# Domestic Life in Palestine/Chapter 11

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CHAPTER XI.
FROM NABLÛS TO JERUSALEM.
I woke early on the following morning, Friday, March 7th, with an unusual sense of oppression and sudden fear, as if I had some very sad or difficult task to perform that day. The packed portmanteaus and the riding-habit, in readiness by my side, instantly brought to my recollection the plans for my journey to Jerusalem — a journey of about thirteen hours, and generally made in two stages, but which I had determined to accomplish in one, as there is not a good halting-place on the road, nor any village in which I should have been willing to seek a night's lodging unless in company with my brother, or in case of absolute necessity.
By the time I was thoroughly aroused my fears had vanished. Mohammed, our faithful Egyptian groom, came tapping at my door to ask for my luggage, and he said, "Be of good cheer, lady, may the day be white to you!" and the kawass of Ody Azam, who stood by the door, said, "If this day be dark to our lady, it will be darkened indeed unto many."
I breakfasted early, but it was half-past eight o'clock before the horses and riders were all ready. Then after taking leave of my good-natured hostess, I mounted and rode through the streets of Nablûs with a few friends, who had arranged to accompany me a short distance on the way. Priest Amran, the Samaritan, who walked by my side, with his hand on the neck of my good horse, exclaimed, "Passover is nigh at hand, and you will not be with us on the mountain — this will be a grief to us, for our hearts had been made glad with the thought that you ​would be with us, and now, behold, our hope is departed from us."
I told him how sincerely I regretted leaving Nablûs so soon. Then he pronounced a prayer and a blessing for me, and went his way.
A Christian of the Greek Catholic Church who was with us, and who had heard the words of Amran and my answer, said, "Rejoice, rather, O lady, that you are privileged to keep the festival of Easter in the Holy City, Jerusalem, that you may worship in the Church of the Sepulcher of our Lord. It is better for you to do so than to pass the Holy Week on'this mountain' with Samaritans, who besmear their foreheads with blood, and believe not in the name of Christ and our Blessed Lady." I was strikingly reminded of Christ's words to the woman of Samaria: "The hour cometh when ye shall, neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father." "God is a Spirit, and they that worship him, must worship him in spirit and in truth."
There had been rain during the night, and the stone houses of Nablûs, the white rocky terraces which bordered the fruit-gardens on the hill-sides, and the slabs of smooth stone in the plains, glistened like mirrors in the gleams of sunshine. The grass, the wild flowers, the fruit-trees, and the broad fields of wheat and barley were still wet with the recent shower, and looked vividly green where the quickly traveling clouds overshadowed them.
We took the upper path over the spurs of Gerizim; it was rocky and stony, but bright with mezereons, vetches, and forget-me-nots. We met a number of soldiers and several large parties of horsemen. The traffic on the roads leading to Nablûs was greatly increased at that time, owing to the presence of Kamîl Pasha and his troops. The lower road, which is nearly in the middle of the plain, and passes near to Jacob's Well, was traversed by companies of peasants and strings of camels, donkeys laden with firewood, and women carrying bowls of milk or cream. I was as​sured that the scene was unusually animated for the time of the year, but the plain is more busy and cheerful-look ing in harvest time.
We passed two small villages, the lawless-looking inhabitants of which came out to watch us as we went by, while their children shouted in chorus, and their dogs barked savagely. In about one hour and a half we came to Hawara, which is the third village on the way from Nablûs. It is a large, strongly-built place, though unwalled. Its houses are like little castles. The olive-trees and gardens around it were in flourishing order.
Near to this spot the upper and lower roads are united, and just where the two ways meet we paused, and my brother and my Nablûs friends took leave of me, and rode quickly away down the lower road in the plain, while I went on with my little escort, which consisted of three individuals.
Mr. Finn's head kawass, a clever and energetic Moslem, led the way. He wore a scarlet cloth jacket braided with gold, full white cotton trowsers, and a red cloth tarbûsh. He carried a sword and pistols, and was mounted on a fine black horse, of which he was very proud.
Mohammed, our faithful Egyptian groom, who had charge of the luggage, was dressed in a long hooded drab cloth pelisse, made at Aleppo, and ornamented tastefully with broad black braid. He was riding on his indefatigable little donkey.
Simeon Rosenthal, the Hebrew dragoman of the British Consulate at Jerusalem, was the third. He was born of Jewish parents at Bucharest, but had embraced Christianity, and had lived in Jerusalem nearly thirty years. He spoke English pretty fluently, but with Oriental idioms; in fact, nearly every sentence which he uttered was like a quotation from the Bible. He was a stout, elderly man, with a ruddy face, bushy gray hair, and twinkling gray eyes. He was dressed in European clothes, but wore over them a large white abai or cloak made of goat's hair, and ​a broad-brimmed hat covered with white calico, and with white muslin wound round it and hanging down behind like a vail. He carried a brace of pistols, and to his care I was especially committed, though Mohammed, the groom, seemed to think that he was my more natural guardian, and he kept as near to me as his laden donkey and the uneven roads would let him. Sometimes he was almost wedged in between me and a projecting rock, or he came suddenly forward just under my horse's feet, or would follow me so closely that he was in danger of a kick. He was very good and attentive, and if he saw me look at a flower he would immediately jump down to gather it, though I never could teach him to bring me a stalk more than an inch long, and he rarely brought me the right flower.
I looked back now and then to see the last of my brother and his little party, as they rode toward the green valley of Nablûs. Simeon, who was by my side, said, "I pray you, Miss Rogers, do not look back any more. When you look back so, as if you had no heart to go on, it makes me think that you have no trust in me. I pray you look forward only." To reassure him, I cast no more longing looks behind, and, though I felt rather sad, I would not let it be perceived.
For about two hours we passed through a highly-cultivated district of hills and plains, dotted with villages, olive groves, and orchards, and green fields where laborers were busy. Women, with their heads covered and their faces almost concealed with white linen or cotton vails, were gathering tares, bright wild flowers, and weeds among the corn. Some of them had infants slung on their shoulders, and in unsown tracts of land, girls were toiling at picking out the stones. Men were sitting in groups smoking and gossiping, while others were digging up the ground in gardens and orchards, and placing large stones round the trunks of old olive-trees. They looked up from their work to gaze at us with curiosity. Simeon overheard the crit​icisms of some passers-by. They were wondering who I might be, when one of them settled the question, very decidedly, by saying, "She is a foreigner belonging to the harem of Kamîl Pasha, and she is going to Jerusalem for safety, for there may be war in the neighborhood of Nablûs soon."
At a little after midday we rested for half an hour near to a well-side at the foot of a very steep hill. Cold fowls and bread and wine were spread for me, on a smooth block of stone. At one o'clock we started again, and attempted to ascend the hill, by one of the worst and most stony roads in the country. Simeon's clumsy saddle slipped down over the back of his horse; but he was fortunately able to save himself by clinging to the neck and mane of the animal, and then jumping to the ground. He directed the kawass to guide us by another road, even though it might be a longer one, saying to me, "I am afraid for you, for if any harm befall you, I shall not dare to see your brother's face again." I consented, though rather reluctantly, to take the longer and easier road. The scenery had quite changed. We had left behind us the pleasant plains of Ephraim, and the cultivated gardens and terraced hill-sides; and, with the exception of one unusually-fine oak, which stands conspicuously near to the ruins of an ancient castle, on a high ridge, we did not see a tree for several miles. But the beautiful poterium spinosum, in full leaf and blossom, grew profusely wherever there was any earth on the stony hills. We passed down a wild and narrow glen. The cliffs on each side were steep and abrupt, pierced with caverns, and channeled with water-courses, and in the bottom of the valley there were large rocks of fantastic form, percolated by rain, and tinted red, gray, orange-color, and lavender, relieved by black and white. On the rock-ledges above us there were scanty crops of barley, wheat, and lentiles, and olive and fig trees appeared again in small groups. Flocks of goats and larger cattle were being led out to seek for pasture by rather desperate-look​ing herdsmen, well armed. I was informed that we were traversing a district celebrated, from time immemorial, for the lawless and daring character of its inhabitants. The pleasant sound of falling water attracted my attention. It was trickling down the side of the cliff, amid ferns, mosses, liverwort, and tiny wild-flowers with blue and yellow blossoms. It splashed into reservoirs, hollowed out one below the other in the native rock, at the foot of the cliff. This pretty water-fall is appropriately called "Ain-el-Harâamiyeh," or the "Fountain of the Robbers," for it is often the scene of violence, and travelers are frequently waylaid by bandits in this wild glen.
At three o'clock we were about half-way on our road to Jerusalem, at the entrance of "Wady-el-Tîn," that is, the "Valley of Figs." It is well named, for it is a long wide grove of trees. But it was then so early in the Spring that the fig-trees were not sufficiently advanced to be beautiful, and though some of them had "put forth their green figs," and on others a few tender leaves appeared, they were for the most part almost bare. They gave me the idea of a petrified leafless forest, for the tortuous trunks and branches were almost as white as the rocks and stones amid which they grew. This valley in the Summer-time is a lovely place, for then the large green leaves form a perfect shade, the ripe and abundant fruit cools the lips of the thirsty traveler, and the air is filled with a sweet odor exactly like that of the heliotrope. The road led us over an extensive plateau, where hollyhocks and anemones, and other bright blossoms, grew among thorns, while here and there patches of cultivated land appeared. On the hills around we could see solitary villages perched on rocky terraces, in the midst of orchards and vineyards.
The way was easy for the horses, and the sun had lost its power, so I urged the kawass to ride forward more quickly, and I followed him, cantering between the corn fields, and among the thorns and Spring flowers. But I soon found that Simeon could not keep up with us. I ​waited for him, and when he, almost out of breath, joined us, he said, "I am very sorry, but I have no power to run." So we proceeded more slowly, and did not reach "Beitîn" till six o'clock.
The shades of evening were deepening rapidly, and we did not pause to examine the extensive ruins on the ridge, but alighted in the valley close to the remains of an ancient cistern, formed of large, well-hewn stones. The bottom of it was covered with a bed of fine fresh grass, in the midst of which a stream of water flowed from fountains gushing out of the rock just above it. Scriptural topographists, ancient and modern, agree that this is the Bethel of the Bible. Abraham of old very likely drank of that fountain, and the handmaidens of Sarah may have lingered there day after day when they went down to draw water. There we rested for about half an hour, and took coffee.
The sun had gone down when we rose up to pursue our journey. We were more than three hours' distance from Jerusalem. The stars were shining brightly in a dark sky overhead, but all round the horizon a halo of pale light concealed them. The temperature changed very suddenly at sunset, and we were glad to put on hoods and cloaks. The kawass wrapped a brown camel’s-hair abai around him, and in this dusky costume it was quite impossible to distinguish him on his black horse, as he rode on before me, through valleys or down steep slopes. Now and then, as we ascended a hill, or traversed high table-land, I could see the silhouette of his tarbûshed head against the sky, just above the horizon. I could not make out any of the objects around me except the white rocks in the midst of dark bushes and thorns, and now and then a smooth sheet of water, which reflected the stars, and looked very deep; but my leader splashed through it, and when I followed, I found that the water only wetted my horse's fetlocks, and was the result of the recent rain. Sometimes I could see a solitary tree in dark relief against a white cliff, or the outline of a village crowning a hill-top. I could ​not judge of distances correctly, and I was several times startled by dark objects, appearing to me to be gigantic and far away, but which I found were in reality insignificant in size, and so close to me as to be within reach of my riding-whip.
We were going on in single file, and I was immediately behind the kawass. I was so tired of trying in vain not to lose sight of him, that I said to Simeon, "Oblige me by riding forward, and I will follow you. Your white horse and white cloak can be seen even in this darkness, and I am tired of watching the kawass." He passed, and for a few moments rode before me, but suddenly stopped, half way down a steep declivity, saying, "I am afraid for you. I can not let you ride, and I not see you. Not Jacob gave more anxious charge to his sons when they carried away Benjamin, than I have received concerning you, and how can I let you ride in these dangerous paths out of my sight? Let me follow you, I pray, and you keep close as you can to the kawass, and do not let your horse run— there are loose stones here, and smooth slabs of rock—let him go very gently." I yielded to his entreaty, and once more rode after the invisible leader. I trusted to my horse that he would keep in the right path, and I went on silently as if in a dream.
Suddenly my musings were interrupted. My horse started back on his hind-legs, for the kawass had turned abruptly round and had come to a standstill, and exclaimed, "Ma fî darb" — "There is no road!".
He explained that he had been out of the right track for about half an hour, and he had only just then discovered that we were approaching the brow of a steep cliff. His horse had nearly carried him over the edge. Mohammed began abusing him in very strong terms and sarcastic undertones, while Simeon seemed to be much alarmed and in great trouble.
We were on high table-land, and had reason to be thankful that we had not been dashed down into the dark defile ​below. I asked the kawass if he had any means of judging where we were. He said he knew we must be somewhere between Er-Ram — the ancient Ramah — and Tel-el Fûl, which is by many Biblical topographists believed to be the ancient Gibeah. He proposed to alight and to look for some signs by which he might recover the lost track and a practicable path leading to it. So he tethered his horse to a tree, and Simeon and Mohammed did the same, but I remained mounted. Mohammed handed a hookah to me, and I sat still, smoking, while the three men went in different directions to see if they could recognize any rock, tree, or streamlet, fountain or ruin which might give them a clew. I told them not to go out of sight of the light of my hookah, or out of each other's hearing.
It was with strange emotion that I rested there, in the darkness and alone.
I should have suffered, perhaps, more from fear, if the strangeness and peculiarity of my position had not excited my interest and wonder so completely as to rouse within me the spirit of love of adventure. The silence of night was broken at intervals by the crying and snarling voices of jackals, and the barking and yelling of wild dogs and hyenas.
Now and then I heard the men calling to each other, and the tethered animals would sometimes neigh and shake themselves, as if answering the voices of their respective masters; but my horse stood perfectly still, while I smoked, and thought, and looked up into the night-sky, where the stars appeared infinite in number, and now shone close down to the darkened horizon. I was almost overwhelmed with the multitude of new ideas and vivid scenes which passed ​through my mind. "My spirit had climbed high," by reason of the very danger near, and "from the top of sense overlooked sense, to the significance and heart of things, rather than things themselves."
In rather less than half an hour, though it seemed more to me, the joyful cry of "El-hâmdoulillah!" "El-hâmdoulillah!"-"Praised be God!" — was echoed from one side to another, and soon Simeon, who had not been far off, was by my side, and the other men rejoined me. They had found the right road, and a way to reach it; so we started again, following the kawass.
We had to go down a very difficult and dangerous declivity. My horse, usually very sure-footed, stumbled forward over a smooth slab of inclined rock and some loose stones. I was very nearly thrown over his head — the excellence of my hunting-saddle saved me; but I was so shaken and startled that I trembled from head to foot, and was obliged to pause for a few minutes. A hookah, the Oriental panacea, was brought to me. It was so very dark down in that valley that I could scarcely distinguish one of the men from the other as they gathered round me. I soon recovered my composure and courage to proceed. We splashed through a stream, and scrambled up a steep embankment, and crossed a stony wady before we regained the proper route.
I had desired the kawass to fasten a white handkerchief over his head as a beacon for me. We were going up a hill, and I was watching this mark, when suddenly a circle of light appeared near it, like a nimbus, and was accompanied by a clicking noise. I found that our leader was preparing a light for his narghilé by a method which I had never before seen adopted, although it is a very common one.
The moistened Persian tumbac,which is used in parghilés and hookahs, can only be smoked by means of a piece of red-hot or live charcoal. The lover of tumbac, when on a ​journey, always provides himself with a flint and steel, some tinder and prepared charcoal, and a little round wire work basket, about two inches in diameter, suspended by three chains, more or less ornamented with beads and silk tassels. When a pipe is required, a piece of tinder is lighted, and placed with some charcoal in the basket, which is whirled rapidly round and round. The charcoal soon becomes so thoroughly red-hot that it is ready to be placed on the moistened tumbac in the bowl of the pipe. This explained the mystery of the nimbus round the head of my guide.
As soon as we reached the hights of Tel-el-Fûl — the "Hill of Beans"-I could see, in the west, the well remembered and marked outline of Neby Samuel, and in the far east the long, level line of the mountains of Moab, and southward, straight before us, I recognized the hills round about Jerusalem. Soon afterward, from the summit of Scopus, we perceived the dark minarets and domes of the Holy City and the Mount of Olives, where a light was burning in the little tower which was then called "Graham Castle."
It was half-past eleven when we stood by the crenellated walls of Jerusalem. The gates were closed, and there was death-like silence there, till the kawass knocked loudly against the west or Yâfa Gate. The sentinels within were roused, and they cried, "Who is there?" We explained, and then one of the sentinels said, "The gate was kept open till ten o'clock, but now the key is with the Governor." The Governor was living at the other end of the town; however, a messenger was immediately dispatched to him to ask for permission to admit us. Another messenger was sent to the Consulate to announce our safe arrival. We, in the mean time, tired and hungry, were shivering in the midnight air outside the gate, and twenty minutes elapsed before it was thrown open for us. Then I entered in with joy; for I felt at home there, and safe. ​I hastened across the well-known Castle Square, and up the narrow passage, clattering over the uneven pavement, and drew up my horse at the entrance to the Consulate, where my kind friends—Mr. and Mrs. Finn—came out to welcome me. They led me, hooded and cloaked as I was, into their brilliantly-lighted drawing-room, where a conversazione of the "Jerusalem Literary Society" was being held. The rooms were quite English in character, and bright with lamps and well-arranged flowers, and filled with English guests, many of whom were recently-arrived travelers, strangers to me.
Large logs of wood were burning and crackling on the fire-dogs in the chimney-place. The whole presented a most striking contrast to the scenes and society by which I had been lately surrounded, and the delight I felt made me almost forget my fatigue. After the guests had gone we lingered for an hour by the fire in pleasant chat; and then for the first time I slept and found perfect rest and peace within the walls of Jerusalem. It was very pleasant when I woke in the morning to see the Consul's children round me, and to hear their English greetings, and their glad, familiar voices.
I found Jerusalem in the early Spring altogether different to Jerusalem in the hot Summer-time, when it had often appeared to me, literally, "a city of stone, in a land of iron, with a sky of brass," and when at midday all unsheltered places were quite deserted, and those people who could do so lived in tents in olive-groves in the valleys or on the hills round about Jerusalem. Now all was changed; the few open spaces within the city walls were green with grass, or patches of wheat and barley, and the whole of the mosque inclosure was like meadow-land sprinkled with flowers; the very walls were garnished with rough leaves, stonecrop, pellitory, and bright blossoms. Among them the bitter hyssop and bright-yellow henbane were pointed out to me, growing luxuriantly on the Tower of Hippicus, in the dry moat, and on all the ​most ancient buildings; while out of the cracks of the domes, and on the terraced roofs of many of the houses, straggling herbage sprang.
In the streets there was renewed activity; for already the Latin pilgrims were beginning to flock to Jerusalem that they might celebrate Easter at the Holy Sepulcher. English and American travelers were to be seen in the principal streets, sketching under difficulties in the midst of crowds of lookers-on, or making bad bargains with the turbaned salesmen in the bazars. Outside the town, too, the scenery had changed. Wherever the earth rested on the rocky hills verdure appeared, and the plains, and the cemeteries, and valleys were gay with flowers. Bulbous plants abounded, especially asphodels, and the hyacinth, squill, garlic, and star of Bethlehem. Every evening at sunset large companies of people, of all tribes and nations, might be seen entering the city gates, after having enjoyed their evening walk.
I made pleasant excursions in the neighborhood, and revisited many of the chief places in Jerusalem with parties of English travelers, and thus the time passed till March 18th, when to my delight my brother arrived soon after sunrise, in company with the Pasha and his troops. During the day a fierce hot sirocco wind prevailed, and threatened to scorch and destroy the crops. Before sunset we rode out with a large party to see the Jewish plantation, where newly-grafted olive-trees were putting forth new leaves, and apricot, and nectarine, and other fruit trees looked flourishing. But the fields of wheat and barley and the beds of vegetables thirsted for the "latter rain." The gardeners and farm-laborers had been praying for it for many days. They called our attention to a small group of dense black clouds which were then slowly rising out of the west, and one of them said, "Our hope is in those clouds." As we rode home ward a few large drops of rain reminded us of the gardener's words. During the night the west wind rose with ​unusual violence, shook the house to its foundations, and disturbed all the sleepers. The Arab servants, who rose and went from room to room to make the shutters and windows more secure, said, "It is well; this strong wind will bring rain. The cisterns will be filled with water, and the corn will grow. "Praised be God!"
On the following morning, March 19th, torrents of rain and hail began to fall, and continued without intermission all day and during the night. On Thursday the storm was even more violent. The hailstones generally were as large as cherry-stones, but some were three or four times the size. At midday wide flakes of snow fell, but melted quickly.
On Good Friday, March 21st, the first sounds I heard on waking, were the joyful voices of the children. They knocked at my door, crying, "The Kedron is flowing! the Brook Kedron, you know! It is flowing; make haste and get up. See, here is some of the water!"
I found that the peasantry had entered the city at sunrise, in triumph, to announce the news. They had brought several goatskins and jars filled with the water. The bearers of good tidings are now, as of old, entitled to a backshîsh, so these peasants reaped a good harvest that morning in Jerusalem.
The storm continued, and did not cease for a moment till Saturday morning, and there was scarcely an upper chamber in Jerusalem which was uninjured by it. I was assured that three such days of rain had never been witnessed there at that season by any one living. Spring showers are generally of short duration, and quickly followed by sunshine. But this unexpected supply of water was very welcome, for the Winter rains had been less abundant than usual, and had not filled the pools, or "sent the springs into the valleys which run among the hills."
On Saturday afternoon the sun shone brightly on the rain-refreshed earth, and hundreds of people went out to look at the waters of the Brook Kedron. I rode with my ​brother out at the Yâfa Gate, and along the valley of Gihon. We made our way quickly down to En Rogel, the source of the stream. It is south-east of Jerusalem, and called by the Arabs "Bîr-Eyûb"—the Well of Job. We were surprised to find that not only had the spring below the well bubbled up as usual, but the force of the body of water was so great, that it had risen up and overflowed the ancient shaft, which is one hundred and twenty five feet deep. A large concourse of people were already assembled there.
Groups of Moslems sat under the olive-trees, close to the stream, smoking narghilés, drinking coffee, playing with their rosaries, and looking supremely happy. Boys were going about selling sweetmeats and cakes, which they carried on round trays made of reeds. There were several rival purveyors of coffee and pipes. One would have thought that it was fair-day at En Rogel. All sorts of skins, jars of all shapes and sizes, and other vessels had been brought down to the stream, that they might be filled there. Women in white sheets sat in groups on the sun-dried rocks, apart from the men, enjoying pipes and sweetmeats, and children were swinging on ropes tied to the tree-branches. Many of the European residents of Jerusalem were strolling about with their little ones, and the newly-arrived English travelers watched the scene with evident interest and delight.
"Shall we follow the course of the Kedron, and see how far it goes?" said my brother. I readily assented. So we left the noisy but picturesque crowd, and made our way down the valley under the olive-trees—now splashing through the murmuring musical waters, where they passed between the low stone-wall boundaries of fruit and vegetable gardens—now rising on to the sloping hill-side, and returning to the stream whenever there was a practicable path in it, or near it. The rugged rocks around were garlanded with green, thorny creeping plants, and within the niches and in the caverns of the limestone cliffs masses of ​maiden-hair and other ferns appeared. It was very pleasant to observe the turnings and the windings of the new born river, remembering that on the morning of the previous day only, it had sprung fresh and free from its source, to make itself a path in this valley, inviting all the little streamlets from the hills to flow with it. In one place, about a mile from En Rogel, it passed over broad, smooth slabs of time-polished red stone, then tumbled over a little ridge of rocks into a bed formed of small pebbles. Having gained renewed vigor by this fall, it rushed impetuously along a channel about five feet wide, made for it in the midst of a terraced olive-plantation. When thus confined, it was about one foot deep, but when freed from this artificial training, it spread itself over the wide rocky bed beyond, and only wetted our horses' fetlocks as we splashed through it. Sometimes the brook does not flow further than this olive-grove. At other times, when the Winter rains are abundant, it travels down "Wady er Raheb"—The Monk's Valley—to the Convent of Mar Saba; but its ancient destination was evidently the Dead Sea, into which it fell from the "Wady Nar"—The Valley of Fire.
We followed the course of the stream for nearly an hour, and still, to our surprise, it flowed rapidly; but as the sun was declining we gave up the chase, and retraced our steps. We overtook our friends, who were still lingering by the source of the stream.
A Moslem kawass of the British Consulate said to us, "This is the blessing of blessings. Who has ever told of the Kedron flowing in Adar? It comes in the Winter, and even early in Spring; but who has heard of its waters rising at this time? Yet," he added, "while we are rejoicing and giving thanks, there are men whose hearts are hardened by love of money, and who will be sorry to see these rivers of rain—for they have just bought up all the stores of wheat, thinking that the harvest would fail this year for lack of rain. May God destroy their house! Their hope was, that they might make themselves rich by ​the hunger of the poor." The setting sun warned us that we must hasten toward the city before the closing of the gates, and we rode home with a large and cheerful company. Easter Sunday was unclouded, and the people of Jerusalem looked unusually animated, and in their gayest costumes. The Arabs of the Latin Church, as they met each other that morning, exchanged the customary greetings, "Christ is risen!"—" He is risen indeed!".
During Easter week, rain and sunshine succeeded each other, and every now and then we could see a bright but transient rainbow spanning the hills. Mr. Meshullam came to tell us that he and his family had been almost washed out of their little stone-house in the valley of Urtas. A spring had suddenly burst up in their dining-room, another in the stables, and a torrent of water rushing down the valley had carried large pieces of rock and stone over the vegetable and fruit gardens, doing considerable injury to the crops. Solomon's Pools, which, only a few days before, had been the safe and favorite play-grounds of Meshullam's children, were all quite filled in less than four hours. The little ones had been gathering cresses in the corners, at the bottom of the pools, just before the gushing of the springs.
On March 31st I was roused early, by the booming of cannons from the Tower of Hippicus, and I heard that news of the birth of an heir to the Imperial throne of France had just arrived.
Mons. Barrière, the French Consul, called in person to announce the happy event. Mr. Finn immediately caused preparations to be made for a soirée to celebrate it that very evening. I helped to deck the drawing-rooms with green garlands and wreaths of flowers, and about one hundred wax candles were fixed in the front windows. When they were lighted at sunset they produced a very pretty and, for the East, quite unique effect; for Her Britannic Majesty's Consulate was then next door to the Protestant church, and, unlike all other dwelling-houses in Jerusalem, ​it had an English façade. A great many cressets were flaming on the roof, and shone with fitful brightness on the group of kawasses and Abyssinian servants who were feeding and fanning them. Fire-works were skillfully displayed in the court-yard, to the delight of hundreds of spectators. A large party assembled at the Consulate. A number of English travelers came, and many of the European residents. In the course of the evening some Arab musicians were allowed to enter, to play and sing for the especial entertainment of the strangers present. Impromptu songs were sung in honor of the Imperial Prince.
Invitations had, in the mean time, been issued to all the members of the "corps diplomatique" to a déjeûner à la fourchette, to celebrate the birth of the Prince officially, at the French Consulate, on the following day, April 1st.
I went, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Finn and my brother. We were received by M. Barrière, the Consul, and Madᵐᵉ L.—née Leseppes—the sister of the then Consul-General for Syria. The Pasha and all the Consuls, in full uniform, were soon assembled, but no other ladies arrived.
As this was rather a singular réunion, I will describe it in detail. After we had taken coffee, his Excellency Kamîl Pasha conducted Mrs. Finn to the elegantly-spread table in the breakfast-room, and placed her on his left
hand. I was at the same time led in, and seated on his right hand. Madᵐᵉ L. sat exactly opposite to the Pasha, and was supported by the English Consul and the Latin Patriarch. Then the Spanish Consul-General and the other European Consuls, Abbé Ratisbon and several other distinguished French ecclesiastics, Le Comte de Fontenoy, and M. Gilbert, the Pasha's secretary, took their seats, making altogether eighteen.
Turkish, French, Greek, and Italian culinary skill had been employed in preparing the entertainment. While we partook of it, an animated conversation was being carried on in French, with occasional Spanish, Turkish, Italian, and German expletives, but no English was spoken. ​The English Consul proposed the first toast; it was for Abdul Medjid. M. Barrière answered it, and the Latin Patriarch made a graceful comment.
Then the Pasha rose, and, in florid Turkish, proposed the health of the Emperor's son and heir. Mons. G. interpreted this speech, and several other toasts followed. The alliance of Turkey, France, and England was especially alluded to by the Pasha, and the toast was very heartily responded to.
The gentlemen did not linger at the table, but led us immediately to the divan, where cigarettes and narghilés were distributed. When I saw that Madᵐᵉ L. took the former, I did not hesitate to take the latter. The Pasha good-naturedly alluded to my visit to Nablûs, and asked for the particulars of my journey to Jerusalem. Coffee and French motto bonbons were handed round, and there was no sign of breaking up the party for an hour or more. Then, one after another, we left.
On Saturday, April 5th, after having spent the day in the Mosque, with a large party of English people, I returned to the Consulate, and was startled to hear that reliable news had just arrived, that the Rev. S. Lyde, an English subject, had accidentally caused the death of a deaf and dumb man, a Moslem, as he was on the point of leaving Nablûs. The Moslems were revenging themselves on the Christian population, and the Protestants especially were the objects of their fury. Ody Azam's house, where we had lodged, had been attacked, as well as many others, and the Christian quarter was plundered.
A meeting of the Pasha and of some of the Consuls was immediately held. My brother volunteered to proceed to Nablûs to examine the state of affairs there, and to see what means could be devised for Mr. Lyde's safe conduct to Jerusalem. He went the next morning, long before sunrise, attended only by his kawass and groom. The Pasha and some of the Consuls had endeavored to persuade him to have a body of soldiers with him, and even tried to in​duce me to add my persuasions to theirs. But I instinctively felt, as he did, that he was more safe alone, than if he went with an antagonistic and yet insufficient force. Considerable anxiety was felt on his account, for it was thought to be a hazardous enterprise.
He arrived at Nablûs before the excitement was subdued. The people seemed to be taken by surprise, and to be calmed by his confidence in them. He found that Mr. Lyde had been kindly protected from the enraged populace by Mahmoud Bek Abdul Hady, in his new and beautiful house, which was actually besieged by the people, and considerably injured, because the Governor refused to yield the offender up to them. Mr. Lyde, seeing the mischief that was being done, made his will, wrote a few letters, and then begged the Governor to let him go out to the mob, that they might be appeased by his death. He said, "If they can not kill me, others will surely suffer." However, the Governor steadily persisted in protecting him, and detained him as his prisoner, saying, "Be at rest—I and my family, my servants and all my household, will risk our lives, rather than let yours be sacrificed." The disappointed crowd gathered menacingly round the building, and threw stones and fired at it for some time, and then went away to wreak their vengeance on the unoffending inhabitants of the Christian quarter.
The following extract, from a dispatch addressed to Mr. Finn by my brother, will show the persistent cruelty of the fanatics:
"I then went to the house of M. Zeller, where I found the lower rooms utterly pillaged, and the floors covered with broken china, leaves of books, maps, and papers of all descriptions, in fragments. Upstairs, I found the trunks, desks, boxes, a chest of drawers, etc., broken and destroyed. In fact, the populace left nothing undone that could possibly be effected toward the injury of the Christians. Fortunately, most of the Protestants were, and are still, away with the Bishop, otherwise they would certainly have been ​murdered." [This refers to Bishop Gobat, who was making a tour through his diocese, and had passed through Nablûs a few days before the outbreak.]
"Samaan Kawarre, father of the Prussian Agent, is killed. Hanna, servant of M. Zeller, is dangerously wounded, and despaired of. J. Tannûs and his wife, and several others, are badly wounded—besides eleven women, who are seriously injured by excessive fright," etc.
On the 10th, about midday, I was attracted to the window by sounds of prancing horses and tum-tums, and saw Mr. Lyde, in the midst of a little party of Turkish irregular cavalry. He alighted at the Consulate, a prisoner en parole. We all went out to meet and welcome him, and he gave us an account of the riots. He was very dejected. He said to me, "Mr. Rogers ran a greater risk on my account than my life is worth."
On Sunday, the 13th, my brother arrived. The riots were quelled, but the Christians felt less confidence than ever in their Moslem neighbors. Most of the Protestants had come to Jerusalem, and the rest were at Nazareth. My brother had brought with him the jeweled head-dresses, and necklaces of gold coins and pearls, belonging to some of the Christian women of Nablûs, and gave them into my care. He had been earnestly entreated to do so by their owners, of whom some had taken flight, and feared to carry their valuables with them—and others, who remained at home, felt that no hiding-place was safe while the town was so unsettled.
Mahmoud Bek Abdul Hady, the Governor, had certainly protected the Christians, during the outbreak, as far as he possibly could.
The indemnity of 55,000 piasters, adjudged to the injured Christians by the Porte, was not paid till two years afterward.
Mr. Lyde's trial, at Jerusalem, occupied a considerable time. He was eventually condemned to pay a certain sum, as "blood-money," to the heirs of the deceased man, who ​was a well-known and rather favorite character in Nablûs. He was deaf and dumb, and slightly deranged in intellect, and consequently was superstitiously respected by the Arabs, and was yet, at the same time, an object of their amusement. He was a professed beggar, and very importunate. It appeared that he stopped Mr. Lyde's horse, near to the Nablûs Gate, and, by signs and gestures, besought alms, which were refused. When Mr. Lyde tried to pass on, the deceased caught hold of the end of a loaded pistol, which was in the holster of the saddle, and unfortunately cocked. Mr. Lyde, knowing the danger, endeavored to remove his hand. In doing so, the pistol went off, and the man was killed on the spot. Mr. Lyde was immediately surrounded, but he hastened to the Governor, and gave himself up as prisoner. [Mr. Lyde did not long survive this calamity. His mind became very seriously affected. He imagined himself to be the Redeemer of the world. A visit to England in 1858, however, dispelled the delusion; and he returned to his missionary work in the East, in apparently good health, but died, very much regretted, shortly afterward.]
By the 15th of April Jerusalem was thronged with people. The population was nearly doubled by the influx of Russian, Greek, and Armenian pilgrims, who had come to pass the Holy Week—old style—in the Holy City, to visit the neighboring shrines which they reverence, and to attend the Easter services in the Church of the Sepulcher. Every day added to the number of these earnest devotees. Most of them are poor people, who have saved a sufficient sum of money to enable them to perform the pilgrimage. They generally return home quite penniless, but happy in having realized the great object of all their struggles. There were, however, a few pilgrims who were distinguished by rank, office, or wealth, and who traveled with brilliant cavalcades.
On the 24th of April I was roused at three o'clock by the booming of cannons from the citadel. They flashed ​for an instant every few minutes, lighting up my room. Then there was silence and darkness, and I slept till seven, when another volley woke me, and I rose. Every one was busy, for Kamîl Pasha had issued a proclamation, ordering "all the people of Jerusalem to rejoice and be glad, and render thanks to God, and to illuminate their houses," in celebration of the announcement of peace between Russia and Turkey. The tinmen, and the dealers in "lamps, old and new," and the makers of lanterns, reaped a golden harvest that day. Contrivances for illuminating engaged every one. There was a great demand in the bazars for gilt wire and colored paper wherewith to incase wax candles.
At noon a busy and merry little party of English girls assembled at the Consulate. Paper roses and carnations grew rapidly beneath our fingers, and were fastened to the tree-branches and boughs with which Hadj Ali, the Egyptian groom, supplied us. He brought us a donkey load; but he had made his selection without any sentiment, and as he thought carrot-tops much more beautiful than olive-branches or laurels, he gathered the former in abundance. However, they made bright-green garlands, and had a pretty effect with our flowers, and no one could guess what they were. We had several visitors, who were much amused while we were making our garden grow. The Spanish Consul-General, the French Consul, and some English travelers came. The Pasha's Secretary, who peeped in several times, said he would report to Kamîl Pasha how thoroughly we were obeying the orders of the day.
The sun went down, and then by degrees the city was lighted up. Rings of light encircled the minarets and some of the domes. The Latin convent and Bishop Gobat's house were brilliant with flambeaus and cressets, and a flood of light streamed through the garlanded windows of the Consulate. Groups of white-sheeted women, and crowds of men and boys carrying torches and colored ​paper lanterns, paraded the streets. About an hour after sunset a sham fight took place, under the direction of the chief commander of the troops. We went with a large party on to the roof of the offices to witness it. The Tower of Hippicus, occupied by the regulars, was besieged by the artillery and irregular Turkish troops. The city trembled with the booming of cannons, and the volleys of fire, and the thrilling sound of musketry. Large bonfires, and iron baskets filled with pitch and tar, were lighted in conspicuous places, so as to make it seem that some of the buildings had taken fire; and by their light we saw men scaling the walls, and to all appearance large masses of stone were hurled upon them. The cannons and battering rams were dragged along, and troops were rushing incessantly across the Castle Square. We heard the cries and shouts of the soldiers. At last the tower was taken and victory proclaimed. The bugles, drums, fifes, and pipes, and tum-tums sounded. The whole affair was exceedingly well managed, and gave us a vivid idea of the actual sieges which Jerusalem has from time to time suffered. In Scriptural and other historic records descriptions or notices of no less than thirty-four distinct and successful sieges of the city may be found.
A large party assembled afterward at the English Consulate, including the Pasha and his suite, the commander of the Turkish troops, and several Consuls and travelers. Among the latter was Lord Abercrombie, who had only arrived a few hours before. He with his party had crossed the desert on their way from Cairo, and had been detained in quarantine for a few days at Hebron. They came in sight of Jerusalem at about midday, when the flashing of guns and the booming of cannons so much alarmed them that they were on the point of retreating to the coast for safety, thinking that the city was in a state of insurrection. However, when they were informed of the true cause of the firing, they eagerly proceeded on their way to join in the festivities. ​On Saturday, April 26th, or Holy Saturday, the day preceding the Greek Easter, I visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, to witness what is said to be the miraculous kindling of the sacred fire over the tomb of Christ. After traversing a few winding and windowless streets, stony and irregular, and then almost deserted, we entered the busy bazar which leads to the church. Here all was bustle and confusion; buyers and sellers paused to watch the concourse of people hastening to the festivals. We passed under an archway, and found ourselves opposite the beautiful façade, with its double doorway and sculptured friezes. It was about half-past eleven. The square court was lined with Turkish soldiers. The surrounding terraces and house-tops were covered with women shrouded in white sheets, and forming picturesque groups, sitting and standing in the dazzling sunlight. Crowds of Greeks and Armenians were entering in at the door. I was met there by Mons. Lesselle, the Cancelière of the French Consulate, and with difficulty he led me into the church, and across the area of the rotunda, where all was confusion and excitement. The pilgrims were running and leaping in all directions, uttering wild cries, and a monotonous sort of chant. The noise was almost bewildering. With Mons. Lesselle’s assistance I climbed up a steep platform, and then ascended a tottering staircase, which led to the Latin gallery on the north side of the rotunda.
One portion of it had been set apart for strangers, and I was glad to be safely placed there. It was like a large opera-box, with heavy but insecure railings in front, close to which chairs were occupied by a Dutch Baroness and her daughter, a monk, and the celebrated Abbé Ratisbon, an American lady and a Scottish lady, to all of whom I had been previously introduced. There were several Arab women seated on the matted floor in the back part of the box, smoking narghilés. Among them I recognized with pleasure the lady at whose house I had rested at Ramleh. After I had exchanged greetings with her I went forward, ​and took the seat in front prepared for me, and looked down on to the strange scene below. In the center of the extensive area of the Rotunda rises the carved and decorated marble shrine over what is supposed to be the tomb of Christ. The top of it was on a level with us. Wild-looking men, with their clothes disordered, and their caps and tarbûshes torn off—some with their long hair streaming, others with their shaven heads exposed—were performing a sort of gallopade round it. They jumped, they climbed on each other's shoulders, they tossed their arms into the air, dancing a frantic dance, that would have suited some Indian festival. Sometimes this revelry was arrested for a moment, only to commence in another form.
The actors, whose numbers had been continually augmenting, stood in groups, in little circles, tossing their heads and arms backward and forward to a monotonous cry, which grew louder and louder every minute, as the movements of heads and arms became more rapid. They kept this up till they looked mad with excitement, and they beat themselves and each other fearfully. Then they broke up the separate circles, and ran round and round the sepulcher again, with frightful rapidity, heedless of trampling one another under foot. Here and there a priest was giving himself up to the frenzy of the people, and, to gain a reputation for sanctity, he allowed himself to be most unceremoniously handled. His cap was torn off, and he himself was lifted up and carried in triumph round and round the shrine. The pilgrims believe that the fire would never come down on the tomb unless bands of the faithful thus encircled it.
In the mean time I had a pleasant chat with the Baroness. She had been six months on the Nile. She said, "My husband is dead, and I have no son; my daughter and I are alone in the world. We travel everywhere together, and alone; we have seen every people of Europe." The Abbé Ratisbon directed our attention to ​a change in the scenes going on below. The wild mob had been driven back to make room for the entrance of an orderly procession, formed of bishops and priests in gorgeous robes. They carried silk and gold-embroidered banners, and chanted with solemnity and great emotion a beautiful litany, while they walked three times slowly round the sepulcher. A path had been made for them by a body of Turkish soldiers, who lined the inner and outer circle of the rotunda. They behaved with praiseworthy impassiveness, and they actually looked like automata. But the impatient pilgrims came forward again, bursting wildly through the ranks. The procession of priests was broken, and soon disappeared altogether. The soldiers retired, and the people recommenced their frantic dance round and round the sepulcher with renewed energy. The Arab worshipers shouted from time to time:
    Christ, the Son of God, died for us!
    Christ, the Son of God, rose for us!
    This is the tomb of Christ our Savior!
    God preserve the Sultan!
    Christ, the Son of Mary, died for us!
    Christ, the Son of Mary, rose for us!
    This is the tomb of Christ our Savior!
    God preserve the Sultan!"
All the galleries, and even the niches in the square columns, were now occupied by lookers-on. Kamîl Pasha and his suite were in a box of the Latin gallery immediately above us. The French Consul, my brother, and several English travelers were also present. For about two hours the above scenes lasted. Then I observed a break in the crowd exactly opposite to an oval aperture which looked into the inclosure of the sepulcher. A priest in bright-yellow silk robes advanced toward it, and was welcomed with wild cries. He stooped forward, and thrust his head and shoulders and one arm through the hole, quite blocking it up. In this awkward posture he remained for a long time, and allowed himself to be beaten severely by the people who clustered round him. ​There was a terrible struggle to try to gain a position commanding a view of this priest; for he it was who would distribute the sacred flame. He was, for the occasion, called the "Priest of the Holy Fire," and had paid a large sum of money for the privilege of receiving the sacred flame from the hands of the "Bishop of the Holy Fire," who was within the tomb, almost in a state of nudity. Every one in the area had either a torch or a taper ready to be lighted.
A pause of eager expectancy—a silence almost as exciting as the noise—was succeeded by a startling and tremendous shout, which shook the building to its foundation. A voice from within the sepulcher had proclaimed that the miraculous fire was kindled! The priest now drew forth his head from the hole, and held up a mass of fire, amid cries of thanksgiving and rejoicing from the multitude.
In less than a minute a hundred torches were burning brightly, and soon the light spread all round the Rotunda. We looked down upon the waving firebrands and flaming torches, held up by naked arms outstretched exultingly, the men themselves could scarcely be seen through the sea of fire and smoke. At this juncture there appeared to be a very suspicious movement in the crowd. The Armenians and Greeks were evidently attacking each other angrily, and trying to extinguish each other's torches. One sect was jealous of the other. The sacred flame from heaven, as they called it, had been distributed unequally, and it was said that the priest of the fire had conveyed it to one party before the other, instead of giving it to them at the very same instant, according to the regular stipulations. This priority, real or pretended, was the pretext for a general fight. Every hand was raised in defense or offense. Flaming torches were tossed about recklessly, and clubs, kûrbages, and sticks were raised. The Turkish soldiers were recalled, but at first they only seemed to add to the general confusion. After about ten minutes' violent con​flict, the Armenians succeeded in driving the Greeks into their church, which is on the eastern side of the Rotunda. The great brass gates were closed upon them, and for about five minutes there was comparative peace and silence.
The Pasha, with his suite, descended from the gallery above us, and was making his way across the area, when the Greeks suddenly burst out of their church, and before His Excellency could pass, another contest arose, more dangerous and exciting than the first.
Clubs and sticks were thrown down into the area to the Greeks, through the high windows looking from the terraced roof of their neighboring convent. The Armenians were so well provided with such weapons, some of which were spiked, that it was supposed that the outbreak was premeditated.
Wild cries and heavy blows resounded on all sides, with out intermission. The Pasha himself was roughly handled, and he lost some of his decorations in the scuffle. The Commander of the Cavalry was thrown down, and several people high in authority were attacked by the infuriated mob. Large pieces of wood were hurled up against the galleries, where, to add to the confusion, most of the spectators were crying and screaming with fright. The door of our box was suddenly opened, and a number of women shrouded in white sheets were pushed in for safety—then the door was closed again.
We who were in front were in danger of falling into the area below, for the wooden railings were tottering and leaning outward at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees. I had great difficulty in keeping the Arab women from pressing forward, and thus pushing us over. They all seemed panic-stricken, and were sobbing convulsively. The Dutch Baroness was distracted with fear, not for herself, but for her only daughter, who, however, was perfectly self-possessed and calm, and tried to inspire those around her with courage. The monk and Abbé Ratisbon looked pale and terrified. The latter said to me, "It is not fear, ​Mademoiselle, but indignation that excites me." The soldiers were endeavoring to clear the church, and it was expected that they would receive orders to fire on the obstinate fanatics, who, not content with injuring each other, began to attack the building itself. Pictures of saints and martyrs were destroyed by sharp-pointed sticks being thrust into them. The carved and gilt wooden vases, which ornamented the tawdry, cage-like covering of the tomb, were deliberately aimed at and knocked down; and two priests, who had intrepidly climbed on to the top, to try to preserve the crystal and silver lamps and other valuables there, were pelted piteously. As soon as the ornaments were displaced they were picked up, and used as missiles wherewith to assault the galleries. Many a large piece glanced close to us, who were near the front, but happily we escaped injury. The Scottish lady was so overcome with alarm that she fainted, and then at my urgent request the Arab women fell back as far as they could, to make room for her to recover herself, and to enable us to retreat a few inches from the railings in front of the box. The conflict became more and more furious. We saw terrible wounds inflicted, blood flowing from shaven heads, frightful gashes on uplifted faces, and people thrown down and trampled on. Screams, imprecations, and desperate prayers resounded. For more than a quarter of an hour this fierce fight lasted; then, by degrees, it abated, and the Turkish soldiers succeeded in driving out the chief of the combatants, not, however, without receiving some serious blows.
When the place was partially cleared, we saw that the marble pavement of the Rotunda was strewed with fragments of glass, silver chains, bits of carving, broken tapers, torches, and tarbûshes, and the entire surface shone with oil, which had streamed from the hundreds of lamps thrown down and crushed under foot. We were hoping that our friends were all safe, when to our relief they appeared crossing the area with the English travelers who had been present. They all looked pale and anxious, for ​they understood better than we did the dangers which had threatened us. They had greatly feared that the woodwork of the building would take fire, when escape from the galleries would have been almost impossible. They approached to assure us of our safety, and begged that we would wait quietly till they could come for us. The French Consul and the Commander of the Cavalry paused just below our box. They seemed very much excited; the former said, "I pray you, ladies, do not attempt to stir yet."
Some time elapsed before it was considered prudent to allow us to leave our retreat, for the fight was being carried on desperately in the court and streets outside the church. At last the French Consul, my brother, and several friends came for us, and we were led away. I found that the oil floating over the marble floor was at least a quarter of an inch deep. The Turkish soldiers still had possession of the building. They had behaved with great moderation during the whole of the riot, and apparently did all they could to prevent bloodshed. They had quite cleared the outer court when we crossed it, and were standing all round it with fixed bayonets. But the streets were obstructed by groups of quarrelsome people, and with difficulty the kawasses cleared a way for us. When we were safe at the Consulate, my brother returned to the Sepulcher, to see what damage had been done. He took, with out opposition, from the hands of an Armenian, a heavy stick, five feet long and three inches in diameter, and he examined a great number which were armed with spikes.
The Pasha held a council immediately, and it was decided that the Greek and Armenian services should for the future be held at different hours, so that such disgraceful and dangerous collisions in the church might be avoided. It was ascertained that very few deaths had occurred, but some serious injuries had been inflicted.
I have conversed with many educated Greeks, both priests and laymen, on the nature of this ceremony, and I found that, without exception, they were heartily ashamed ​of it. Some of them plainly admitted that it was an imposture, others called it a pious fraud, but all agreed that it would not be advisable to disturb the faith of the mass of the people, who were thoroughly impressed by the belief that God himself descends, and with his glorious presence kindles the fire over the tomb every year on Holy Saturday. One Greek priest, a kind and earnest man, said to me, privately, "If it were possible, which is rather doubtful, to destroy the wide-spread and deep-rooted reliance on the reality and genuineness of this miracle, we should do more harm than good, for we should at the same time inevitably shake the faith of thousands; they would doubt all things, even the existence of God; they would abandon the Holy Church, and be left without any religion to guide them."
I could sympathize with him heartily, for his was a very difficult position. But I felt more strongly than ever what a mistake it is, to try to support that which is believed to be the truth by that which is known to be false.
Unhappily, the argument used by that amiable but fettered priest is a very common one. Religion has been so incumbered with forms and ceremonies, that the ceremonies are, by the mass of the people, mistaken for or confounded with the essence of religion.
Men fear to disturb them now, lest truth and error should fall at the same time, as if they thought that religion in its simplicity and purity could not stand alone.
When will truth be fully trusted and be permitted to triumph? When will people believe that truth is stronger and safer than trickery and wrong, and that there is always danger in teaching and supporting an error, but no danger in acknowledging one?
    "Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John viii, 32.
    "Clothe not the truth with vanity, neither conceal the truth against your own knowledge." Koran, ch. ii, Sale's Translation.
    "The very essence of truth is plainness and brightness."—Milton.
    "Great is the truth and stronger than all things; it liveth and conquereth for evermore; she is the strength, kingdom, power, and majesty of all ages. Blessed be the God of Truth."—Zorobabel.
    "Custom without truth is but agedness of error."
Unfortunately, there is another powerful motive for keeping up this solemn jugglery. Large sums of money are spent in Palestine every year by the pilgrims, who come from all parts of Russia, Greece, and Turkey, and the people of Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Nazareth naturally regard Easter as their harvest-time.
Priests, shopkeepers, relic-manufacturers, householders, owners of camels, horses, and other beasts of burden, would all more or less feel it, if the annual pilgrimages were to cease; and as the holy fire is the chief attraction, the temptation to encourage the delusion is very great.
Is this strange ceremony a relic of the services of the fire-worshipers of old? There are two or three Moslem shrines which are said to be miraculously illumined on certain days, and I am told that as early as the ninth century the Syrian Christians believed that an angel of God was appointed to light the lamps over the tomb of Christ on every Easter-eve.
* ↑ When a "certain Levite" was traveling from Bethlehem home to Ephraim with his recovered "concubine," toward the close of the day he said to his servant, "Let us draw near to one of these places, to lodge all night in Gibeah or in Ramah; and the sun went down upon them when they were by Gibeah, and they turned aside thither to go in to lodge in Gibeah." And the city was destroyed and the people were scattered for the wrong they did to the travelers that night; and behold the flame of the city ascended up to heaven. Judges xix.
* ↑ Mrs. Browning.