All in a Life-time

by Henry Morgenthau; French Strother

As the journey was made for the purpose of studying two distinct problems, I think it well to describe in this chapter all the things that are of general interest, reserving for a later chapter the highly specialized Jewish question as I saw and studied it in Palestine. I shall not weary the reader with a complete record of the journey, but shall select for him some interesting incidents and observations without following too closely their chronological order.

Of these, one of the most interesting (and one that involved several amusing complications) was my visit to the Caves of Machpelah. When Doctor Peet heard of my plans to visit Palestine, he came to see me and spent a long time in informing me of what I could see, and of the tremendous benefit that it would be to me and to the missionaries to become personally acquainted. This was a helpful service, and I gratefully made notes of his suggestions. When these were finished, I was somewhat puzzled when he launched into a long dissertation upon the unique advantage which I, as an ambassador, enjoyed in being able to secure permission to visit the Caves of Machpelah. He explained that these caves were the authentic graves of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, of Sarah, Leah, and Rebecca. He added the curious information that the Moslems regarded these patriarchs as among the holiest of the saints of Islam. And so jealous were they in their religious veneration of these tombs that, by an extraordinary paradox, they have for one thousand years prohibited not only the Christians, but the blood descendants of Abraham, the Jews, from visiting these tombs. The Moslems had erected a mosque over them, and they were guarded day and night. The only exception to the rule that none but Mohammedans might visit them was that the privilege was extended to visiting princes of royal blood, and to ambassadors, who represented, not nations, but the persons of their sovereigns. Doctor Peet then enlarged again upon the extraordinary opportunity which this privilege gave me of enjoying a unique experience.

Light had now dawned upon me, and I asked Doctor Peet a question which I intentionally drew out into a long sentence, so as to study the effect upon him. I asked him whether my inference that this great interest which he displayed in my trip and the importance which he attached to the opportunities incident to my travelling not as a private citizen, but as an ambassador, could be construed by me as a hint on his part of a lurking wish that he might accompany me.

Doctor Peet was usually so serious that I did not know how he would respond. He answered me quite earnestly: “Well, really, that was my object in telling you all about it.” I told him I fully realized how valuable his company would be, especially in arranging my meetings with the missionaries, and I most cordially invited him to come with me. A few days later, Peet called again, and said to me: “You know, I have been thinking a great deal about our trip. I shall be able to render the assistance you expect of me in Palestine; but when you visit Syria and Galilee, you ought to have with you Dr. Franklin Hoskins of Beirut, who is a great Arabic scholar and in charge of the missions there, and knows everybody in and everything about that region.” I ended the interview with an invitation for him as well. “But,” I said, “if I invite Hoskins, shall I not slight Dr. Howard Bliss, president of the Protestant Syrian College at Beirut, who was introduced to me at a luncheon given for that purpose in New York by my warm friend, Cleveland H. Dodge, and whom I had then promised to visit at Beirut?” Then Peet said: “Why not invite Bliss, too? He would be a great acquisition to the party.” “But,” I added, “this won’t do, unless I also invite his daughter and her husband, Bayard Dodge.” So I invited these various parties, and received prompt acceptances. But this by no means completes the story.

A few days later Mr. Schmavonian, who had been connected with the Embassy for seventeen years as the Turkish adviser, and who was the custodian of the tradition of the Embassy, awaited me in my office one afternoon after, as I subsequently discovered, he had carefully instructed the doorkeeper not to announce any one for half an hour. He pointed out to me with great detail that American ambassadors had come and gone out of Constantinople, “while Schmavonian went on forever.” He then said: “Now, the benefits of all this knowledge that can be secured on this trip will be lost when you leave Constantinople. Why not take me along, and perpetuate them?” I laughingly asked him how long he expected to stay in the service of the United States, and he answered that he expected to die in it. I hesitated about taking Mr. Schmavonian along, and I told him so, as I feared it would interfere with the activities of the Embassy. He quickly responded: “You know that nothing important will be done in your absence without your consent, so why not have me with you at your elbow, so that you can have the benefit of my advice in deciding the problems that may come up in performing your duties as ambassador, while you are travelling?” I cabled the State Department, and got their consent to take him with me, and he proved of invaluable assistance.

My party then numbered six, besides my family. But, one day in Cairo, where I stopped en route to Palestine, I was approached by Chancellor McCormick of the University of Pittsburgh. After introducing himself and exchanging the compliments of the day, he said: “I hear you are going to visit the Caves of Machpelah. I would not have the audacity to ask you upon so informal an acquaintance [about twenty minutes] for permission to accompany you, but if you want to do a real favour to the three thousand girls and boys who attend the Pittsburgh University, by enabling them to hear from me all about the Caves of Machpelah, I hope you will take me with you.” His plea on behalf of those fine young Americans was irresistible, and he was promptly invited.

That same afternoon, a very likely, rather clerical-looking young man came up to me, and said: “Chancellor McCormick has told me that he has secured permission to accompany your party to visit the Caves of Machpelah and I thought that perhaps if you knew who I was, you would take me along also.” I asked: “Pray, who are you?” He replied: “My brother married Jessie Wilson.” So I said: “My dear Dr. Sayre, you are most cordially invited to join our party.”

Proceeding a few days later from Port Said to Jaffa, I discovered to my great delight that Viscount and Lady Bryce were fellow passengers on that boat. I invited them to join us at our table, and we had a very pleasant talk until late in the evening. I then left the tireless old Viscount on the deck with Schmavonian, and a little later was just about to retire for the night when Schmavonian knocked at the door of my stateroom. He told me that he had, perhaps unguardedly, told the Viscount of our intended trip to the Caves of Machpelah, and that Bryce had expressed an ardent desire to accompany us. I discussed the matter with the Viscount on the following day, and he said: “You know that I, as a former British Ambassador to the United States, could also secure the privilege of visiting the Caves.” I promptly told him that I would consider it a great honour if he and his wife would join our party.

When we finally started our trip to the Caves of Machpelah, our party like a rolling snowball had grown to twenty-six persons. The Caves are near the village of Hebron, some twenty-odd miles north of Jerusalem. We drove thither in open carriages, and at the end of our journey had an experience which confirmed my apprehensions regarding the susceptibilities of the Arab Mohammedans. As we drove into Hebron, a large crowd had gathered to greet us around an arch of welcome which the Jewish communities of Hebron had erected for the occasion. Just as our carriage drew near to the archway, a little Arab child broke loose from his parents, and ran directly in the path of our carriage. At a cry from my wife, the driver reined the horses back to their haunches, but the child was already directly beneath them. By good fortune that was little short of a miracle, their hoofs did not touch him, and he was quickly snatched to safety by his panic-stricken mother. But, I shall not soon forget the black looks of instinctive hatred upon the faces of the Arabs in that throng, who looked upon us as infidel intruders. The same looks and deep murmurs of disapproval accompanied us as we entered the sacred portals of their mosque, which covers the Caves of Machpelah. Their prayer hour had been postponed on account of our visit. Once inside, the spell of antiquity, and the great traditions, erased all other impressions from our minds. Several of the tombs were above ground, and over them were erected stone catafalques, their sides adorned with gorgeously embroidered rugs and broken by grilled doorways through which entrance to the tomb itself was permitted. The other tombs were in caves below the floor of the mosque. They could be seen through holes left in the floor for that purpose. As we examined them from above we observed that two of them, the graves of Abraham and Jacob, were littered with pieces of paper. Inquiry of our Moslem guides disclosed the reason. The Mohammedans have a belief that the spirits of these patriarchs have a special influence with the Deity, and that their intervention in behalf of the faithful can be invoked by written petitions addressed to them and dropped upon their tombs. Observing more closely, we noticed that there was a striking preference shown by the petitioners in the greater number of appeals that had been made in this manner to the spirit of the one rather than to the spirit of the other. Further inquiry developed a curious Moslem tradition to the effect that one patriarch was reputed to be of a benign and accommodating disposition, whereas the other was supposed to be irascible. In consequence, the prudent worshippers had mostly addressed their petitions to the spirit which they felt would be more receptive and not resent their intrusion.

After inspecting the tombs of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, we started to make a similar survey of the tombs of Sarah, Leah, and Rebecca. Our Moslem guides promptly stopped the men of our party. They explained that the Mohammedan rule, that men might not look upon the faces of women, applied to the dead as well as to the living, and that therefore only the ladies of our party might look within the enclosures which protected the tombs of the female saints.