On the Desert - Recent Events in Egypt/Chapter 24
CHAPTER XXIV.
GOING UP TO JERUSALEM.
It was our last night in tents before reaching Jerusalem, and we were to mount but for one more ride. We could not miss such an opportunity to see the sun rise over the mountains of Moab, and were up long before daybreak, watching the approach of the dawn. The weather, which had been propitious through all our journeying on the desert, favored us to the end. The sun came up without a cloud, and shone down into the plain of the Jordan and the Dead Sea. Looking out upon the landscape in this morning light, one could see how it was that this natural basin once supported a large population, and became the seat of one of the great cities of the East. The valley of the Jordan at this point is eight miles broad — a breadth as great as that of the valley of the Nile above Cairo; and here on its western border rose a city of such splendor that after the Roman conquest Antony did not think it an unworthy gift to offer to Cleopatra, who in turn sold it to Herod, then governor of Judea. However little claim Herod may have had to the title of "Great" (although Augustus recognized him as "the second man in the Empire," inferior only to himself), he had at least one Imperial taste — that for architecture, as he showed in the rebuilding of the Temple. Jericho furnished him a Winter retreat when he fled from the cold heights of Jerusalem; and here he built a palace, where he could take refuge, and find under his palms the Summer warmth and mildness that he might have found on the banks of the Nile. All is gone now, as much as the walls of the earlier Jericho, which fell before the rams' horns of the priests in the army of Joshua. Nature only remains — nature and history — for "the past at least is secure," and here, as at the Pyramids, if not "forty," over thirty "centuries look down upon us." On the crest of yonder mountains, we still discern the figure of Moses; while in the valley below, more than a thousand years afterward, was heard "the voice of one crying in the wilderness," and "John came preaching repentance and baptism for the remission of sins": and nearer still, the range at whose very foot we are camped, bears the name of Quarantana, from the belief, once commonly accepted, that it was the mountain of the temptation, where our Lord after His baptism, and before He entered on His ministry, spent forty days of fasting in the wilderness. Thus do the Law and the Gospel look across the plain of the Jordan, as if signalling to each other from the tops of the mountains.
While we were thus musing on the scene, the tents were struck, and the muleteers brought us our horses. Our last ride was not to be a solitary one: for there were two or three parties that had come down from Jerusalem, and camped near us, and we mounted together. Among them was a company of Frenchmen whom we had met at Mount Sinai, and afterwards at Bethlehem, who were so intelligent and courteous that I felt quite sure the young men must be scions of some old Legitimist families, who, under the direction of a chaplain (there was a priest in the company), were strengthening their faith by a visit to the Holy Places of the East. We met them frequently during the Holy Week in Jerusalem, and were confirmed in our impression. They were well mounted and well armed, though they did not omit the precaution of taking a guide, whose presence was a pledge of their safety, as he was the son of the sheikh of the tribe of Bedaween who claim the wilderness of Judea as their own. Thus breaking camp, one after another our several parties went pricking across the plain to the foot of the hills.
Before we turn our horses' heads to begin the ascent, a singular monument in the distance arrests our attention. As it lies in the direction of the Dead Sea, and is glaring white — it shines like crystal in the morning sun — we might fancy it to be Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt. But no, it looks more like a tomb, and indeed a tomb it is — a shrine which is held in great reverence by the Moslems, as it well may be, considering that it is the tomb of no less a personage than Moses himself! The tomb of Moses? But is it not written that Moses died on Mount Nebo, and that "no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day"? Ah yes, so it was, but so it is no longer. That was said in Old Testament times, when the world did not yet know all the miracles of faith and of credulity. As Sganarelle says, in the play of Molière, the Medécin Malgré Lui, to one who timidly suggests that "the heart is on the left side of the body, and the liver on the right": "Yes, it was so formerly, but we have changed all that." So with Moses. It is true he died on Mount Nebo, and no man knew of his sepulchre, but of course Moses knew himself; and if not comfortable where he was, or if any religious purpose required it, could remove at his will. Accordingly he rose out of his sepulchre, probably in the darkness of the night, and stole down the mountain side and across the plain, to put himself in a position to receive the homage of the faithful, the proof of which is, that at this very moment I see his tomb on a hillock yonder; and since the tomb of Moses is there, it were a wretched unbeliever who should dare to suggest that the body of Moses is not in it! Such is the story of the Moslems. I may not have given it precisely, but it was something not less ridiculous. The Bible account was well enough in its day, but the Moslems have "changed all that," and now they have the body of Moses just where they want it for their own purposes, and what those purposes are is quite evident — it is to make a shrine that should excite Moslem devotion. They saw how the pilgrimages to Jerusalem reanimated the spirit of Christian believers; how it strengthened their faith and kindled their zeal. As a counterpoise to this influence, which they knew not how to resist, some wise old Mollahs, who lived here six hundred years ago, hit upon the happy expedient of setting up a shrine of their own, which should have equal attractions with that of the Holy Sepulchre. For this it was only necessary to have the potent name of a prophet as a spell to conjure by, and who so great as "My Lord Moses," whose name was held in reverence alike by Moslems, Jews, and Christians? To make the opposition more effective, they fixed the time of pilgrimage in the Holy Week, when the Christians should be thronging the streets of Jerusalem; so that at the very moment that they were coming in at the Jaffa gate on one side, the Moslems should be coming out at St. Stephen's gate on the other. We shall meet crowds of them on our way this morning.
Leaving the tomb of Moses, we turn up the mountain side. The air of the hills stirs our blood, and we quicken our horses' steps. But whoever comes up this road should not ride so fast as not to pause now and then, and turn back to take one more look at a landscape, which he will remember for a life-time.
We are now on one of the great roads of Palestine, which in ancient times, as it led directly to the heart of the country, often resounded with the tramp of armed men. By this passage entered many an Eastern invader, "coming up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan." But we are just now more interested in following the track of pilgrims than of conquerors. By this road the tribes went up to Jerusalem to the Passover. Not only was it the avenue of communication between Jerusalem and Jericho, but between the tribes on the two sides of the Jordan. It was the road which would be taken by those who crossed the Jordan to come up to the annual feasts. As we begin the ascent, we recall the scenes two thousand years ago, when the Jews thronged up these mountain steeps, singing as they went the Songs of Degrees: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help"; "I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord: Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; they shall prosper that love thee: Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces"; "They that trust in the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth forever"; "Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion: for there the Lord commanded the blessing, even life forevermore."
These festivals, by bringing the tribes to the capital, strengthened the national as well as the religious feeling, and, in a double sense, made them one people. In those days there were none of the resources of modern civilization to bring the ends of a country together — no railroads coursing through the valleys and over the mountains, no telegraphs to flash signals from tribe to tribe. The tribes were as widely separated as nations are now. Those on the opposite sides of the Jordan were as far asunder as England and France are to-day, separated by the British Channel. But at the annual feasts the people came, not only from Judah, which was nigh, to Jerusalem, but from Simeon in the South to Dan in the North; from the sea-coasts of Asher and Zebulon and Naphtali; and from Reuben, Gad, and Manasseh, on the other side of the Jordan. Hither they flocked from every direction — not men alone, but whole families, husbands and wives, with their little ones — to share in the general rejoicing. Those who came from beyond Jordan, crossed the plain, and as they began to mount the hills, they sang the psalm of David: "Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place?" Thus was their Religion associated, not with sadness, but with joy. The feasts were times of national rejoicing, when Ephraim did not envy Judah, nor Judah vex Ephraim, but all joined together, singing the anthems of their common deliverance. These festivals were the great events of the year — which made the people feel that they had a country, that they were children of a common race, inheritors of a common faith, and sharers of a common joy.
These ancient Jewish festivals are no more; though the few thousand Jews in Jerusalem still keep the Passover, yet the Temple is gone, and there is no splendid ritual to attract the pious Jew, nor is there a large population — the remnant of the tribes — to send a throng of pilgrims to the solemn feasts. But Christian festivals have taken the place of the Jewish; to the Passover has succeeded the Holy Week, the great season of celebration by the Christian world, for which pilgrims are now hastening to the Holy City. As we press on, they gather before us and behind us, swelling the train. Numbers are on the road, some on horseback and some on foot. The latter we pass quickly, while others who are better mounted than we, dash by us at full speed. Here is a rider who belongs to the "awkward squad," as he comes up with legs flapping like a pair of wings, and saddle-bags on his lank beast, looking like a country doctor. I think he is a German professor. Russians are here in great numbers. The costumes and the languages of the East mingle with those of the West. Thus the pilgrims move forward, a promiscuous crowd, yet all with one destination — "going up to Jerusalem."
Half way up the ascent is laid the scene of the Parable of the Good Samaritan. Although Christ merely supposed a case for illustration, jet tradition could not miss such an opportunity, and accordingly it is accepted as a veritable occurrence, and we have even pointed out to us the place of the inn to which the Good Samaritan conveyed the poor wayfarer, and left him to be cared for. One thing strikes us in this as in other parables of our Lord — the felicity and aptness in the choice of illustrations. "A certain man went down to Jericho and fell among thieves." Why to Jericho rather than to Joppa? It seemed to me, while riding over it, as if this were a road for highwaymen, as it is a lonely mountain road, with deep glens by the wayside where robbers might lurk, and wait the approach of the unsuspecting traveller. Indeed I fear if a lonely wanderer were to go down to Jericho to-day, unarmed and unprotected, he would meet the same fate.
But all the pilgrims are not going one way: as some are going up, others are coming down. We met great numbers of Moslems on their way to the tomb of Moses. They came, not in a long procession, but in families, or in little companies of friends, decked out in their finery, like Italian peasants for a festa, and driving before them sheep and goats for sacrifices and for food during the three days of their festival. Here and there a booth served the purpose of a wayside inn, and invited pilgrims of all races and all creeds. We declined their alluring temptations, but made our own repast on a rising ground by the roadside, where, with sheltering rock behind, and a smooth sward in front, we watched the picturesque cavalcade (for some mounted on horses and camels mingled with those on foot), which went streaming down to the valley of the Jordan.
But all associations of ordinary pilgrims sink out of sight in the thought of one solitary Traveller. The supreme interest of this road from Jericho is that it was trodden by our blessed Lord when He came up to Jerusalem for the last time. Looking backward and downward, we seem to see a Form slowly ascending, with weary foot, as of one who bore a heavy burden, and on whom already fell the shadow of the cross.
As we advance, these associations thicken upon us, until we come to Bethany, so full of tender and sacred memories. Here we are, as it were, in the very home of our Saviour, almost as much as if we were in Nazareth or Capernaum: for Bethany is only two miles from Jerusalem, and the house of Mary and Martha was His frequent retreat from the great city. We turned our horses into a lane, and rode through the poor village to visit the tomb of Lazarus, which is under ground, and to which we descend by a stair in the rock. We have come to distrust monkish legends so much that we are suspicious of any which rest merely on tradition, unsupported by evidence; yet the bare possibility that here tradition has seized on the right spot, is enough to hush to silence the visitor who gropes into the darkness, and stands, it may be, at the very grave's mouth where "Jesus wept," giving way to a burst of emotion such as overwhelms a mourner who bends over the tomb which has received the object dearest to him on earth. Another spot is pointed out as the place where stood the house of Mary and Martha. Both sites are merely traditional. Nor does it matter. It is enough that they were in Bethany, of the identity of which there has never been a question. Somewhere, within a very short compass, they must have been; and as we move slowly along the road, we can see the Saviour approaching, met by a bowed form clinging to His knees, and hear a wail of agony: Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died!
And now we rise to the summit, and the Holy City bursts upon our view, just as we expected to see it — its walls giving it the appearance of a fortress, with deep valleys encircling it like a castle moat, and the hills girdling it round like outer defences of a central citadel. To get this eastern view was one object which we had in making our detour to the Dead Sea and the Jordan, instead of entering Jerusalem directly from Bethlehem. Dean Stanley — the writer who has caught most perfectly the picturesqueness, as well as the overwhelming historical associations, of "Sinai and Palestine" — says "There is one approach which is really grand, namely, from Jericho and Bethany. It is the approach by which the army of Pompey advanced — the first European army that ever confronted it — and it is the approach of the triumphal entry of the Gospels. Probably the first impression of every one coming from the North, the West, and the South, may be summed up in the simple expression used by one of the modern travellers: 'I am strongly affected, but greatly disappointed.' But no human being could be disappointed who first saw Jerusalem from the east."
On the hill commanding this view, we now stood over against the city, separated only by the Valley of Jehoshaphat — a valley so deep and frowning in its rocky sides that in the terrified vision of the Prophet, it was to be the scene of final judgment. ["Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision!"] Mahomet caught the allusion and improved upon it. On yonder wall lies a long round stone, the fragment of a column, projecting from the parapet like a piece of artillery. On the day of final award, says the Koran, from that stone of judgment a line no bigger than a hair will be stretched, over which will pass the souls of the faithful, while unbelievers will be precipitated into the valley below, which is a symbol of the eternal abyss.
But we give only a glance downward, as our gaze becomes fixed on the city itself which has come so near. There is Jerusalem, beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, the city of the great King! At the southeast corner within the walls, stood the Temple of Solomon (we are directly opposite the Beautiful Gate), and now stands the Mosque of Omar; and as we are at an elevation of nearly two hundred feet above it, we look down into the temple area.
Here, as before, one association overpowers all others — that of the Great Master, whose sacred presence has made all this holy ground. On our right is the Mount of Olives, to which He so often withdrew to meditate and pray; and as we see its position relative to Jerusalem, we can see why it may have been chosen as His place of retirement. It was close at hand, and yet separated by a deep valley, which protected it from intruders, as well as from the noise and tumult of the city. It was at once near and far — a place to be reached by a short walk, and yet as hushed and still as the mountain top to which He so often retired to pray.
Thus the most tender and sacred associations connected with the person of our Lord, may be said to cluster on the eastern side of Jerusalem. Over this road from the east, He passed on His way "going up to Jerusalem" to die; and here when all was over, when death was past, He came to take farewell of His disciples. Of course legend is busy fixing on this or the other spot as the scene of the ascension. In one place they show the print of our Saviour's foot as He pressed the earth for the last time. But that is of little moment. This only we know, that it was from Bethany; and though we cannot fix the precise spot — though we cannot point to the print of His foot in a rock — yet as it was from one or other of these heights, all of which are near, it must have been within the sweep of the eye. "And he led them out as far as to Bethany; and he lifted up his hands and blessed them. And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven." Was there ever a more simple announcement of a great event? In so few words is depicted that wondrous scene. With such simplicity throughout is told the story of our Saviour's life on earth. So brief a span is it from the beginning to the end — from the hill of Bethlehem to the hill of Bethany. If, as some pretend, the Gospel be all a myth, a poetic fancy, surely never was any poet's dream so perfect and complete — beginning with the song of angels, and ending with the flight to heaven! And what a harmony in all that life and death and rising again! Over his cradle the angels sang, Peace on earth, good will to men! And the last sight of him was in the act of blessing the disciples he left behind. So he came and so he went away: with hands stretched out in benediction, and words of blessing descending from the depths of air, till "a cloud received him out of their sight." No wonder that his disciples caught inspiration from that upward flight, "and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God."
With such thoughts we advance towards the city, descending the slope along which Christ made his triumphal entry, when the multitude thronged his steps, and cast palm branches in the way, and shouted Hosannas. We heard no such glad salutations, but sounds quite other than those which welcomed the Prince of Peace: for at that moment cannon were firing at St. Stephen's gate, out of which was streaming a motley procession, with waving banners, beginning their march over the road by which we had come, to the Valley of the Jordan and the Tomb of Moses! It was a singular coincidence that Moslem pilgrims should be pouring out of Jerusalem just as Christian pilgrims were poring in. With such a tumult before our eyes, and such a sound in our ears, we descended the slope and crossed the brook Kedron; and when we had climbed the opposite bank, and came under the old walls, and passed through the ancient portal, "our feet stood within thy gates, O Jerusalem."