I have already, I believe, mentioned that the Mount of Olives is about a mile in length, and about seven hundred feet in height. To a spectator on the west, it has a gently waving outline, and appears to have three summits of nearly equal height. On the top of the centre one is a Christian church, erected over the spot where, they inform us, our Saviour ascended into heaven; and, in confirmation of the fact, point to a stone with the impression of the left foot, made, as they say, as he was about leaving the earth; that of the right foot has been carried away by the Turks. On Ascension day they come up in great crowds, and have service here. The chapel had been shaken down by the recent earthquake, and the floor was covered by rubbish, so that we did not see the stone, nor did we care about it. In Luke xxiv. 50,[61] it is very clearly stated that the ascension occurred near Bethany, which is on the eastern side of the mountain, more than a mile from this. The Turks have a similar tradition with regard to Mahomet in connexion with this spot, and close to the Christian chapel have a mosque, also nearly laid in ruins by the earthquake.
From this central height a ridge stretches off towards the east for a distance of three fourths of a mile, when it terminates by a bold descent. We were conducted to the end of it in order to enjoy the view eastward, which is very extensive. The plain of Jordan, the mountain beyond, the Dead Sea, and the dark and singular chain of mountains on the east of it, were in full view, as well as all the country intermediate between them and us. Some of us thought that they could see the waters of the Jordan; but although this was uncertain, we could easily trace the course of the river through the plain by the verdure; and where this failed, by the broken nature of the ground. Beyond it towered the lofty mountains of Moab, rising peak above peak in great majesty, including among them Mount Nebo; and as I stood gazing upon them, I took pleasure in repeating the hymn which I had often sung among friends in my own father-land,
“There is a land of pure delight.”
It had a been part of our design to visit the Jordan and the Dead Sea; but the country was then filled with bands of people driven from their homes by the incursion of Ibrahim Pasha, and in a high state of excitement, as well from disaffection to the government as from their sufferings in consequence of the war; and when we proposed this journey, the men who owned our horses refused absolutely to let them go. The Governor of Jerusalem said that a guard of 300 men would be necessary, and offered to furnish us with such an escort, if the Commodore desired it; but this polite offer was of course declined. So we made the most of our mountain view, which was a very extensive one. The atmosphere in these lands of scanty exhalations is so clear that the Dead Sea and the Jordan appeared to be close to us, and we wondered that the journey to them should be esteemed so toilsome. But glancing at the country between us and them, we saw hill succeeding hill, till the detail swelled out into a distance of at least thirty miles. The country below us was a scene of complete and utter desolation; the hills were bare and red, and cut into deep ravines, and in the whole stretch between us and the Dead Sea, scarcely a spot of verdure could be seen. The mountains east of that lake of death have a very unique aspect, rising to a great height, and presenting an outline as smooth and even as if they were an artificial wall.
It was a relief to turn from this dreary prospect to the fertile and verdant mountain on which we were then standing. And as we returned, and, gaining the summit towards Jerusalem, looked down over its graceful slopes, and at the city, all displayed before us, no one could wonder that the Saviour often sought the Mount of Olives for meditation; and that the view around, then so varied, so rich, so beautiful, and soon to be changed by a fearful war into utter desolation, should incite to prayer.
The sun was now beginning to approach the western horizon. We descended by a steep zigzag path leading directly down towards the gate of St. Stephen; and near the foot of the mountain, now immersed in the broad shades of the city, came to a spot, that, as soon as it was named, excited a universal and powerful interest. It was the Garden of Gethsemane. It lies near the foot of the mountain, at an angle formed by the branching of the lower road to Bethany and that to Jericho, by which we had just been descending; and is marked by eight olive trees, that look as if they may have stood almost as many centuries. The Latins, to whom they belong, say, indeed, that they were here in the time of our Saviour, and would punish with excommunication any person of their order who should venture to break a limb or otherwise injure them. They allow pilgrims to peel off any loose pieces of bark that they may find on the huge trunks; which accordingly are kept white and raw looking by the frequency of such visits. They are very large; and as the olive tree is of very slow growth, there may be some truth in the declaration, that the Turks, on regaining the city from the Crusaders, having imposed a yearly tax of ten cents on every olive tree then standing, and half as much on any that should be planted, the records of the monastery show that the former sum was then paid for these trees; but as to the statement that would carry their age to the early times of Christianity, we cannot believe it; for if the olive tree itself were ascertained to last so long, we know that Titus had all the trees within several leagues cut down[62] for the construction of banks and instruments of assault.
As to the query whether this is the Garden of Gethsemane, I do not see that we have any reason for deciding in one way or the other, the notice of its location in the Scriptures (and I believe we have no others) being so very slight. The ground here slopes off more gently than in most other places, and is favorable for a garden; but it is quite near the foot of the mountain, and I think the expression (Luke xiv. 26.) “they went out into the Mount of Olives,” would have led me to look for it higher up; and it seems probable, also, that a spot more retired than one so immediately adjoining the thronged city would have been selected on such an occasion. But these objections are not entitled to much weight, and I feel loth to disturb the belief in a spot of such tender interest. I broke off a few of the branches, and gathered up some of the earth, which I have brought home with me.
Although few of these places can be identified, and all have changed, it was still a high gratification to know that we were among scenes often blessed by the presence of our Saviour and Lord; that here, in this region, he had healed the sick, making joy spring up in bosoms where it had been long a stranger; here had given sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf, and had taught his pure and benevolent doctrines; and that from the scenery around us, and now in our sight, had drawn elucidations and found the subjects for his parables.
About twenty paces northward from this, is a cave twenty-five or thirty feet in diameter, to which we descend, by eleven steps; and here they say our Lord retired for prayer on this occasion; and they show also the spot where the three disciples reclined and slept.
Proceeding again to the northward, we come, at the distance of thirty yards, to a large subterranean chamber called the Tomb of the Virgin. It was lighted up for us; and having descended by a noble flight of steps, fifty in number, and twenty feet wide, cut in the solid rock, we found ourselves in a lofty apartment, branching off into small chambers on the right and left. The latter chamber is used as a chapel by the Copts, while in the other is the reputed Tomb of the Virgin, together with an altar. On either side of the flight of steps, about half way down, is also a recess, containing the reputed tombs of her parents, Joachim and Anna, and of Joseph the husband of Mary. This region is fruitful in traditions connected with the virgin and the apostles; but I pass them by, with the exception of one that is so full of poetry that I trust I shall be pardoned for noticing it.