# Domestic Life in Palestine/Chapter 2

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CHAPTER II.
JERUSALEM.
In the early morning, childish voices called me to come to breakfast in the lewan, on the shady side of the house. The sun was shining brightly over the city and the hills, but the western walls and slopes were still in shade.
After breakfast, we went to the sitting-room, which was almost as simply furnished as a hermitage, with rustic tables, camp stools, matting, and a few rough shelves for books and toys.
I sat on the doorstep, and looked over a rocky, thorny slope to a ridge which I was told marked the course of the valley of Hinnom, beyond which rose the western wall of Jerusalem; the turreted and massive-looking tower of David, and the Yâfa gate, breaking its monotony.
The Anglican church and consulate, with its pointed façade and strikingly modern appearance, the large white domed Armenian convent, a minaret, a few palm-trees, pines, and cypresses, was all I could see of the Holy City, for it slopes eastward.
On my right hand was the plain of Rephaim. It spreads southward toward a rounded hill, which is crowned by the convent of Mar Elias. Long lines of camels, troops of horsemen, flocks of goats, vegetable-laden asses, and groups of peasant women, with baskets or bundles on their heads, were coming and going all day, along the broad road which crosses this plain, and vultures and eagles swept through the air.
In the afternoon I rode out with my brother. We went down into the stony valley of the Convent of the Cross, passing the white-walled newly-restored Greek convent, and ​made our way, among rocks and thorns, to the valley of Hinnom, well planted with olives, figs, and pomegranates. We ascended the hill leading to the Yâfa gate, meeting many people on foot and on horseback, who were just starting for a stroll before sunset. We passed under the deep, pointed archway, through the vaulted chamber in the great gate, along by the wall and deep moat of the citadel or tower of David, and then turned down a narrow passage, leading to the consulate, which adjoined the English church. Here we dismounted, and I felt a strange joy when, for the first time, my feet stood within thy gates, O Jerusalem!
Mr. Bartlett has made the streets of the Holy City so familiar in his "Walks about Jerusalem," and "Jerusalem Revisited," and Mr. Murray's invaluable Hand-Book gives its topography and statistics so perfectly, that I will refer my readers to those sources, and only give a slight account of the city as I saw it.
My brother led me back to the open space in the front of the citadel, where a daily market is held in the early morning. We passed a large open café, where soldiers and groups of Moslems were smoking. The Latin convent, a large, well-built stone edifice, is opposite the citadel; its long, flat roof serves for a terrace, where a number of monks and boys, in black robes, were walking in monotonous procession. The Anglican bishop's town-house overlooks the market-place, out of which we turned into a bustling street, paved with gradually-descending shallow steps, so smooth and worn, and so scattered with melon parings and other vegetable refuse, that it was difficult to find a sure footing. On each side there were Arab shops, the owners of which were folding up their gay wares, or stowing away baskets of dried fruit or trays of pipes preparatory to closing for the night, for it was past the eleventh hour. We turned up Christian-street, the first turning on the left, where, besides the truly Oriental barbers' shops, the coffee-houses, pipe-makers, and bakers, ​there are several European establishments, kept by Maltese, and Italians, and Germans, pretty well supplied from London and Paris with ornamental as well as useful and necessary articles of dress; though, as may be anticipated, a large percentage is charged. We met crowds of Moslems, Spanish and German Jews, Bedouins, Greeks, and monks of many orders. I heard my brother greeted and welcomed by name, in various languages, by passers by, for he was well known in the city, where he had passed several years as cancelière in the British Consulate. We made our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and paused in the square court-yard in front of it, to look at its beautiful façade. Two arched doorways, side by side, with deep intricate moldings enriched with ball flowers, are divided by a magnificent cluster of five marble columns. The center and outside columns are green and the others white. The capitals are foliated, and richly carved. There are friezes across the doorways from the spring of the arches. The one to the right, over the door which is bricked up, is of ornamental scroll-work, with boys playfully introduced in arabesque style. The frieze over the left door, which is the only entrance to the church, is a well-carved altorelievo picture of Christ's Entrance into the City, and the Last Supper, not exactly agreeing in character with the other frieze. We then went to the ruins of the Church of the Knights of St. John, near at hand. We passed under a wide low Norman arch, rich with zigzag and dog tooth moldings, marble columns, and carved capitals. We climbed over a dust-heap, where vegetables and dead bodies of dogs and cats were rotting, where flies and fleas were regaling themselves, and half-naked, wretched-looking children were playing and munching melon parings. We crossed a court-yard, full of abominations, assailed by barking and snarling dogs, but tempted on by the strange beauty of this neglected relic of ancient chivalry. We found three high walls of the outer edifice standing, and within them there were divisions which indicated three ​distinct compartments; one is used as a tannery, and in the others we saw skeletons of asses and horses; for, when animals die in the neighborhood, their carcasses are dragged into this desecrated place to be devoured by dogs or vultures. We climbed over burning lime and rubbish to a rather treacherous stone stairway, which led us to a gallery above, corresponding with the cloisters below. Here there are two large windows with stone tracery, mullions, and moldings of early English character, in pretty good preservation.
Notwithstanding the offensive surroundings, I paid several visits to these interesting ruins. The style, for the most part, is like the Norman architecture of Sicily, while other parts of the ruins remind me of our early English style. The building altogether seems originally to have been built to serve the purpose of a fortress as well as an ecclesiastical retreat. It is said to have been founded in the eleventh century, as a place of rest for pilgrims to the Holy Sepulcher. It rapidly and continually grew in importance till the middle of the thirteenth century, when Christian influence was suddenly overthrown, and all its monuments destroyed, or allowed gradually to decay, as in this instance. Above the Norman door which we had entered I remarked a rich bas-relief of groups of figures, emblematic designs, and monograms, quaintly carved; but this has lately been so roughly used that it is now almost defaced, and future travelers will be puzzled to find it. When I revisited the spot in 1859—four years afterward—I found the door blocked up, and the space in front of it closed in and converted into a store or shop, for the sale of glass beads and bracelets made at Hebron. We shook the dust from our feet, and strolled a little way along the Via Dolorosa, till we were warned by the deepening shadows, and the evening cries from the minarets around, that the sun had gone down. We hastened through the streets and bazars. The little shops were nearly all deserted by their owners, and shut up for the night. ​Our horses were waiting at the gate, which was kept open for us. A few stragglers were hastily entering in, but immediately after we had passed out, the heavy doors were closed, to be opened no more till sunrise.
The stars were coming out as we rode homeward, across the valley of Hinnom, and through an inclosed plantation belonging to the Greek community, in the center of which, by a well, under the trees, sat a group of Arabs in a circle on cushioned mats, singing lustily, and swaying their bodies to and fro slowly, in time with the monotonous tune which they sang. A large lantern, hanging from a tree-branch above, lighted up the figures and their many-colored garments, producing striking effects of light and shade.
We were soon on the Talibîyeh grounds. An immense number of vividly-bright glow-worms bordered the rocky path which led toward the house. I found that by placing a few of them together, on a stone or cool place, I could see to read by the green light which shone from their lantern-like bodies.
The next morning we rode down the Valley of the Cross, and over hills covered with rocks, poterium spinosum, and brambles, toward the little village of Lifta, near to which, in a beautiful olive grove on a terraced hill-side, Bishop Gobat and the Rev. H. Crawford had encamped with their large families. Their tents were picturesquely distributed under the shade of large trees.
There was no house on the grounds to serve as a retreat or shelter in the heat of the day, as on the Talibîyeh, but the trees under which Mrs. Gobat's pretty drawing-room or day tent was pitched, served almost as effectually as a protection from the sun. Sofas, cushions, easy chairs, writing tables and work tables, children with their dolls or lesson books, made the place look quite homely, and took away the idea of the transitory nature of tent life. Mrs. Gobat gave me a hearty welcome there, and introduced me to her friends who came from the surrounding tents, and to the children, who left their studies or their play to welcome us. ​A large party was soon assembled in the tent and on the sofa under the opposite tree. After a luncheon of fruit and bread, olives, and cheese, Mrs. Gobat smoked a narghilé, evidently enjoying it, and I date the taste which I acquired for tumbac from the experimental pipe which I smoked with her. Coffee, mulberry sherbet, and bon-bons were handed around by Abyssinian servants in Arab style. Mrs. Gobat's fine, hearty-looking children, and the fair little Crawfords, seemed thoroughly to enjoy tent life. They showed me their swing in the mulberry-tree, and their attempts at architecture with the heaps of stones around. They led me eagerly from tent to tent, the kitchens, pantries, and school, and to the neat little bed tents, and then pointed out some of the finest points of view. Neby Samuel, the tomb of the "Prophet Samuel," was conspicuous on the summit of a conical hill, rising abruptly in the distance on one hand, and in another direction the wide spreading valley, with a little village and its surrounding fields, vineyards, and thrashing-floor could be seen. A beautiful white goat followed us wherever we went. It was the goat which Mr. W. Holman Hunt used as his model while finishing his well-known picture—the Scapegoat. Two had died in his service, but this one became quite tame, and would answer to his call; he gave it to these children when his picture was completed. The loud, shrill cry of the cicalas was heard from every olive-tree, and I was assured that at night their noise is loud enough to keep people unaccustomed to it awake.
I spent several pleasant days in this retreat on various occasions; such as a social dinner-party at the Bishop's, when he presided at a long table under the trees, or a cheerful tea-party at the Crawfords', in their tents, partly by the light of the moon, and partly by the light of lanterns hanging in the trees, or round the tent-poles. In these réunions, and at similar entertainments at Mr. Finn's, I made the acquaintance of most of the European members of the Protestant community of Jerusalem. Some ​times we strolled about the grounds in little companies, visiting the vineyards and the bright-green sumach plantations below, or the thrashing-floor above, and the few scattered stone and mud hovels, roofed with tree-branches, which were the homes of the peasant guardians of the ground. In one of these little nooks we saw a stone hand mill and two women working it, grinding corn.
The Europeans of Jerusalem, especially those who have children, or who have been accustomed to temperate climes, generally encamp thus from June to September, and select a site about a mile or more from the city, so that the gentlemen can go into town every day, while the ladies and children rarely do so except on Sunday. This is one of the pleasantest phases in the life of the European resident in Jerusalem, and it may be justly attributed to Mr. Finn, for he was the first who ventured thus to trust himself and his family in the open country. His little stone house on the Talibîyeh—of which he was the architect, while Jews were its builders—was the first and for a long time the only private dwelling-house outside the city; whereas now, 1862, buildings of importance and commodious dwelling-houses are rapidly rising on the hills round about Jerusalem.
On Sunday, July 8th, we had a pleasant early ride into town, and the chimes of the church bells welcomed us. Flags were hoisted at all the Consulates. Ladies and children from distant encampments were alighting at the doors of the Anglican church from sleek and gayly-trapped donkeys. The congregation consisted of about a hundred Europeans, including children, and about half as many Arabs and Jewish converts. The transepts were occupied by the children of the diocesan schools, all in simple European dress, but it was easy to distinguish the bright, intelligent countenances of the Jewish children-the gentle and amiable-looking little Abyssinians—the long-headed Copts—the precocious and handsome Arabs—and the pretty little Armenians, in spite of their uncharacteristic costumes. ​The glare and heat were excessive, so I gladly accepted shelter at Mr. Nicolayson's till the cool of the day, and we rode to the Talibîyeh a little before sunset. Crowds of Arabs in holiday costume were strolling on the Medan, a large extent of table-land north-west of the city, where the troops are exercised. It is the favorite promenade of the citizens.
The men's dresses were picturesque and various in the extreme, and of every tint and color, from the somber robes of the procession of monks, to the gorgeously-embroidered jackets of the Turkish officers and employés, the high-pointed hats and long gabardines of the Jews, the bright sashes and turbans of the Moslem gentleman, and the light-braided suits and red tarbûshes of the Christian Arabs. The women, who kept in groups quite apart from the men, sitting under the olive-trees or strolling into the valley below, were all shrouded in sheets, and whether Jewish, Christian, or Moslem, the only variety in their dress depended on the color of the vail or mask, and the form or color of the shoes. Some of the ladies wore European shoes, others had socks and pointed slippers of yellow leather. The black slaves wore only red or yellow slippers, and thus could be distinguished from their mistresses. A few of the ladies carried gay parasols embroidered with spangles.
By starlight we wandered to the high ground behind the Talibîyeh. We could see watch-fires on many of the hills around and on the Bethlehem plain, and heard in the still night air echoes of the clear shrill voices of far-off shepherds, who were "watching their flocks by night," and giving signals perhaps to their fellow-watchers.
On Tuesday, 10th, I again rode into town, walked down Christian-street and through the chief bazars, now descending a dirty crooked street of stairs, now passing under narrow archways, dark and dusty, and through wide, lofty arcades or bazars, where the butchers' market, the bread, fruit, grain, and leather markets were respectively held. ​The shopkeepers were crying to the passers-by, "Ho, every one that hath money, let him come and buy!", "Ho, such a one, come and buy!" But some of them seemed to be more disinterested, and one of the fruiterers, offering me preserves and fruit, said, "O lady, take of our fruit without money and without price; it is yours, take all that you will," and he would gladly have laden our kawass with the good things of his store, and then have claimed double their value. In a street leading to one of the bazars, a number of peasant women and girls from Bethany and Siloam were selling vegetables and fruit. They did not wear the white shroud of the townspeople. Their dresses were chiefly of indigo-dyed linen, and made like long shirts, girdled with red shawls or sashes. Their heads were covered with colored handkerchiefs or shawls, or white towels, so arranged as partially to conceal their faces, which were very dark and tattooed with blue stars and dots on the forehead and round the lips. Their dark eyes looked larger and darker on account of the kohl on the eyelids, and the black pigment on the eyebrows. They wore colored glass bracelets—made at Hebron—silver anklets, and some of them had necklaces of coins and silver rings. A very striking-looking young Siloam girl said to me, taking hold of my dress, "Taste of the fruit of our gardens and our vineyards, O sister!" My brother, by accident in passing a shrouded yellow-booted figure in the crowded street, slightly disarranged the folds of her izzar, and he said, "Your pardon, Ya Sitti "—O my lady! She answered, "Say not, 'Ya Sitti' to me; say it rather to the queen of heaven." We met a large number of people afflicted with ophthalmy, and partial or entire loss of sight; but deformed persons are comparatively rare in Palestine.
In one of the most bustling bazars we saw a tall, gaunt man gesticulating in the midst of a crowd. He was almost naked, for he wore only a ragged strip of sackcloth round his loins. He carried in one hand a long, stout staff, and in the other a large stone. His vehement exclamations, ​excited manner, and fiery eyes reminded me of the descriptions of the prophets, as well as of the possessed of demons in days of old. His hair was long and wild, and his beard hung to his waist.
He cried out in Arabic, "The city shall be made desolate, fire shall consume it, because of its wickedness," etc.; and, notwithstanding his violent maledictions, and the weapons he carried, the people around did not interfere with him or molest him. He was evidently mad—or majnûn, as the Arabs say—and my brother told me that he had for years been a tolerated wanderer in the bazars, and wherever he went an idle crowd followed him. He lived on charity. The Orientals invariably treat with kindness and consideration those who are thus afflicted, believing them to be under the especial protection of God. It is imagined that they have a greater knowledge of spiritual things in proportion to their want of it concerning things of this life; in fact, in the East, a "madman " and a "prophet " are almost synonymous terms.
We entered the quiet, picturesque, but narrow street, in which the Prussian Consul resides. Pointed arches, with groined and fretted roofs, cross it here and there, and fine buttresses support some of the houses, which are built of large, well-hewn, beveled stones, put together with lead instead of mortar. The deep-arched entrances, canopied with dropping fretwork, are good examples of the Moresque style. Low stone divans, or benches, just within the portals were occupied by stately-looking armed servants, or black slaves. There are many alabaster tablets and friezes let into the walls, over doors, or under oriel windows, or in arched recesses, on which Arabic inscriptions and monograms are elaborately carved in slight relief, and in some cases illuminated in red, blue, and gold. The graceful Oriental characters, with their flowing lines, are well adapted for this sort of ornamentation, and are very extensively used in the exterior as well as interior decorations of Moresque buildings. Ancient carved capitals, near to the ​doorways, served as stepping stones; and in many places horses were haltered to large perforated blocks, which projected from the walls.
We made our way along the Via Dolorosa, pausing, sometimes, while a long line of donkeys, laden with stones or brushwood, jogged by, enveloped in a cloud of dust; or when a string of unwieldy camels, bearing melons to the market, almost blocked up the way.
We met the colonel of the Turkish cavalry, and several officers. They kindly invited me to mount the rude steps leading to a broad and elevated terrace of the Seraglio, or Pasha's Palace. From this central and lofty spot, I first gained a general idea of the city, and the surrounding hills. The building on which I' stood was partly formed by the north wall of the Haram, or Great Mosque inclosure; and thus, looking toward the south, I overlooked its entire area, which is almost equal in extent to one-quarter of the whole city. In its center the well-known Kubbetes-Sakhara, or "Dome of the Rock," stands.
The beautiful cupola, resting on a circular base, crowns a wide-spreading octagonal building, each side of which is ornamented with six lofty arches, and the lower part is faced with bright enameled tiles of many tints. This building is on a large square platform, raised considerably above the other parts of the inclosure, and is approached from six points by broad flights of steps, which lead to light and graceful entrances, divided by three or four elaborately-carved columns and pointed arches. There are many little praying niches and stone canopies, supported on columns, and alabaster pulpits on the platform, as well as in the grass-grown inclosure below, where the white stone walls and domes are relieved by the dark beauty of the cypress and the silvery shade of olives, and some few shrubs in flower. A beautiful grove of trees leads to the Mosque-el-Aksa, which is in the southern part of the area, where its long and gabled roof, large dome, and Saracenic façade are conspicuous. Groups of white-turbaned Mos​lems sitting in the tree-shade, solitary devotees at the little shrines or niches, and the slow pacing of Turkish sentries or black slave guardians of the Holy Place, gave some animation to the otherwise picture-like stillness of the scene.
The contrast is very great between this bright spot on Mount Moriah and the other part of the city, which is traversed by a valley and covered with irregular masses of white-domed and terraced buildings, relieved here and there by a tree, a church, or a minaret. The extreme southern quarter is the most desolate, and is inhabited by the Jews. The south-west portion is chiefly thronged by Armenians, where their convent stands, white and conspicuous, and marks their quarter distinctly. The north-west quarter—the highest—is more frequented by Franks; and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Latin convent, the Protestant church, and various consulates, proclaim it. The north-east is the Moslem quarter. The patches of open land within the city are, in some places, used as drying-grounds for indigo-dyed linen; while others have become public dustheaps or dunghills. I could trace the battlemented walls of the city, now following the downward sweep into the valley, and then rising in an irregular line to crown the hights of Zion.
After we had lingered there for some time, fascinated by the scenes around, the military governor led us to a divan, where we took coffee and sherbet. He excused himself for not taking refreshments with us, for it was Ramadan, the month in which Moslems fast from sunrise to sunset daily.
We then called on several European families—English, German, Greek, and Russian. The vaulted stone chambers in which we were generally received were cool and pleasant even at midday, and so furnished as to combine Oriental and Western luxuries. In the deep, arched recesses and broad window-seats, soft cushions were arranged and loose muslin drapery floated from the open windows, fanning the air. Glowing Turkey carpets and Egyptian matting ​covered the stone floors. The newspapers, bookcases, pictures, pianos, and little works of art or knickknacks, proclaimed that Europeans had made homes there; while on the terraces, and under the columned corridors, English flowers appeared among the native oleanders and jasmines, shaded by vine-covered trellises. But in these Europeanized houses, European servants are very rare. Almost every-where Abyssinian men-servants are sought in preference to natives, for they are intelligent, attentive, and faithful; and the hardy, but somewhat self-willed, Bethlehem women are in great request as house-servants, for they are clean and comparatively careful. I perceived that the training and management of a staff of Oriental attendants is one of the chief difficulties that European ladies have to contend with.
July 15th was a very sultry day. We all retired early to our tents, fatigued with the heat. About midnight I was aroused by the violent movement of my light tent bedstead, and a loud murmuring noise. My first thought was that an earthquake was disturbing the hills; then I fancied that some wild beast was near; and, lastly, I came to the conclusion—which proved to be the right one—that my tent was in danger of being carried away by a whirlwind. It had blown open in two places, and its yielding walls beat against the light frame-work of my bedstead.
The noise of the flapping canvas, the tightening and straining of the tent ropes, the rustling and snapping of the young trees, and the continuous rocking, kept me awake for a long while. I quite expected to be left shelterless, for I was on the highest part of the grounds.
On the morning of July 16th there was a general fixing and repairing of tents, and a search for hammers and tent pegs, for all the canvas dwellings had been more or less disturbed by the wild wind of the preceding night. At sunrise, the air was soft and warm, but clouds were being driven from the north in large masses, burnished by the morning sun. A south-west wind had driven those clouds ​from Egypt a day or two before, and now, unbroken, they were chased back again to their source, the mighty Nile. We wandered through the grounds, replanting the uprooted trees, and supporting the fallen ones, for none had escaped injury.
Before breakfast, I rode with my brother to the Convent of the Cross, in the lonely valley to which it gives a name. The convent has been lately very thoroughly restored by the Greeks, to whom it now belongs; and an excellent college has been established there for about forty or fifty students. It was formerly the property of the Georgians, and was founded by them in the fifth century, on the very spot where grew the tree which furnished the wood of the cross. This is, at least, the tradition which our monkish attendant gravely told as he led us into the church, a fine building, about seventy feet long, with a groined roof supported by four massive piers. The walls are covered with curious frescoes; and the altar-screen contains a pictorial history of the sacred tree, from the time it was planted by Abraham and Lot, till it was hewn down and formed into a cross. As sculpture is strictly forbidden in the Georgian and Greek churches, all the decorations depend on color; but in some of the pictures there was a compromise, the figures being cut out in thin wood, and mounted on appropriate backgrounds. The nimbus, in almost every instance, is formed of pure gold, and stones and jewels are introduced in the adornment of the dresses.
In the center of the church is a large square pavement of mosaic, the finest I met with in Palestine. Quaint birds, curious figures, and Christian symbols are represented, and in the lozenge-shaped spaces left by the intersecting lines of the frame-work of these devices, most beautiful designs are introduced. The tesseræ of which this pavement is composed are about three-quarters of an inch square, and are black, white, red, blue, and yellow. We hastened back to breakfast. The blue sky was flecked with fleecy clouds fastly moving, and the mountains round us were checkered ​with their shadows. One moment a hill was crowned with sunlight, the next it was all in shade. The flocks of goats browsing on the hill-sides, and peasant women making their way to the city, laden with vegetables, bowls of milk, and baskets of fowls, animated the landscape. L. and the children returned with me to the convent, where I spent the whole day, drawing delightedly some of the curious mosaic pictures. (I will refer those who take an interest in early Christian art to No. 878 of the Builder, published December 3, 1859, in which some examples of these are given from my sketch-book.) Considering that these buildings were deserted and left in ruins for two or three centuries, it is surprising that so much of the ancient work remains in good preservation. We were led to a cavern under the altar, and the identical spot where the sacred tree grew was pointed out to us in a damp and dark recess. We saw some workmen destroying an ancient Georgian MS. They were using the parchment to make bags for their dry powdered colors, and willingly gave me a few sheets. The garden terrace of the convent is roofed with trellis-work covered with vines, and the rich fruit hung above us in heavy clusters. We strolled home on foot, gathering bright-blue borage, wild pinks, and geraniums.
A red, cloudy sunset was followed by a calm moonlight night, only disturbed by prowling jackals, noisy hyenas, and wild dogs without, and buzzing musketoes within. In the morning I found the tent curtains saturated with dew, and the garments which had been hanging there during the night were too damp to be put on with safety.