In a Syrian Saddle

by A. Goodrich-Freer

Khalil chose to conduct us off the highroad, which seemed to us better adapted to the imperfect light, and over some very rough ground through the village of Gath-Hepher, birthplace of Jonah, and where, as may be gathered from the presence of his tomb, he was also buried. He was, additionally, buried near Jaffa, and somewhere in the direction of Hebron—circumstances of a nature not unusual in the case of saints and heroes popular among the faithful of more than one confession. This, we gathered, was his Moslem burial-place.

About twenty minutes later we reached the spring of Kefr Kennâ, probably the Cana of the New Testament, and, if so, the source of the water that was made wine. The women, somewhat wild-looking and unkempt at this early hour, were filling their jars from the sarcophagus into which the water runs; but they offered no discourtesy, and made no demands for backsheesh. It was barely seven o'clock when we rode into the courtyard of the little Latin church built over the alleged site of the first miracle of Jesus. The Franciscans in charge of the mission were in church, we were told, and we made our way in, and found the father (with the single attendant brother) saying his office by the light of a solitary candle. When he had finished he hastened to place himself at our disposal, showed us the church, and afterwards invited us to take refreshment. The church is a little gem, both as to architecture and decoration. It is seldom one can honestly admire a modern church in this country, as, however good the building may be, it is generally hideously disfigured by the offerings of the faithful. However, at Cana there are no nuns to make crochet and paper flowers, no opportunities for grateful Arabs to testify piety by Christmas-tree balls. All is of rich simplicity, and the Père Curé is too good an archæologist to allow of the usual glaring anomalies. The church, built in 1880, stands on the site of an older one, visible below the present flooring at various points where trap-doors are open to exhibit, here an inscription in mosiac, there a fragment of wall or of carving; but it may be doubted whether these belong to the church built by Helena and described by Paula in the fourth, Antoninus Martyr in the sixth, and Willibald in the seventh century; and visited, according to Michaud, by St Louis, in May 1251, with his wife, Margaret of Provence. A large earthenware jar is shown in the church, of antique design and of local manufacture, in illustration of those in use in the time of our Lord. The amount of wine that six such water-pots would contain was, indeed, a princely wedding-gift.

In the simple little presbytery, at right angles with the church, curiously reminiscent of many an one in the Highlands of Scotland, we tasted the wine of Cana of Galilee, the red wine of the district, pure and refreshing, with the cordial quality of Burgundy rather than the acidity of claret.

A little Franciscan oratory, built upon the foundations of an ancient chapel, which, in its turn, became a mosque, marks the traditional site of the house of Nathaniel. The adjoining ground now serves as a cemetery. We retraced our steps to the entrance of the village, and returned once more to the Great Plain, where, as we passed by the village of Nahallal, the conviction was forced upon us that the praying agriculturists were about to meet with the fulfilment of their hopes. We had talked of the great black clouds which had been gathering ever since our departure as "fine atmospheric effects," and had refused to listen to the kindly warnings of our good friends at Cana, but we looked with some dismay at the wide, shelterless valley we must cross before reaching the foot of Mount Tabor, where protection among the trees might be hoped for. Fortunately, there was no wind, so the horses made no objection to the rain, although the abrupt, rocky descent into the valley was very slippery. The climb beyond we made on foot, partly out of regard for our horses and partly for the pleasure of delaying at will to enjoy the views and examine the flora.

The flowers and shrubs were very interesting, but less varied than on Carmel; and the clouds somewhat obscured the view until we reached the top, when a grand panorama burst upon us. It was a steep climb, for the mountain is two thousand and eighteen feet, and the plain can be very little above sea-level. However, the road is good, and we were rewarded by the discovery of a dolmen, of which we have not been able to find any record, the more interesting in that they are exceedingly rare west of the Jordan. Fragments of walls and heaps of stones, at various levels, show traces of earlier habitation; and, indeed, it has been lately maintained that, at the time of our Lord, the mountain was too thickly populated for such a scene as the Transfiguration to be at all possible. The evidence on this point is very conflicting, and the authorities at variance have been carefully discussed by P. Barnabé d'Alsace, who, unlike many critics of Holy Land sites, is familiar with the locality under consideration.[5] Lightfoot was the first to express, in 1675, doubt on the subject, mainly on the ground that a friend of his who had climbed the mountain said that it did not tally with the description of Josephus. Granted, for the sake of argument, that the village of the time of Josephus was equally large in the time of our Lord, the existence of an ancient cemetery sets a limit to its eastern extension, as a burial ground could never have been included within a Jewish city. The distance from the cemetery to the edge of the plateau exceeds the distance from the walls of Jerusalem to the Garden of Gethsemane, and the solitude of the Agony has never been called in question.

When we reached the top of the mountain we found ourselves facing a substantial gateway, worthy of the entrance to a park, and with a good carriage drive beyond. Arguing, from force of habit, that a desired end is never approached in this country by a straightforward path, and being wet, hungry, and tired, we reflected that to climb two or three walls, drop into a kitchen garden, and then across a long, ploughed field with no visible means of exit, was the most likely method to bring us quickly within reach of food and shelter. Accordingly we arrived, in time, at a group of buildings, defended by a number of indignant dogs, from whom we were happily separated by a locked gate. Their remonstrances brought forth assistance, and we were finally rescued by a Greek monk, who welcomed us kindly, although to the wrong convent. The Doctor made a rush at some Arabic inscriptions leaning against the west wall of the church; and, of course, we paid a visit to the church itself, within which some remains of an ancient building are preserved, consisting of two apses and part of a mosaic pavement, possibly belonging to the Church of St Elias, and probably of the fourth or fifth century. A little boy led us finally into the right path, and in a few minutes we were within the kindly hospice of the Franciscans, and, but little later, in the presence of a breakfast which we felt we had, for once, earned in the sweat of our brow. A German father and a Dutch brother supplied all our needs, and refreshed us, moreover, with much pleasant talk, reminding us that our climb had been accomplished by the Empress Helena "in her eighties."

The plateau is covered with ruined churches and convents, as the mountain has been held sacred from a very early period—the earliest known mention of it as the site of the Transfiguration being in the Apocryphal gospel according to the Hebrews, the exact date of which is not established more precisely than that it was known to St Ignatius, who died in 107. The mountain is mentioned by Origen and St Jerome, and was visited by several early pilgrims—Paula, Antoninus Martyr, our English Willibald, and others. The earliest convent was established by the Benedictines in 1100; but as early as the sixth century the three tabernacles, desired by St Peter, were already built.

The Franciscan buildings, which are very simple, date only from 1873, when the Friars Minor first obtained a footing on the mountain, the Greeks (Orthodox) having preceded them by five or six years.

Climbing on to a platform of masonry, at the western end of the plateau, we were much encouraged, on looking N.E. towards Tiberias in the direction in which we were going, to observe a blue sky, and the hoary head of Hermon gleaming bright in clear sunshine.

It was a hint to depart, and we hastened, despite intermittent "April showers," to begin our descent, which, to our regret, had to be made by the same path by which we had ascended. We had hoped to have enjoyed the variety of examining the northern or eastern slope.