The East

by William Young Martin

Each party of us was separately informed through his dragoman that this exhibition was a very high distinction indeed, and got up for our special honour—the meaning of which was—bakshish. In the glare of the torchlight these Arabs had more the appearance of wild Indians than any we had met with as yet, and I rather think they had come from the eastern side of the Jordan. The Bedouin women are not often veiled. All classes of maidens in Palestine—Christians included—generally wear a string of silver and gold coins round their brow, said to be their “fortune,” and in some instances these would be in value about three pounds sterling. They sometimes tint their nails with a vermilion colour, of a very fine shade—how procured I am uncertain.

I regret we did not spend another day at Jericho to inspect this naturally rich valley. It appears from remains of ancient aqueducts and irrigation works to have at one time been remarkably fertile; but as everywhere under Turkish rule, even the most fertile and finest portions of the world have become, like this, a wilderness.

Next morning we resumed our journey up to Jerusalem—this time by ascending the mountain path to Bethany, celebrated in Gospel history as the road of the man who fell among thieves, and certainly the way gradually became wilder and wilder, and more and more rocky, each hour of our journey. Near the bottom of our ascent was a large fountain, or rather its remains, with ample proofs of fertility, and with very little culture there was some show of verdure amidst the wilderness around. This is supposed, I think without much reason, to have been the scene of Elijah’s retreat during the years of famine, when—by the ravens—bread was given him and his water was sure. Caves abound there, and at the bottom of a ravine, much farther up on our path, was said to be the brook Cherith, identified with the history of this prophet. There was upon our upward journey almost no appearance of human dwellings, except a few ruins of houses and a solitary, ruinous khan, of considerable extent, which of course is the inn to which the good Samaritan carried the wounded man; and if you doubt it, you can still see the trough at which his beast was watered.

There must at one time have been a considerable traffic on this road, because it is the only practicable one between Jericho and Jerusalem; and if one were trying to picture a scene in keeping with the story, it would be difficult to describe a better than this. Although a Russian princess is said to have recently sent a thousand pounds to repair the road—she having been dismounted in making the journey down—it is still scarcely worthy of the name, and safe only for an Eastern beast of burden. It ascends along the side of a precipitous mountain range, and is bounded on the right hand by wadies and deep gorges, dividing, I think, Judea from the hills of Samaria beyond, and on which I could perceive it utterly vain to attempt the capture of thieves, even although in sight of them.

Here, as elsewhere in Judea, the mountain sides are burrowed with caverns of all sizes and shapes, affording excellent hiding-places, similar to the celebrated cave of Adullam, farther south. About mid-day the sky became overcast, a thunderstorm came on, and our waterproofs were, for the first time in our journey, unfolded. Under a cave, open in front, we rested for half an hour, until the storm had passed over; but the atmosphere had become very much cooler, and formed an extraordinary contrast to the temperature of the previous day on the banks of the Dead Sea.

Towards afternoon we approached, or rather our horses climbed up (without our stopping to kiss the “stone of rest”) into the village of Bethany, which is nestled within less than a mile of the summit of the Mount of Olives, over which the road passes, but is on the eastern slope of the mountain, and therefore quite unseen from Jerusalem.

Bethany is associated with many beautiful and tender events in the life of our Saviour; and we were scarcely pleased to find that so interesting a spot consisted only of a few ordinary buildings, crowded together, with, however, a few trees—olive, fig, and almond, and by no means answering to my preconceived notions of the village. Its site indeed is undoubtedly very fine; eastward over the Jordan Valley, the Land of Bashan and the mountains of Moab were seen, with Mount Pisgah in the distance; while northward stretched the green foliage of the Jordan banks, and parallel therewith in the east the long barren range of the mountains of Ephraim. From this point also must be visible the spot from which our Lord ascended to His Father. No doubt the monks show the traditional “Mount of the Ascension” on the opposite slope of Olivet, and there as usual they have erected an imposing tower with several chapels or shrines over the spot. It is a most improbable one, being in full view of the city, whereas we read that He led His disciples over the Mount of Olives “as far as Bethany;” and there, in bidding them farewell, a cloud received Him out of their sight. On the extreme north of the view towered Mount Hermon, capped with its bonnet of snow. This mountain, indeed, is seen from almost every eminence in Palestine and Syria, and is a strikingly grand object from all of them. It appeared near, as indeed distant objects all do, to a remarkable degree, in the singularly pure atmosphere of Palestine—even more so than in Egypt—and, to an unpractised eye, the distance of such objects seems only a day’s journey, when in reality it may be four or five.

We were of course shown the house of Martha and Mary, and the grave of Lazarus—the latter a low stone erection in the limestone rock on the roadside, covered with rubbish in front of the opening of the tomb. It is in possession of the Turks, who venerate Lazarus, and they have a small mosque adjacent. Near is a ruinous tower, called the Castle of Lazarus, possibly older than the Crusades.

On arriving at the summit of Olivet we had again a view of Jerusalem at its best, lighted up as it then was by the sinking sun, which gilded its numerous minarets and domes, and its every coigne of vantage. We reached our old quarters at the hotel by sunset.

Like most other Eastern cities, Jerusalem is divided into religious “Quarters”—the Jewish (recently getting crowded), the Mahomedan, the Armenian, and the Christian; and there has recently been built what may be called a Russian Quarter, of imposing appearance and extent, outside the walls on the west. Our hotel was in the Christian quarter. The principal sects of the Christians are the Greeks, the Armenians, and the Latins, as the Roman Catholics are called. Each of these has a Church, abutting upon the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. With the Roman Catholic Churches most readers are familiar, the Greek Churches are somewhat similar; but not so exquisitely finished as the Latin or Roman Catholic ones; more pictures, but few or no images are there. The Armenian Churches are plainer than either of the other two, and seemed well attended. Besides these there are several other smaller sects, such as the Maronites and Druses.