
The body of the church was full of devotees, for the most part women in
white burnooses, who squatted on the ground, and seemed principally
engaged in suckling their babies.
The monastery derives a considerable revenue from these celebrations, as
in good seasons votive offerings to a large value are brought; but the
chief source of its wealth is derived from the sale of indulgences, or
at least what virtually amounts to this. By these means it exercises a
very powerful moral as well as financial influence all through the
country, and as the Christian population, which is subject to it, is
very large in proportion to the Moslem in the neighbourhood, and as it
is under the exclusive protectorate of France, this influence partakes
also of a very distinct political character. In fact, the Christians of
the whole of this district enjoy a far more efficient protection against
the oppression of the Turkish government than do the Moslems themselves.
The monastery is a modern building, and if it only had a tall chimney
instead of a cupola it would look more like a manufactory than a
religious edifice. The top of the cupola is five hundred and fifty feet
above the level of the sea, which is immediately beneath, and commands a
magnificent view. When Napoleon besieged Acre in 1799, and was compelled
to raise the siege and retreat, the Turks fell upon the wounded French
soldiers who were left in hospital here and massacred them to a man. The
convent was, of course, deserted, and soon after fell into ruin. For
twenty-seven years this much venerated spot was abandoned, but the order
to which it had given its name never ceased to agitate for the
restoration of its sanctuary, and the work of reconstruction was finally
undertaken in 1826, by Jean Baptiste, and completed in 1853. So the
present building is only thirty years old. In front of the main terrace
is a flower-garden and some trellised vines, in the centre of which is a
pyramid surmounted by a cross, with an inscription to the effect that it
commemorates the resting-place of the bones of the French soldiers. It
was not till five years after their massacre that Father Jules du St.
Sauveur ventured back to the mountain, where he found these melancholy
traces of the tragedy scattered among the ruins, and, collecting them,
hid them in a cave until, under more auspicious circumstances, they
could receive a Christian burial. There can be no doubt that the order
is now increasing in wealth and influence, and expectation runs high
that the day is not far distant when northern Palestine will become a
French province, and when its prosperity will be still further secured.