Chapter IV: Part 4

Another theory propounded by Mr. Fergusson, and ably supported by Messrs. Lewin and Sandie, finds the Temple site on the south or south-west of the Haram area. But this theory is likewise beset with great difficulties. For the threshing-floor must then have been in a deep hollow, contrary to the invariable practice of the Easterns, who constructed them on the tops of hills where the wind might winnow the grain as it fell from the ears. Besides which, the language of the psalmist and prophets implies that the Temple stood on an elevated site; they speak invariably of going up to the house of the Lord. It is true that the southern end of the Temple area is now on the same level with the rest, but this is secured by the vast substructions which have been built up from the valley below; and it can hardly be pretended that the threshing-floor of Araunah occupied this artificial elevation; nor has any reason been suggested why, with the whole ridge of Moriah to choose from, a site should have been selected which either buried the Temple in a hollow, or required an amount of work below the surface greater than that above it to bring up the platform to the necessary level.

The startling theory of Mr. Fergusson as to the site of the Holy Sepulchre demands brief notice here. He maintains that the Mosque of Omar is the basilica of Constantine, that the mysterious rock which it encloses is that of which the evangelist speaks, and that a cave about fifteen feet square in the side of the rock is the very cave in which our Lord was entombed. His argument, to which full justice cannot be done in a brief summary, may be thus stated. He pledges his professional reputation that the Kubbet es Sakhrah is a building of the date of Constantine, that it is not and never could have been intended for a mosque, that it does not possess a single characteristic of Saracenic architecture, but that in its main features it is identical with the sepulchral basilica of Diocletian, at Spalatro, a type which Constantine is likely to have followed. The Golden Gate he regards as the grand entrance from the eastern side to the area of the basilica, and maintains that it is of the same style and date with the Dome of the Rock. Assuming the accuracy of his theory that the Temple occupied the south-western angle of the present area, he shows that there was ample space for places of the crucifixion and entombment to have been here without entrenching upon the Temple precincts from which it was then separated by a deep fosse or valley, now filled up. He then seeks to show that the indications of the Gospel narrative, the statements of Eusebius, and the language of early pilgrims agree in fixing upon this as the true site of the burial and resurrection of our Lord. The absence of any tradition pointing to this spot and the fact that for nearly a thousand years the site of the sepulchre has been supposed to be where the church now stands, he explains by the statement that after the rock with its dome, had been appropriated by the Mohammedans, the Christians were banished for a long period from the city; even on their return they were not allowed to approach the Holy Place; a new church in another site was therefore built for the use of the pilgrims around which the legends sprang up in mediæval fashion, so that what was at first a mere myth or pious fraud, came at last to be accepted as an historical fact.

There is much that is attractive in this theory, and it is supported by a great weight of argument and learning. But it will hardly bear the test of examination. The basilica of Constantine was not built over the sepulchre but near it; the Kubbet es Sakhrah encloses and covers the rock. Constantine’s building was destroyed by Chosroes II., and the church that rose upon its site suffered the same fate under El-Hakem. This, therefore, cannot be it. Constantine constructed a colonnade eastward from the church at the end of which was an _agora_, or market-place. The Kubbet es Sakhrah is so near the eastern wall over the valley of the Kedron that space cannot be found for this arrangement.

Whilst, therefore, the site of the sepulchre must, in my judgment, be sought somewhere on this side of the city, I cannot accept Mr. Fergusson’s identification as accurate or sustained by facts. It is with reluctance that we yield ourselves to the conclusion that accurate knowledge is, at least, for the present beyond our reach. Most eagerly and gratefully should we welcome any means of determining the spot so endeared by hallowed memories and associations. But our very ignorance may have been designed or permitted for wise purposes. A superstitious, an almost idolatrous, worship has been fostered by pilgrimages to the holy places. We shall do well to remember the conversation by Jacob’s well: “The woman saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet. Our fathers worshipped in this mountain; and ye say that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh when ye shall neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father ... the hour cometh and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship Him.”[161]

Light may ultimately be thrown upon these difficult and perplexed questions by the labours of the Palestine Exploration Fund. Hitherto, however, the obstacles thrown in their way by the Turkish government, have been almost insuperable. It is only by extraordinary energy and ingenuity that they have been able to accomplish anything in Jerusalem. The sketch on the preceding page will illustrate this. Not being allowed to excavate within a certain distance of the Temple area, a shaft was sunk through the mass of débris, to the depth of eighty feet, just outside the proscribed limit. A tunnel was then run from the bottom of the shaft to the wall of the Temple. The result was the discovery of courses of masonry of the original edifice, and upon some of the blocks of stone, mason’s marks in ancient Phœnician characters were found.

It now only remains for us to notice briefly some of the memorable spots in the immediate neighbourhood of Jerusalem. These, for the most part, lie along the valley of the Kedron.

First in interest is the Garden of Gethsemane. Leaving the city by St. Stephen’s Gate, a steep path leads us down into the valley and across the bed of the Kedron. Soon after beginning the ascent of Olivet, we come to an enclosure about eighty yards square. Knocking at a low door, we are admitted by an aged monk, the guardian of the place, and find ourselves in a trim garden. The flower-beds are neatly kept and fenced with sticks. A number of olive-trees stand among them, hollow, gnarled, and, apparently, extremely old. They yet bear a few berries, which are carefully gathered and given to pilgrims, for which, of course, backshish is expected in return. Old as the trees are it cannot be supposed that they have stood here for eighteen centuries, though it is quite credible that they may have sprung as suckers from the roots of yet older trees. The passion for localising all the incidents of the narrative is not absent here. We are shown the bank upon which the disciples slept, the grotto—all mediæval legends select a grotto—where, as a Latin inscription informs us, “the sweat like blood ran down upon the ground,” and the place where Judas betrayed his Master with a kiss. The _Custode_ however, with a courtesy and consideration very rare in his class, does not pester us with talk, but, retiring to a distance, leaves us to our meditation.[162] On this spot then, or near it, happened the most solemn and pathetic event in the life, even of “the man of sorrows.” Under the shade of these grey olives, he endured his bitter and heart-breaking agony; along yonder path, lighted by the full passover moon, “with lanterns, and torches, and weapons,” came the betrayer, leading “a band of men and officers;”[163] here, deserted and forsaken by all, He meekly surrendered Himself to his murderers, and was led away to be condemned and crucified. Callous must that heart be which, on such a spot as this, does not breathe the prayer: “By Thine agony and bloody sweat; by Thy cross and passion; by Thy precious death and burial: Good Lord deliver us!”

Leaving the scene of our Lord’s bitter agony, we pass along the Valley of the Kedron, sometimes called the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Jews and Mohammedans, alike, believe that this will be the scene of the final judgment. Hence has arisen an eager desire to be buried here, and the soil is, in many places, literally paved with tombstones, and the whole valley is one vast cemetery. Shortly before reaching the point of junction of the valleys of Hinnom and Kedron, we reach a cluster of remarkable tombs, called by the names of Zacharias, Absalom, and St. James. The tradition respecting them is quite modern, and has no historical basis. Those of Zacharias and Absalom are similar in design, being cut out of the solid rock. The former is said to be the burial-place of the Zacharias who was “slain between the temple and the altar.”[164] The latter, tradition asserts to be the pillar which the rebellious son “reared up for himself during his lifetime in the king’s dale, for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance.”[165] Its base is now buried beneath a heap of stones, upon which each Jew, as he passes, throws one in detestation of his memory.

The tomb of St. James is a remarkable chamber, cut out of the side of the hill, with rock-hewn Doric columns in front. A modern tradition declares that here St. James retired after our Lord’s crucifixion, and vowed neither to eat nor drink till He had risen again. On the third day the risen Saviour appeared to him, saying, “Arise and eat, for I have now risen from the dead.” The marked resemblance between this sepulchre and the temple-tombs at Beni-hassan, in Egypt, has given rise to the suggestion that here we have the idol temple constructed by Solomon for his queen, the daughter of Pharaoh, in “the hill that is before Jerusalem.”[166] The site and the style of architecture afford a certain measure of probability to the conjecture.

Just above us on the left is Silwan, the ancient Siloam—a collection of wretched hovels, inhabited by peasantry, who have the reputation of being the most dangerous, turbulent, and thievish in the district. Though I have often passed through the village alone, or with only a single companion, I have never had anything to complain of, beyond a demand for backshish, more than usually clamorous. In this village, and in other places round Jerusalem, I found many of the peasantry occupying old tombs which formed abodes at least as commodious as the huts in which their neighbours lived. The pool of Siloam is at the foot of the hill on our right. It and the neighbouring well of En Rogel are still much used, not only by the villagers, but by the water sellers of Jerusalem.

Turning to the right up the Valley of Hinnom, we see, on the dark and gloomy Hill of Evil Counsel, Aceldama. Down to a very late period, it continued to be used as “a field to bury strangers in.”[167] Skulls brought away from this spot and submitted to the examination of competent ethnologists, have been pronounced to be those of negroes and other non-semitic races.

Another tomb, on the north side of the city, demands brief mention here. It used to be called the tomb of the kings, but it has now been identified as that of Queen Helena, a Jewish Proselyte, who in the first century of our era died, and was buried at Jerusalem. It is remarkable not only for the extent and perfect preservation of the sepulchral chambers, but for the ingenious mechanism by which the entrance was closed or opened—a huge stone being rolled to or from the mouth of the entrance. It thus affords an interesting contemporary illustration of the words of the evangelists, “Who shall _roll_ away the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And when they looked they saw the stone rolled away, for it was very great.”[168]

But it would be impossible, with the space at our disposal, to describe, however briefly, all the objects of interest in and around Jerusalem. Whole volumes have been devoted to the subject without exhausting it. This brief and inadequate sketch may be brought to a close by recalling to memory a Sabbath morning service in Christ Church on Mount Zion, as the Protestant church, recently erected there, is called. The liturgy had gained a deeper significance and impressiveness from the associations of the place. The sermon had set forth Christ crucified as the hope alike of Jew and Gentile. And the concluding hymn brought tears to many eyes; solemn penitential thoughts to many hearts. Not a few of the congregation, overcome by emotion, were unable to join audibly as we sang:—

Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Enthronéd once on high,
Thou favoured home of God on earth,
Thou heaven below the sky;
Now brought to bondage with thy sons,
A curse and grief to see,
Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Our tears shall flow for thee.

O hadst thou known the day of grace,
And flocked beneath the wing
Of Him who called thee lovingly,
Thine own anointed King:
Then had the tribes of all the world
Gone up thy pomp to see,
And glory dwelt within thy gates,
And all thy sons been free.

“And who art thou that mournest me?”
Jerusalem may say,
“And fear’st not rather that thyself
May prove a castaway!
I am a dried and abject branch,
My place is given to thee;
But, woe to every barren graft
Of thy wild olive-tree!

“Our day of grace is sunk in night,
Our time of mercy spent,
For heavy was my children’s crime,
And strange their punishment:
Yet gaze not idly on our fall,
But, sinner, warnéd be;
Who sparéd not His chosen seed,
May send His wrath on thee!

“Our day of grace is sunk in night,
Thy noon is in its prime;
O turn, and seek thy Saviour’s face,
In this accepted time!
So Gentile, may Jerusalem
A lesson prove to thee,
And in the new Jerusalem
Thy home for ever be.”

CENTRAL PALESTINE, OR SAMARIA.

JERUSALEM TO SHILOH.

FROM Jerusalem northward as far as Bethel, a distance of ten or twelve miles, we pass through the territory of Benjamin. The topography of the district illustrates the prophecies of Jacob and Moses as to the destinies of this small but warlike tribe, and explains the peculiar position which it held in the Jewish commonwealth. From the central plateau, which runs north and south, a succession of rugged and difficult passes lead east and west, debouching on the fertile Philistine plain on the one side, and on the yet more fertile valley of Jericho on the other. Its barren rocky soil, ill-adapted for agriculture, gave birth to a race of hardy warriors, whose military prowess was often called into exercise in protecting Jerusalem against invaders from the north, in guarding their own mountain fastnesses, or in making forays upon the territories of their eastern or western neighbours. Almost every hill-side has been the scene of a battle; almost every mound of ruins marks the site of some ancient village memorable for the heroic deeds there enacted. “Benjamin shall ravin like a wolf: in the morning he shall devour the prey, and at night he shall divide the spoil.”[169] “And of Benjamin he said, The beloved of the Lord (_Jerusalem_) shall dwell in safety by him; and the LORD shall cover him all the day long, and he shall dwell between his shoulders:”[170] a prophecy fulfilled when centuries afterwards the Lord took up His earthly abode among the mountains of Benjamin. With its barren soil and numerical inferiority it yet won for itself the proud title of “little Benjamin their ruler;”[171] it gave the first king to Israel, and the great Apostle of the Gentiles boasted, with a lawful pride, that he was “of the tribe of Benjamin.”[172]

For some miles along the road, or from the eminences which skirt it, Jerusalem is visible. Age after age, invading armies, or bands of pilgrims, approaching from the north, as they have turned the crest of Scopus, have gained their first view of the city—a view in some respects even finer than that from Olivet. Here the first crusaders halted at break of day, and as Jerusalem burst upon their view, they knelt, and with tears of gladness, kissed the sacred soil. Richard Cœur de Lion, leaving his camp at Ajalon, pressed forward alone, and as he ascended one of these hills, buried his face in his mailed hands, and exclaimed, “Oh! Lord God, I pray Thee that I may never look upon Thy holy city, if so be that I rescue it not from Thine enemies.”

A complete itinerary of the villages along this route is given us by the prophet Isaiah, describing the march of the Assyrian army. Beginning at Ai, near Bethel, about twelve miles north of Jerusalem, “he is passed to Migron, at Michmash he hath laid up his baggage; they are gone over the passage; they have taken up their lodging (_i.e._ halted for the night), at Geba; Ramah is afraid; Gibeah of Saul is fled. Lift up thy voice, O daughter of Gallim: cause it to be heard unto Laish, O poor Anathoth. Madmenah is removed; the inhabitants of Gebim gather themselves to flee. As yet shall he remain at Nob that day.” Having thus seized all the villages on his line of march, he has reached the immediate precincts of the city, where the camp of the Assyrians is yet pointed out. Confident of victory, “he shall shake his hand against the mount of the daughter of Zion, the hill of Jerusalem;” but “the Lord, the Lord of hosts, shall lop the bough with terror, and the high ones of stature shall be hewn down, and the haughty shall be humbled.”[173]

Nearly all the villages here enumerated can be identified, and not a few of them still bear their ancient names. A Concordance or a reference-Bible will show what an affluence of historical associations lie all around us—Ai, the scene of Joshua’s first great battle—Migron, where the army of Saul encamped in his campaign against the Philistines—Michmash, the scene of Jonathan’s heroic exploit—Ramah, the home of Samuel—Gibeah, the birth-place of Saul—Gallim and Laish the abode of Phalti the husband of Michal, when torn away from David—Anathoth, the residence of Jeremiah, and Nob where in the house of Ahimelech the priest, the sword of Goliath was laid up, and the shew-bread was placed before the Lord, of which David “did eat when he was a hungred, and they that were with him.”

Apart from its historical associations, there is little to interest in the district through which we pass. A bleak, wind-swept, rock-strewn moor or a series of rounded hills where the grey limestone comes up to the surface, with only a few patches of meagre vegetation on the shallow soil, make up the scene. There is, however, one steep conical hill rising above the others, which arrests attention. Like the Jebel Fureidis near Bethlehem, it is conspicuous from every direction. Its modern name Neby Samwil—THE TOMB OF SAMUEL—embalms the memory of the prophet, who here judged Israel. With very strong probability it is identified with Mizpeh, _i.e._ the Watch-tower, a name exactly appropriate to this lofty eminence, from which a view is gained over the whole of Southern Palestine. Here the prophet summoned Israel to war against their oppressors, or convened them for judgment; here “he took a stone and set it between Mizpeh and Shen, and called the name of it _Eben-ezer_, saying, Hitherto, hath the Lord helped us;” and here was heard, for the first time, the cry of devout loyalty, so often repeated since, “God save the king.”[174]

About two hours after leaving Jerusalem, we reach a small town, Bireh, the Beeroth of the Gibeonites,[175] but which has a deeper interest from its connection with the life of our Lord. It was the first stage for the pilgrims returning northward from Jerusalem, where they halted for the night. The stragglers who had lingered in the city here rejoined their companions and resumed their journey to Galilee on the following morning. The Child Jesus having tarried behind in Jerusalem, “Joseph and His mother knew not of it; but they, supposing Him to have been in the company, went a day’s journey; and they sought Him amongst their kinsfolk and acquaintance. And when they found Him not, they turned back again to Jerusalem seeking Him.”[176]

A little to the north-west of Beeroth, we approach an Arab village, standing on the ridge of a hill with a valley on either side. To the eastward the ridge rises considerably, giving an extensive view over the Jordan valley. A desolate moorland, strewn with ruins, stretches away to the north. As we enter the village, the first of the wretched and squalid houses which comprise it, makes some pretension to architectural decorations in a form not uncommon through central Palestine—over the doorway a couple of willow-pattern plates are let into the wall. The modern name, Beitîn, is but a reminiscence of its ancient and venerable one BETHEL. But except the name there is little to remind us that we are on a spot so memorable in Jewish history. A large reservoir, similar to those at Solomon’s Pools and Hebron,—three hundred and fourteen feet long by two hundred and seventeen wide, constructed of massive Jewish masonry, may not improbably go back to a very early period. It is now empty except after heavy rains; but it was formerly filled by the springs at which Abram doubtless watered his flocks and herds when, entering the land of Canaan, “he pitched his tent, having Bethel on the west, and Hai on the east, and there he builded an altar unto the Lord, and called upon the name of the Lord.”[177]

The patriarch after his journey into Egypt, returned “unto the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Hai unto the place of the altar which he had made there at the first, and there Abram called upon the name of the Lord,” for wherever he pitched his tent there he built an altar—an example to all future ages of household piety and domestic worship. It was here and now that the strife occurred between his herdsmen and those of his nephew Lot. Standing on the high ground already spoken of, the younger man “lifted up his eyes and beheld all the plain of the Jordan that it was well watered everywhere ... even as the garden of the Lord ... then Lot chose him all the plain of the Jordan, and Lot journeyed east; and they separated themselves the one from the other.” As one contrasts the barren rocky hills around us with the rich and fertile plain of Sodom, the self-denial of “the Father of the faithful,” becomes very striking and instructive. A new meaning is thus given to the promise which followed upon the choice of Abram: “And the Lord said unto him, after that Lot was separated from him, Lift up thine eyes, and look from the place where thou now art, northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward; for all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever.... Arise, walk through the land, in the length of it and in the breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee.”[178] The blessing which thus came upon “faithful Abraham,” will surely be inherited by all who, like him, are content to forego present advantages in the service and at the call of God.

Of the city which once stood upon this site scarcely any trace remains. A careful examination of the ruins of a Christian church, probably of the date of the Crusades, shows that it has been built out of an older edifice. The size of many of the stones and the peculiar bevel on the edge shows that the original edifice was Jewish.

The foundations of other ancient structures may be traced on the hill-side, and near its summit are the remains of a tower which still rises to a considerable height. Nothing has yet been discovered to fix the site of the temple which Jeroboam built here to rival that at Jerusalem, or of the altar where, as he stood to offer incense, he was rebuked by the fearless prophet, followed by the withering of the monarch’s arm, and the miraculous overthrow of the altar.[179] A Jewish tradition tells us that the temple was so built that the idol-priests could look down upon that of Solomon on Mount Moriah. From the top of the tower this cannot now be done, but the Mount of Olives is distinctly visible almost to its base. Jerusalem is hidden by an intervening hill. I was told by my dragoman that a few years ago, before the upper courses of masonry had been removed, the temple platform could be seen, and it was evident that a very small addition to the height at which I stood would render this quite practicable.

It was somewhere in the rock-strewn moorland, which stretches around the city, that Jacob, travelling northward, a fugitive from his father’s house at Beersheba, received the mysterious vision, which formed the turning point in his career. Standing amongst these heaps of stones and sheets of smooth, bare rock, it is easy to realize the scene as “he tarried there all night because the sun was set, and he took of the stones of the place and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep.”[180]

The historian goes on to tell us that “the name of that city was called Luz at the first,” implying an earlier Canaanitish settlement. A curious and interesting trace of this fact is found in the stone-circles, resembling those in our own country, which still exist on the east of the city. There are numerous instances in Palestine of the occurrence of dolmens and rude stone circles. We must doubtless refer them to the early settlers, antecedent to the Hebrew conquest.

We now leave the sterile rocky heights of Benjamin and Judah, and shall soon enter upon the fertile plains and valleys of Samaria. The soil is richer and better cultivated. The hills are terraced up to their summits, and are covered with corn-fields and orchards. In the days of prosperity and plenty, when “every man sat under his own vine and fig-tree,” even the barren slopes of Southern Palestine were brought under cultivation. They drew “honey from the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock.” Even yet we can trace the lines of these ancient terraces showing what the land once was, and what it may yet become again when “the time to favour Zion, yea, the set time, is come.” But now these long lines or scattered heaps of stones only add to the general sense of desolation. In the country north of Bethel, however, we come to many districts in which something of the former fertility and prosperity may yet be found. From our camp in Ain Haramiyeh, or Robbers’ Fountain, a few miles north of Bethel, we could see the hills clothed to their very summits with fig-gardens, now in their bright spring greenery. A Syrian gentleman, who was my frequent companion through this part of Palestine, plucked the young figs as he passed without stint or scruple. His reply to my question as to his right to do so was instructive as throwing light upon an incident in the life of our Lord as to which some difficulty has been felt. In the early spring, when the first leaves appear, an immense number of small figs are produced, which do not ripen but fall from the branches, crude and immature, to the ground. To these we find a reference in the Apocalypse “as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs.”[181] The true crop is not produced till later in the year. This first crude “untimely” growth, though of no commercial value, is yet plucked and eaten by the peasantry, sometimes with a pinch of salt, sometimes with bread. Like the wild fruit of our hedgerows it is free to all passers-by. It was just at this early season, before the feast of the passover, that our Lord and His disciples, having walked from Bethany, “hungered.” Seeing a fig-tree “afar off having leaves,” they sought fruit and “found nothing thereon but leaves only, for the time of figs was not yet.”[182] That is to say, seeing leaves they had a right to expect fruit. Finding fruit they would have had a right to pluck it, “for the time of figs was not yet,” the true and valuable crop was not yet produced. This incident He turned into a solemn lesson of warning to the Jews. It was at the close of His public ministry. “Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit and finding none,”[183]—nothing but the leaves of mere profession and outward privilege. The time of forbearance and patient pitying delay had passed—that of rejection and destruction had come; “and He said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And presently the fig-tree withered away.”

“On the north side of Bethel, on the east side of the highway that goeth up from Bethel to Shechem, and on the south of Lebonah,”[184] stood SHILOH, exactly on the spot thus precisely indicated is the village of Seilûn, the Arabic form of its ancient name. It stands on a slight eminence, rising from an extensive plain. An ancient well probably marks the spot where “the daughters of Shiloh came out to dance in dances” at their annual festival, and were carried away as brides by the Benjamites who had crossed the frontier.[185] Of the tabernacle in which the ark rested, from the time of Joshua to that of Samuel, no trace, of course, remains. But on the summit of a little knoll we find the remains of what was once a Jewish synagogue, afterwards used as a church, and subsequently as a mosque. On the lintel over the doorway, between two wreaths of flowers, is carved a vessel shaped like a Roman amphora; it so closely resembles the conventional type of the “pot of manna” as found on coins and in the ruins of the synagogue at Capernaum, that it doubtless formed part of the original building. It is a not improbable conjecture that the synagogue may have been erected on the sacred spot which for so many generations formed the centre of Jewish worship. And in the rock sepulchres with which the neighbouring hill-sides are honey-combed, the remains of Eli, and of the high-priests who had ministered before him at the altar were doubtless laid to rest.

There are few spots in Palestine of which the identification is more certain, or the associations more interesting than Shiloh. Here the childless wife prayed; and when her prayer had been heard she brought the infant Samuel (_Asked of the Lord_), and said to the aged priest, “Oh my lord, as thy soul liveth, my lord, I am the woman that stood by thee here, praying unto the Lord. For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of Him: therefore also I have lent him to the Lord: as long as he liveth shall he be lent to the Lord.” The incidents which followed—the annual visit of the happy mother, the little coat, made with such loving care, for the absent boy, the child Samuel “growing in stature and in favour both with the Lord and also with men,” the aged, sorrowful priest, the mysterious voice in the silence of the night, the mournful tragedy of Eli’s death, and the universal recognition of “all Israel, from Dan even to Beersheba that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord,”[186]—have delighted infancy and instructed manhood throughout the civilized world for three thousand years.

The subsequent history of this favoured spot is very mournful. Partaking in the wickedness and idolatry of Samaria, and then deserted by the apostate people for more favoured shrines, it soon sank down into ruin and desolation, so that in the time of the later kings it became a conspicuous instance of the fate which awaits all who forsake God. God “forsook the tabernacle of Shiloh, the tent which He placed among men.” “But go ye now unto my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at the first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.” “I will make this house (the Temple) like Shiloh, and will make this city a curse to all the nations of the earth.”[187] The same lesson is thus taught us here as in the cities in which our Lord’s mighty works were performed, that privileges abused or neglected can only increase our guilt and deepen our ruin.

SHECHEM, EBAL, AND GERIZIM.

SHORTLY after leaving Seilûn we descend into the broad and fertile plain of El Mukhna. Two parallel ridges of mountains bound the view on the north-west. Rising to a height of two thousand seven hundred feet above the level of the sea, they are conspicuous objects in the landscape, and are visible from a great distance. Elsewhere in Palestine we are struck by the contrast between the grandeur of the history, and the unimpressive character of the scenery; but these noble and massive forms are a fitting theatre for the grandest events. They are EBAL and GERIZIM. In the narrow valley between them was Shechem, where Abram pitched his tent, and built his first altar, on his entrance into the Promised Land.[188] In the plain at the foot was the parcel of ground which Jacob bought, where he digged a well, and erected an altar, and called it El-elohe-Israel, (_God, the God of Israel_).[189] Close by is the sepulchre in which the embalmed body of Joseph was buried when his descendants came up from Egypt.[190] On those opposing heights the blessings and the curses of the Law were recited, whilst the people stood in the valley between.[191] It was on Gerizim that Jotham spoke his parable of the trees choosing a king.[192] In this ancient and venerable sanctuary, the kings of Israel received their inauguration,[193] and after the secession of the northern tribes, Jeroboam fixed here his capital.[194] And it was in this birth-place of the Jewish nation, that our Lord proclaimed the abrogation of all that was local and temporary in the covenant with Abraham and his seed, “Neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem shall ye worship the Father.... God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.”[195] The associations of this spot thus cover the whole range of Hebrew history, from its commencement to its close.

The circumstances of our Lord’s memorable visit are stated with great precision. It was on his way from Judæa into Galilee, in the early spring—“there are yet four months, and then cometh harvest”—at the hour of noon—“Jesus being wearied with his journey sat thus on the well, and it was about the sixth hour.” At the same season, by the same route, at the same hour, we reached the well. Early in the year though it was, we found the heat very great and the journey toilsome. Thankful indeed were we to arrive at the resting-place. The fields were bright with the tender green of spring-time. The wide expanse of pasture and the patches of young corn were inexpressibly refreshing to the eye after our long sojourn among the barren hills of the south. In due time “the sower and the reaper would rejoice together.” But alas! the spiritual harvest which had seemed ready to the reaper’s hand as our Lord spoke, has issued only in disappointing failure. The divine Husbandman himself gathered in the first fruits; those that followed found “tares” only. The bitter animosity with which the Samaritans regarded the Jews was soon turned against the Christians. Even when the empire had become nominally Christian, violent and murderous persecutions broke out against the followers of Him who had here proclaimed Himself the Messiah, “I, that speak unto thee, am He.” And as though inheriting the fanatical hostility of their ancestors, the present Moslem population of Nablus, are amongst the most bigoted and violent in the whole East.

The well is still “deep,” though the bottom is choked with rubbish and the stones cast into it by travellers. The measurements, however, vary considerably. Maundrell, and Robinson in his first edition, make the depth one hundred and five feet; McCheyne, Wilson, and Calhoun only seventy-five. The careful and repeated soundings of my own party nearly coincide with the latter statement; we made it seventy-eight feet. I can suggest no way of reconciling these discrepancies. It is probable that the depth may have diminished since the visit of Maundrell in 1697. Robinson does not appear to have measured it himself, but to have relied upon the report of his companions. The upper part of the shaft is lined with rough masonry. After copious rains there is a little water in the bottom, but ordinarily the well is quite dry.

A few hundred feet north of Jacob’s well, in the same “parcel of ground,” is Joseph’s tomb. The structure over it is modern, and is an ordinary Mohammedan _wely_. There is, however, no reason to doubt the authenticity of the tradition which fixes upon this as the sepulchre of the patriarch. The deep alluvial soil would not allow of the interment being in a rock-hewn grave; but if the coffin were of granite or alabaster, like those of Egyptian magnates, it might yet be recovered if excavation were permitted. We have, however, already seen, when speaking of the cave of Machpelah, that the Mohammedans assert that the body was removed from its original place of sepulture and placed with those of the other patriarchs at Hebron.

The valley leading up to NABLUS, the Neapolis of the Romans, the Sychar or Shechem of the Jews, is one of rare beauty. Dr. Porter says, with slight exaggeration, “it is the finest in Palestine—in fact, it is the only really beautiful site from Dan to Beersheba.” Without the grandeur of the snow-crowned peaks of Switzerland, it yet reminded me of the Swiss-Italian valleys in its bright colour and rich vegetation. Van de Velde’s description of it is graphic and truthful: “Here there is no wilderness, here there are no wild thickets, yet there is always verdure; always shade, not of the oak, the terebinth, and the carob-tree, but of the olive grove—so soft in colour, so picturesque in form, that for its sake we can willingly dispense with all other wood. Here there are no impetuous mountain-torrents, yet there is water; water, too, in more copious supplies than anywhere else in the land; and it is just to its many fountains, rills and water courses that the valley owes its exquisite beauty.... There is a singularity about the Vale of Shechem, and that is the peculiar colouring which objects assume in it. You know that wherever there is water, the air becomes charged with watery particles; and that distant objects beheld through that medium seem to be enveloped in a pale blue or grey mist, such as contributes not a little to give a charm to the landscape. But it is precisely these atmospheric tints that we miss so much in Palestine. Fiery tints are to be seen both in the morning and the evening, and glittering violet or purple-coloured hues where the light falls next to the long deep shadows; but there is an absence of colouring, and of that charming dusky haze in which objects assume such softly blended forms, and in which also the transition in colour from the foreground to the farthest distance loses the hardness of outline peculiar to the perfect transparency of an eastern sky. It is otherwise in the Vale of Shechem, at least in the morning and the evening. Here the exhalations remain hovering among the branches and leaves of the olive-trees, and hence that lovely bluish haze. The valley is far from broad, not exceeding in some places a few hundred feet. This you find generally enclosed on all sides; there likewise the vapours are condensed. And so you advance under the shade of the foliage along the living waters, and charmed by the melody of a host of singing birds—for they, too, know where to find their best quarters—while the perspective fades away, and is lost in the damp vapoury atmosphere.”[196]

To enjoy this lovely scenery in its full perfection, we must spend the evening hours on one of the flat roofs of the city. One such evening I shall never forget. Ebal and Gerizim were glowing in the light of the setting sun. The long stretch of orchards and gardens along the valley were already dim in the purple shadows. The noise from the crowded streets died away. The stars began to peep out. The landscape faded from view. Our evening hymn of praise ascended to the God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, who “sendeth darkness and it is night.”

The abundance of water to which Van de Velde refers raises the question why Jacob should have dug a well so deep, with so much cost and labour, when the natural springs of the valley would have sufficed him? Why, too, should the Samaritan woman have come hither from the city, nearly two miles distant, to draw water, when she must have passed numerous fountains by the way? The reply to the first question is, that throughout the East water is jealously guarded by the inhabitants, who resent the intrusion of strangers upon their rights. In the book of Genesis, as amongst the fellahin and bedouin of to-day, we find no case of contention as to pasturage, but numerous instances of feuds arising out of the use of wells and fountains. And, as Dean Stanley remarks, we have here an illustration of the characteristic prudence and caution of Jacob, who carefully avoided all causes of quarrel with the tribes amongst whom he had settled.

The reply to the second question is probably to be found in the fact that there are indications that the ancient city extended farther to the eastward and nearer to the well than the present. There may, too, have been reasons for preferring the water drawn from hence. Its superior quality—orientals are epicures in this respect—or the hallowed associations connected with the well may have prompted the Samaritans to fetch it from a distance, though there were fountains close at hand.[197]

Doubts and difficulties have often been expressed as to the possibility of the law being read on the opposite mountains of Ebal and Gerizim whilst the people were encamped between them. It has been said that at so great a distance the voices must have been inaudible. Some commentators have felt this so strongly that they have sought for an Ebal and Gerizim elsewhere. Infidels have made merry over the assumed incredibility of the narrative.[198] But no real difficulty exists. Just where the valley begins to narrow a deep depression indents the sides of the opposing mountains, up which at the height of a few hundred feet two level _plateaux_ confront each other. At this spot, which seems as though it had been created for the very purpose, the reading of the law probably took place, the priests standing on the plateau on either side, the people in the plain below. We tried the experiment under the most unfavourable circumstances. A very high wind was blowing down the valley, carrying the sounds away from us. Neither of the readers had powerful voices. And yet not only could we who remained in the valley hear them, but they heard one another with sufficient distinctness to read alternate verses, each beginning where the other left off. Had the day been calm or the readers possessed voices of greater power, every word would have been distinctly audible. This is due partly to the conformation of the hill sides forming, as it were, a double amphitheatre, partly to the elastic quality of the dry atmosphere of Syria which conveys sound to an amazing distance.

The side of Ebal, the mountain of the cursing, is barren and rocky as compared with that of Gerizim, the mountain of the blessing. The latter is clothed with abundant pasturage to the very summit. The ascent is steep and difficult, but it well repays the labour, even if it were for the view alone. Nearly the whole extent of Palestine is visible—the hills of Galilee, the mountains of Benjamin and Judah, the Mediterranean and the great Philistine plain, the valley of the Jordan, the plains of Bashan and the mountains of Moab. Hermon is just hidden by an intervening height. The Samaritans assert, and many modern scholars maintain, that here, and not on the southern Moriah, Abraham was about to sacrifice Isaac. A more imposing site could hardly be found, and reading the narrative on the spot the imagination is strongly enlisted in favour of the opinion which has found so able a defender in Dean Stanley.

But that which invests the summit of Gerizim with an interest absolutely unique, is the fact that here, and here alone, the feast of the Passover is still celebrated in accordance with the Mosaic ritual. The Jews for eighteen centuries have been unable to observe their great national festival. The Samaritans have never ceased to do so. I should gladly have been present at this interesting ceremony, but as it wanted three weeks to the full moon of the month Nisan, I was unable to remain. I received, however, a minute description of the ceremony from a native of Nablus who has often witnessed it, and Yacoub, the high priest, gave me much information on the subject.

Near the ruins of their ancient Temple and, as they allege, close to the spot where Abraham offered Isaac, and Joshua placed the stones inscribed with the words of the law from Gilgal, two pits have been dug, and a long trench formed and lined with stones. Early in the morning of the day the officials commence their preparations. Fuel is gathered and a large fire kindled in each of the pits, prayers being recited the whole time. Over one of the pits two large cauldrons are placed and filled with water. In the afternoon, the lambs five or six in number, are driven to the spot. The narrative of the institution of the Passover is now chanted in a high key, the women who stand round joining in with shrill excited cries. At a signal from the priest the lambs are thrown across the trench, and, in an instant, a keen long knife is drawn twice across the throat of each, nearly severing the head from the body. When the blood has been thoroughly drained from the carcase it is either dipped into the cauldron or the boiling water is poured over it to enable the _shochetim_ to strip off the wool without difficulty. The entrails having been taken out and burnt, the portions allotted to the priests removed and salt added, the bodies are placed upon spits made, it is said, of pomegranate wood. A transverse bar is affixed to one end of the spit to prevent the body slipping. This forms a rude cross. Justin Martyr, a native of Nablus, writing in the second century, says that the fore-legs were fastened to the cross-bar. Though this is no longer done, there is no reason to doubt the accuracy of his statement, nor can we wonder that he saw in it a type of the crucifixion of the true Paschal Lamb. The bodies are now placed amongst the hot ashes of the oven prepared for the purpose. A hurdle is placed over it and covered with earth so as to retain the heat. In about three hours the earth is removed, the hurdle torn off and the lambs drawn out amidst the wild excited cries of the people. During the early part of the ceremony they had stood barefooted in acknowledgment of the sanctity of the place, but now having resumed their shoes, tied girdles of rope round their waists and taken staves in their hands, they proceed eagerly and hastily to tear off and eat portions from the bodies, over which bitter herbs have been sprinkled. In an incredibly short time the whole has been consumed excepting the bones. These are then collected and with every fragment that can be found, after the most diligent search, are thrown into the fire to be consumed. The ceremony concludes soon after midnight. It was described to me as strangely impressive. The wild cries of the worshippers, the glare of the fires, the mountain top and the surrounding landscape lit up by the light of the full moon, the solemn associations of the rite and the place, must together make up a scene of intense interest.

The Samaritans—“the smallest and the oldest sect in the world”—are now reduced to one hundred and twenty persons, all of whom reside in Nablus. The aged priest Amram, mentioned favourably by Wilson, Dean Stanley, and Mills, has lately been deposed from his office in consequence of an intrigue conducted by his nephew and successor, Yacoub. The latter looks about thirty years of age, though he is probably older. He has remarkably handsome and finely-chiselled features, but with a sinister, unpleasant expression. He professes to be able to trace his pedigree in an unbroken line from Aaron. The account he gives of his ancestry is that, down to the time of Nehemiah the high priesthood continued in one unbroken line, but that then one of the sons of Joiada, the son of Eliashib, the high priest, having married the daughter of Sanballat, the governor of Samaria,[199] refused to put her away when required to do so. Hereupon a schism took place, and from this point his genealogy follows a different line to that of the high priest of Jerusalem. He said that a genealogical table, laid up with the copies of the law in the Holy Place of the synagogue, gave all the generations of this pedigree, and that it recorded the most memorable events that happened in the period of each high priest. He declared that amongst these memorabilia was one recording that “a prophet named Jesus had appeared at Jerusalem, but that the priests there, with their usual wickedness and malignity, had put him to death out of envy.” If such a contemporary record does indeed exist, it would be a document of extraordinary interest and value. He adhered to his statement, notwithstanding my strongly-expressed incredulity, and promised to send me extracts from the original roll. These, however, I have not received. The character for untruthfulness which the Samaritans bear excites suspicion, but it is difficult to see what he could hope to gain by deceiving me.

The synagogue of the Samaritans is a small secluded edifice, entered through a walled garden, out of which an enclosed court conducts into the building itself. It is only thirty-seven feet and a few inches in length, and perhaps twenty feet in breadth; the walls are whitewashed and the floor covered with matting. A place is railed off for the Holy Place, in a recess of which the volumes of the law are kept. We were of course anxious to see the famous copy of the Pentateuch, declared to have been written by “Abishua, the great grandson of Aaron, at the door of the Tabernacle in the thirteenth year of the settlement of the children of Israel” in the Holy Land. Though this is recorded in the body of the manuscript itself, the statement is discredited, and the most contradictory opinions are entertained amongst scholars as to its actual date, some ascribing to it a venerable antiquity, and others insisting that it is comparatively modern.

Having taken off our shoes at the entrance, Yacoub locked the door, so that none of his co-religionists might enter, and took out from the recess a roll of the law, which he declared to be the one we desired to see. According to his usual custom, however, he was endeavouring to palm off upon us a duplicate instead of the original. He persisted to the last in the assertion that this duplicate was the copy shown to the Prince of Wales and his party in 1853, and there seems reason to believe that this was really the case. The fraud being detected, he, after much hesitation and a promise of liberal backshish, produced the genuine manuscript. It is wrapped in a cover of red satin embroidered with gold, and enclosed in a cylinder of silver, which opens on hinges.