CHAPTER XI.
A Price for Politeness.—Escort.—Picturesque Scenery.—Samaria.—Its Founder.—Its Vicissitudes.—Residence of Elisha.—Famine.—City beautified by Herod.—Its Location.—Hill of Omri.—Grand Ruins.—Tomb of John the Baptist.—Temple of Augustus.—Prediction fulfilled.—Departure for Cæsarea.—Night on the Plain of Sharon.—The Sick brought out.—Plain of Sharon.—The Lost Lake.—Cæsarea uninhabited.—Dangers.—History.—Imperial City under Herod the Great.—Grand Ruins.—St. Paul a Prisoner.—Death of Herod Agrippa.—Athlît.—Mount Carmel.—Scene of the Sacrifice.—Great Event.—Abode of Elisha.
Samaria, the ancient capital of Israel, is seven and a half miles to the northwest from Nablous, and 25 miles beyond, in the same direction, is Cæsarea, on the Mediterranean coast. Intending to encamp that night amid the ruins of the latter city, we ordered our horses at nine A.M. At the appointed time their solid iron shoes were heard on the pavement below, and the impatient Arab servant was crying, “Horses ready, sir.” But we had met with an unexpected delay. Judging from the magnanimous manner in which the schoolmaster of Nablous had received us at our arrival, and his affable deportment during our stay, he seemed above the tricks and meanness of other Orientals; but an Arab is an Arab the world over—selfish, money-loving, and untrue, whether Christian, Jew, or Moslem. Eastern hospitality always means an equivalent to be returned for whatever has been received. Gifts are presented with the tacit understanding that presents are to be given in return. Even the merchant assures the buyer that all he has is his, well knowing that in this unbounded generosity he is protected by the customs of the East, which are invested with all the sanctity and authority of law. More than once our host had said, “All I have is yours—my house, my food, my service.” To the uninitiated this is equal to his ideal of Oriental hospitality; but when the day of departure comes, the deceptive curtain is lifted, and his Arab host stands before him a persistent creditor. Having paid our host for hisapartments and for the entertainment he had furnished, I saw that he wore an expression of disappointment. “What is the matter, my friend? Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick? It is nothing else but sorrow of heart.” “Ah! my dear sir, you have paid me for my room, for my food, and for my service, but you have not paid me for my politeness.” “How much do you charge for your politeness?” A thoughtful moment followed, and he replied,“Two dollars and a half.”[496]
Waving him an adieu, we sprang into our saddles, and in a few moments issued out of the western portal of the city. Intending to visit Cæsarea, which is now a desolation and a den of thieves, we had taken the precaution to engage two Turkish soldiers as a guard, for whose service the governor had demanded an exorbitant sum. They were to have met us at the gate of the town, but, true to their traditional indolence, they did not arrive till long after the appointed hour. The sun was high, a long journey was before us, many places of deep interest were to be visited, and we felt impatient at the delay. To wait was the only remedy. At length one came, informing us that his companion had lost his horse. Refusing to linger longer, we ordered him to advance, leaving word with the guard at the gate to hasten the tardy soldier, who overtook us after half an hour’s ride.
Our cavalcade now presented a picturesque appearance as we wound round the southwestern spur of Gerizim and descended into the upper end of the Vale of Shechem. Leading the way, our guard were mounted on spirited horses fantastically caparisoned, while they themselves were attired in costumes of the gayest colors. Each was armed with a long gun thrown across the shoulders, a Turkish sword dangling by his side, and a brace of old-fashioned cavalry pistols sticking in his girdle. As we advanced the scenery became surpassingly lovely. Terraced hills rose on either side, casting a grateful shade in the vale below; groves of figs and olives, apples and pomegranates, apricots and almonds, covered the plain and mountain sides. As we rode on, our ears were saluted with the sound of running waters and the song of birds. In less than thirty minutes we passed on our right a noble fountain, covered with a Roman arch, around which were groups of peasants and droves ofasses. An hour beyond we came to an arched mill-race, not unlike a Roman aqueduct, consisting of twelve pointed arches, gray with age and festooned with graceful ferns. It is used for carrying the water to the south side of the valley, where it falls headlong into the heart of an old mill, amid the whirr of wheels, mingling an air of civilization with the crude mechanics of the East. Leaving this terrestrial elysium, our path diverged northward over bleak hills whose limestone ribs had burst through the scanty soil, intensely reflecting the light and heat of a Syrian sun. The path is cut into the solid rock, in some places resembling steps, but now worn smooth by the tread of man and beast. Near the summit of the ridge is the “Shepherds’ Spring,” where maidens were drawing water for their flocks. Now the royal city of Samaria rose to view. Its unique hill, like a truncated cone, adorned with circular terraces; its marble porticoes, now in ruins; and its hut-like dwellings, rising from amid the remains of more pretentious edifices, formed a picture of singular beauty. Descending through magnificent groves, the path followed the valley, and, after passing beneath an old arched gateway, it abruptly turned to the west up the hill of the Samaria of Omri, the Sebaste of Herod, and the Sebustieh of modern times.
The history of Samaria is among the most thrilling and romantic portions of the Sacred Volume. It dates back to 900 years B.C.“In the thirty and first year of Asa, king of Judah, began Omri to reign over Israel, twelve years; six years reigned he in Tirzah. And he bought the Hill of Samaria of Shemer for two talents of silver, and built on the hill, and called the name of the city which he built after the name of Shemer, owner of the Hill Samaria.”[497] Up to this time the revolted ten tribes had no capital city as the object of their pride and the centre of their affections. Originating in rebellion, the kingdom of Israel had been governed by adventurers, who had reared sumptuous palaces as fancy or luxury inclined. From Shechem, the original seat of empire, Jeroboam removed to the enchanting Heights of Tirzah, a magnificent mountain six miles north from Nablous, projecting from the table-land of Ebal. Solomon had praised its beauty in his immortal song:“Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah;”[498] and for forty years it was the seat of royalty. Ambitious for an imperialcity near Jerusalem, Baasha, the successor of Jeroboam, abandoned Tirzah for Ramah; but, overtaken by misfortune, he was compelled to return to the mountains of Ephraim. More successful, however, than his predecessor, after a reign of six years Omri finally exchanged Tirzah for the strength, wealth, and glory of Samaria. Succeeding his father Omri to the throne of Israel, and marrying the Sidonian Jezebel, Ahab removed his court to Jezreel, on the slopes of Gilboa. To him belongs the shame of having first erected an idol temple to Baal on the summit of Samaria, which secured for him the divine verdict that“Ahab did more to provoke the Lord God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel that were before him.”[499] The city was a tempting prize to the military plunderers of that distant day. In the reign of Ahab, Benhadad, king of Damascus, besieged it with a strong and boastful army, but, through the courage and celerity of the young men of the provinces,he was repulsed with terrible slaughter.[500] Long the residence of the Prophet Elisha, Samaria was the scene of many of the most interesting events in his marvelous career. Benhadad, regarding him the cause of the discomfiture of his army, dispatched a detachment of troops to Dothan, six miles to the north, to capture the man of God. Conscious of his danger, Elisha invoked the divine aid, and the Lord smote the men with blindness, and the prophet, whom they had been sent to capture, led them as captives back to Samaria. Forgetting that mercy is due to the vanquished, the king of Israel, in a paroxysm of revenge, cried out, “My father, shall I smite them? shall I smite them?” More humane than his royal master, the kind-hearted Elisha replied,“Thou shalt not smite them: wouldst thou smite them whom thou hast taken captive with thy sword and with thy bow? Set bread and water before them, that they may eat and drink, and go to their master.”[501] Benhadad, enraged at his failure to capture the man whom he supposed was the cause of his ill success, sought to accomplish by famine what he had failed to do by the sword. Investing the city on every side, he reduced the citizens to the greatest necessity. It was during the horrors of the long and fearful famine which followed that, as the King of Israel passed along the wall, “there cried a woman unto him, saying, Help, my lord, O king. And he said unto her, What aileth thee? Andshe answered, This woman said unto me, Give thy son, that we may eat him to-day, and we will eat my son to-morrow. So we boiled my son and did eat him; and I said unto her on the next day, Give thy son that we may eat him; and she hath hid her son.” Rending his clothes at a spectacle so mournful, and erroneously attributing the famine to Elisha, the king swore, “God do so, and more also to me, if the head of Elisha, the son of Shaphat, shall stand on him this day.” Conscious of his innocence and undaunted at the threat, the prophet sat calmly in his house; and, contrary to all human probability, but knowing what would befall the enemy that night, he said to the executioner, “To-morrow about this time shall a measure of fine flour be sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, in the gate of Samaria.” Terrified by a supernatural noise, that night the Syrians abandoned their well-provisioned camp and fled for safety. Four lepers, who had lingered outside of the city, dying of hunger, in the desperation of despair resolved to enter the enemy’s camp and ask for bread; but, to their surprise, the camp was empty of men, but full of the spoils of war.Lepers though they were, they hastened back to the city with the glad tidings of plenty, and that day were fulfilled the prophetic words of Elisha.[502]
SAMARIA.
No important event occurred in connection with Samaria for 700 years, till the reign of the Emperor Augustus, who bestowed it as a gift upon Herod the Great, by whom it was enlarged and beautified, rivaling Baalbec and Palmyra in the magnificence of its architecture. Herod reared a temple on the summit of the hill in honor of his patron, and inclosed its base with a colonnade, consisting of two ranges of columns 50 feet apart, and extending 3000 feet in length.Such was the splendor of Samaria in the apostolic age, when Philip, together with Peter and John, preached the kingdom of heaven to the Samaritans, and encountered Simon Magus, the sorcerer of Sebaste.[503]