In a Syrian Saddle

There, for the first time, we saw the beautiful little sun-bird, although it is said to be common in the Jericho district. To the uninstructed it is a humming-bird, although one is assured that they exist only in the New World. It is little over four inches long, radiantly attired in purple, green, and blue, with brilliant orange tufts upon his shoulders, a wonderful metallic sheen over all, and a long, curved bill. The little lady who accompanies him, though far more humbly dressed, is also dainty and fascinating in brown shot with green. Another tiny bird which gave us much delight was the long-tailed wren, drymæca gracilis, which runs up tamarisk-trees like a tit, with a little fan spread open behind it.

The scene gave a new meaning to familiar words: "The desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon." The flowers of Lebanon and Sharon are also a joy and delight to the beauty-loving eye, but to our fancy the excellency of Carmel is supreme. The mountain at its highest point is less than two thousand feet, but, rising sheer from the sea, is more imposing than many mountains of greater elevation. The entire length of the range does not exceed fifteen miles; but as only two villages, occupied mainly by Druses and Greek Catholics, occur to break its solitude, wild beasts—jackals, hyænas, wild boars, and even occasional panthers—are still more or less in possession, although the cultivation of vines for the famous Haifa vintage, has carried civilisation and humanity to a considerable distance.

Of course, we visited the convent, with all its hospitalities and its interesting historical associations: its memories of pious anchorites, of their union, in the fifth century, with one of the earliest religious orders; of the Benedictines who, early in the ninth century, built the Church of St Margaret; of St Louis; of massacres which laid desolate the convent; of the church turned into a mosque; and finally of the restoration of the order, with permission to rebuild. The monastery was used as a hospital when Napoleon besieged Acre, and the wounded, murdered by the Turks, lie under a small pyramid in the convent garden. Destroyed once more by the Pasha of Acre in 1821, the buildings have been again restored on a scale to accommodate the large pilgrimages which come every year from Europe. Even more humble pilgrims, natives or Hindoos—for "the grotto of Elijah" and the "school of the prophets" are venerated also by Moslems—are not forgotten, and a special building is provided for them at the base of the lighthouse, which is under the care of the monastery. It is said that an Italian, Brother Giovanni of Frascati, is the real author of the reconstruction of the Carmelite prosperity, for, sent by the general of the order to inquire into the condition of things, he found only wrecked walls, and, as sole survivor of the order, a single brother, who had taken refuge in Haifa. A firman was obtained from Constantinople, and the two brothers devoted themselves to the collection of funds, with such results that in 1827, six years after its destruction, a new foundation stone was laid by Giovanni himself. Liberal gifts must have followed, for, though severe in style, the buildings are very spacious and solid, and include a good library, very handsome church, oratory, and chapter-house.

A small chamber, little more than a cave, said to have been the habitation of the three poor Carmelites who inaugurated the return of the order in 1636, has been recently converted into a chapel dedicated to St Simon Stock, the Kentishman who was general of the order in Palestine in 1245.

We lingered to see the sunset clouds gather above the Mediterranean, and then rode over the top of the ridge, and so back to the town, almost grudging to go indoors as the stars sprang out and the red roofs and green palms and olives of the German village faded away into greys and purples. After dinner we had the privilege of examining Dr Schumacher's precious little museum at the American consulate, and of seeing the map of his survey of the East Jordanland, the first that has yet been completed.

CHAPTER V

NAZARETH AND TABOR

Our departure next morning—our little party reduced to three and one mukari—was somewhat delayed by the conduct of Sadowi, who, brought up in Moslem surroundings, firmly protested against being ridden past a pig in the streets of Haifa. If it had been a lion he could not have objected more strongly, and as the movement of a pig is not rapid our progress, for the length of an entire street, was a work of time. We were bound for Nazareth, only some twenty-four miles distant, along a fairly good road, but this was, on the whole, the most wearisome day of our journey. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link; Khalil had to lead the Artist's horse at a walk, our second servant had gone, and even if we had known the way, or if it had seemed prudent to divide our forces, our horses had no confidence in Frenjy, and so firmly refused to separate from their stable companions—human and equine—that, after disputing the question with them until we were tired, we abandoned ourselves to the dragging pace which is so wearing to horse and rider, and which protracted our journey till late in the afternoon.

Descending after three miles into the fertile plain of the Kishon we retraced our road towards Megiddo for some miles, and then climbed to higher ground, and passed through a succession of beautiful groves of oak, very rare in this country, and which, we regretted to see, had been partially destroyed in the construction of the new carriage road from Haifa to Tiberias. Once more descending we reached, about fifteen miles from Haifa, the village of Semûniyeh, historically interesting as being the first settlement in Palestine of the German Society of Templars, who have done so much for commerce and agriculture, and have demonstrated, as no other Europeans have done, by their well-built, well-arranged colonies, the fact that it is possible to live a domestic life under conditions of order, beauty, and sanitation even in Palestine. This first site, however promising and pleasing to the eye, was not, however, well chosen, for the spring, bordered with flowers and shaded with maiden-hair, turned out to be very unwholesome. We passed, just below, the little village of Yâfâ, where since 1641 the Franciscans have possessed a small chapel, on the alleged site of the house of Zebedee. The villagers are mainly Latins and Greek Orthodox.

The town of Nazareth is so buried in a cleft of the hills that it came into sight quite suddenly, lying to the left of the road, with a few separated buildings, mostly modern institutions, the most striking of which is the immense orphanage of the Salesian Fathers, with its long arcades and its exalted position. A convent of Poor Clares is the only building noticeable to the right of the road; on the left we pass a pleasant-looking hotel (German) and some half-dozen houses, and we are at the gates of the Franciscan hospice, a handsome building, capable of accommodating over two hundred guests, with spacious reception-rooms and every modern convenience, built mainly by the liberality of Americans, and known, in consequence, as Notre Dame d'Amerique. Its hospitality, like that of all the Franciscan hospices, is open to all, rich and poor, irrespective of sex, creed, or nationality. Guests are at liberty to leave a gift for the maintenance of the house; but nothing is asked, and the Lady related several instances, personally known to her, in which it had been declined owing to the circumstances, known or suspected, of the visitor.

One's emotions on finding oneself in Nazareth are, like so many of the most sacred things in life, "nothing to speak of." Easier is it to dwell upon our hearty welcome and kindly companionship, upon the refreshment of comfortable rooms and an excellent table, upon the unattractiveness of the modern town and the superfluous philanthropy and multiplication of benevolent institutions.

After "the cup that cheers," and which a Franciscan hospice anywhere in Palestine may be warranted to produce at sight of an Englishwoman, we wandered forth, rather rashly, in the twilight. The Lady alleged that the ground-plan of the town could only be compared with Clovelly—each house looks down the next-door chimneys, or would if chimneys there were. The streets appeared to be about nine feet wide. On either side is a pavement wide enough for one person; the middle is a water-course, a drain, or a depository for decaying vegetable matter according to the character of the quarter. If you meet a donkey your conversation with your companion across the street is interrupted till it has clattered past; if it is loaded you flatten yourself against the wall; if you meet a camel you step inside the nearest house. The people have the manners of those accustomed to tourists and to superfluously benevolent institutions: the women stare boldly, the children demand backsheesh, the men have lost the Oriental courtesy so welcome in less frequented places.

The population is about ten thousand, of whom thirty-five hundred are Moslems, and thirty-five hundred Greeks; about twenty-eight hundred Catholics, Latin, Greek, and Maronite, and about two hundred and fifty Protestants. The people are prosperous, mainly as agriculturists, but there is also some commerce in cotton and grain.

The Franciscans, besides their own college for novices, have a school for boys; the Salesians an orphanage for boys; the Christian Brothers a school for boys, with higher grade as well as elementary teaching; the Dames de Nazareth an orphanage and school for girls; the Sisters of St Joseph a school for girls and a dispensary; the Brothers of St John the Divine a hospital and dispensary; the Sisters of Charity all the miscellaneous works of care for young and old, for homeless and infirm, with which everywhere they fill up the gaps left by others. The Greeks, Russians, Maronites—all have their own institutions; the Russians a very large hospice for pilgrims. The Edinburgh Medical Mission has a church and hospital, and the English have a small orphanage for girls, founded by the Society for Female Education, which, despite its unattractive title, has done some excellent work in Palestine. How, out of a Christian population of about three thousand (exclusive of Greek Orthodox, and in a well-to-do town), enough material is collected to furnish occupation to so many societies, and the means of spending so much money as is here represented, is beyond the understanding of the mere layman!

Darkness fell suddenly, and in the narrow, unlighted streets we—to our own self-contempt at so unusual a circumstance—lost our way, got mixed with a long train of camels which, whether standing or sitting, barricaded our steps in all directions, and were finally rescued by a lad speaking very good French, who lifted the Lady bodily over pack-saddles and humps of camels, drove her under arches formed by the front and hind legs of camels, held aside for her the investigating muzzles of camels, defended her from the hind legs of camels, and finally, to her great surprise, delivered her safe at the convent door, and disappeared into the dark.

Next day we visited all the traditional sites, known by description to all the world. The great Church of the Annunciation, rich with costly gifts of marbles, and silver, and pictures, on the site of that built by Constantine, is the parish church of the Franciscans. The present building is not older than the beginning of the eighteenth century; its immediate predecessor having been burnt and pillaged by the Bedu from beyond the Jordan. A very simple chapel covers a part of the foundations, still visible, of a crusading church, on ground bought by the Franciscans a hundred and fifty years ago, and which they hope some day to restore. The timeworn arches, the fragments of masonry standing silent and solitary in a walled garden, among well-ordered flower-beds—the tradition that this was the site of the workshop of Joseph, the village carpenter, impressed us more than all the wealth, the multiplied legends of the handsome Church of the Annunciation.[4] The Franciscans have also a chapel covering the rock said to be the scene of one of the occasions when our Lord, after His resurrection, was known in the breaking of bread. The Greek Catholics are in possession of the church which is associated with the synagogue in which Jesus is said to have preached, and from which He was cast out; the Greek Orthodox of a chapel which covers one of the springs of the village well. Here, as in many other places where only one well exists, we may feel certain of at least one scene of many sacred associations.

Later in the day the Lady and the Doctor rode up to the top of one of the many hills, which stand out like islands or peninsulas in the plain, and from which, but a mile or two beyond the village, one has a view which is an epitome of Old and New Testament history. It is said that one may see thirty miles in three directions: east to the valley of the Jordan and the hills of Gilead beyond, west to the Mediterranean, and in the nearer foreground one may look upon the battlefields of Esdraelon, on Carmel and Tabor, on the scenes of the history of Elijah, Barak, Gideon, of the death of Saul, of the struggles of the Maccabees, of the life of Jesus of Nazareth.

Here, once more, one cannot fail to be struck by the falsity of conventional teaching. No meditation on the boyhood of Jesus is complete without its paragraph as to the obscurity of His home, the remoteness of this Galilean village, its aloofness from the life and history of the times. The very phrase "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?" is taken in support of its insignificance, instead of evidence of the well-known character for turbulence of its inhabitants—a character said, by those in political authority, to be still prominent to-day.

Apart, however, from the stimulus of its surrounding scenery it is obvious to the most elementary student that Nazareth was very little removed from the most crowded highway, from the centre of the busiest life of Palestine; that—to speak it with reverence—an intelligent boy, wandering about the neighbourhood as boys will, would bring in every day news of all the activities, the competitions, the commerce, the politics of the times. Midianite caravans making their way to the fords of the Jordan would tell of all the wealth and learning of Egypt, and reflect somewhat of its contact with Europe; Damascus caravans coming south or returning home from trading expeditions; pilgrims going up to Jerusalem to the feasts, and bringing back news of the capital, the rendezvous of all Jewry; lords and princes with their retinues travelling from the Greek cities of the Decapolis to the Greek city of Tiberias, but a few hours distant; Roman legions marching south; luxurious ladies going down to winter among the palm gardens of Jericho; learned men travelling from one city to another; peripatetic teachers as the fashion was; Herod and his Court removing from Tiberias to Sebaste, to Jericho, to Jerusalem—all such spectacles would be of daily occurrence, a part of that human training which made the Master, perfect Man; which taught Him sympathy not only with those who frequented the carpenter's workshop and the fisherman's hut, but with a learning, a civilisation, a life, which brings Him nearer to us and to our own temptations and interests than some would have us think; which made it necessary that His teachings should be represented not only by the Synoptic gospels but by the author of the fourth gospel, by the Epistle to the Hebrews, by the philosophy of St Paul.

Looking down from our elevation at a scene which showed the ploughman with his yoke, the sower with his basket, the busy little town, the many schools, hospitals, orphanages; the hospitalities of the Franciscans and the Russians, frequented, later in the year, by persons of every class and nationality; the buildings in progress, the vehicles and laden beasts travelling seawards to Haifa, in touch with all the commerce of the age, we turned for one moment to the convent of Poor Clares at our feet, with the passing thought that asceticism, inactivity, contemplation such as this, was an anomaly compared not only with our own life but with that of Him whom they would serve.

The Artist's horse required an off day or two, and the roads were in such good condition that it was arranged that the Artist should follow in a carriage, as the rest of the party had a long day in prospect. The Church of the Annunciation had been crowded every evening with village people, singing special litanies, and praying for rain. "I thought of your long ride, and prayed with mixed feelings," said a kindly Father; "but the majority are against you, and you had better make the most of the time. I saw 'as it were a man's hand' over Carmel!"

Accordingly we set off at twilight next morning, and saw the sun rise over the hills of Galilee. The little town had not yet awakened to life, and not a single woman waited with her pitcher at the well which yesterday had been a scene of so much activity. We had planned to visit the Austrian hospital, where so much science and surgical skill are devoted to the poor by the Brothers of St John the Divine, but the early start and a change in our route made this impossible. The country hereabouts is not in itself interesting, except for the beauty of colouring, which is never wanting in Palestine, and for the associations of which we were everywhere reminded. We looked back at the Mount of Precipitation, with its sheer precipice of 1000 feet, at the range of Carmel, at Tabor and Hermon, at the wide plain to the south and the rising ground beyond, where, in Nain and Endor and Shunem, men and women were still perplexed by the mysteries of life and death.

Khalil chose to conduct us off the highroad, which seemed to us better adapted to the imperfect light, and over some very rough ground through the village of Gath-Hepher, birthplace of Jonah, and where, as may be gathered from the presence of his tomb, he was also buried. He was, additionally, buried near Jaffa, and somewhere in the direction of Hebron—circumstances of a nature not unusual in the case of saints and heroes popular among the faithful of more than one confession. This, we gathered, was his Moslem burial-place.

About twenty minutes later we reached the spring of Kefr Kennâ, probably the Cana of the New Testament, and, if so, the source of the water that was made wine. The women, somewhat wild-looking and unkempt at this early hour, were filling their jars from the sarcophagus into which the water runs; but they offered no discourtesy, and made no demands for backsheesh. It was barely seven o'clock when we rode into the courtyard of the little Latin church built over the alleged site of the first miracle of Jesus. The Franciscans in charge of the mission were in church, we were told, and we made our way in, and found the father (with the single attendant brother) saying his office by the light of a solitary candle. When he had finished he hastened to place himself at our disposal, showed us the church, and afterwards invited us to take refreshment. The church is a little gem, both as to architecture and decoration. It is seldom one can honestly admire a modern church in this country, as, however good the building may be, it is generally hideously disfigured by the offerings of the faithful. However, at Cana there are no nuns to make crochet and paper flowers, no opportunities for grateful Arabs to testify piety by Christmas-tree balls. All is of rich simplicity, and the Père Curé is too good an archæologist to allow of the usual glaring anomalies. The church, built in 1880, stands on the site of an older one, visible below the present flooring at various points where trap-doors are open to exhibit, here an inscription in mosiac, there a fragment of wall or of carving; but it may be doubted whether these belong to the church built by Helena and described by Paula in the fourth, Antoninus Martyr in the sixth, and Willibald in the seventh century; and visited, according to Michaud, by St Louis, in May 1251, with his wife, Margaret of Provence. A large earthenware jar is shown in the church, of antique design and of local manufacture, in illustration of those in use in the time of our Lord. The amount of wine that six such water-pots would contain was, indeed, a princely wedding-gift.

In the simple little presbytery, at right angles with the church, curiously reminiscent of many an one in the Highlands of Scotland, we tasted the wine of Cana of Galilee, the red wine of the district, pure and refreshing, with the cordial quality of Burgundy rather than the acidity of claret.

A little Franciscan oratory, built upon the foundations of an ancient chapel, which, in its turn, became a mosque, marks the traditional site of the house of Nathaniel. The adjoining ground now serves as a cemetery. We retraced our steps to the entrance of the village, and returned once more to the Great Plain, where, as we passed by the village of Nahallal, the conviction was forced upon us that the praying agriculturists were about to meet with the fulfilment of their hopes. We had talked of the great black clouds which had been gathering ever since our departure as "fine atmospheric effects," and had refused to listen to the kindly warnings of our good friends at Cana, but we looked with some dismay at the wide, shelterless valley we must cross before reaching the foot of Mount Tabor, where protection among the trees might be hoped for. Fortunately, there was no wind, so the horses made no objection to the rain, although the abrupt, rocky descent into the valley was very slippery. The climb beyond we made on foot, partly out of regard for our horses and partly for the pleasure of delaying at will to enjoy the views and examine the flora.

The flowers and shrubs were very interesting, but less varied than on Carmel; and the clouds somewhat obscured the view until we reached the top, when a grand panorama burst upon us. It was a steep climb, for the mountain is two thousand and eighteen feet, and the plain can be very little above sea-level. However, the road is good, and we were rewarded by the discovery of a dolmen, of which we have not been able to find any record, the more interesting in that they are exceedingly rare west of the Jordan. Fragments of walls and heaps of stones, at various levels, show traces of earlier habitation; and, indeed, it has been lately maintained that, at the time of our Lord, the mountain was too thickly populated for such a scene as the Transfiguration to be at all possible. The evidence on this point is very conflicting, and the authorities at variance have been carefully discussed by P. Barnabé d'Alsace, who, unlike many critics of Holy Land sites, is familiar with the locality under consideration.[5] Lightfoot was the first to express, in 1675, doubt on the subject, mainly on the ground that a friend of his who had climbed the mountain said that it did not tally with the description of Josephus. Granted, for the sake of argument, that the village of the time of Josephus was equally large in the time of our Lord, the existence of an ancient cemetery sets a limit to its eastern extension, as a burial ground could never have been included within a Jewish city. The distance from the cemetery to the edge of the plateau exceeds the distance from the walls of Jerusalem to the Garden of Gethsemane, and the solitude of the Agony has never been called in question.

When we reached the top of the mountain we found ourselves facing a substantial gateway, worthy of the entrance to a park, and with a good carriage drive beyond. Arguing, from force of habit, that a desired end is never approached in this country by a straightforward path, and being wet, hungry, and tired, we reflected that to climb two or three walls, drop into a kitchen garden, and then across a long, ploughed field with no visible means of exit, was the most likely method to bring us quickly within reach of food and shelter. Accordingly we arrived, in time, at a group of buildings, defended by a number of indignant dogs, from whom we were happily separated by a locked gate. Their remonstrances brought forth assistance, and we were finally rescued by a Greek monk, who welcomed us kindly, although to the wrong convent. The Doctor made a rush at some Arabic inscriptions leaning against the west wall of the church; and, of course, we paid a visit to the church itself, within which some remains of an ancient building are preserved, consisting of two apses and part of a mosaic pavement, possibly belonging to the Church of St Elias, and probably of the fourth or fifth century. A little boy led us finally into the right path, and in a few minutes we were within the kindly hospice of the Franciscans, and, but little later, in the presence of a breakfast which we felt we had, for once, earned in the sweat of our brow. A German father and a Dutch brother supplied all our needs, and refreshed us, moreover, with much pleasant talk, reminding us that our climb had been accomplished by the Empress Helena "in her eighties."

The plateau is covered with ruined churches and convents, as the mountain has been held sacred from a very early period—the earliest known mention of it as the site of the Transfiguration being in the Apocryphal gospel according to the Hebrews, the exact date of which is not established more precisely than that it was known to St Ignatius, who died in 107. The mountain is mentioned by Origen and St Jerome, and was visited by several early pilgrims—Paula, Antoninus Martyr, our English Willibald, and others. The earliest convent was established by the Benedictines in 1100; but as early as the sixth century the three tabernacles, desired by St Peter, were already built.

The Franciscan buildings, which are very simple, date only from 1873, when the Friars Minor first obtained a footing on the mountain, the Greeks (Orthodox) having preceded them by five or six years.

Climbing on to a platform of masonry, at the western end of the plateau, we were much encouraged, on looking N.E. towards Tiberias in the direction in which we were going, to observe a blue sky, and the hoary head of Hermon gleaming bright in clear sunshine.

It was a hint to depart, and we hastened, despite intermittent "April showers," to begin our descent, which, to our regret, had to be made by the same path by which we had ascended. We had hoped to have enjoyed the variety of examining the northern or eastern slope.

CHAPTER VI

THE SEA OF GALILEE

It was a glorious ride from Tabor to Tiberias. The rain clouds hastened westward, and, as we heard later, gratified the thirsty souls at Nazareth, and left us to a thorough enjoyment of our day. We were delighted to find ourselves off the beaten track, for the carriage road to Tiberias was considerably to our north. We had been told, to our satisfaction, that the alternative road by way of Tabor, as it lay a little low, did not give us such frequent glimpses of parts of the lake, but that we should come upon the glorious prospect all at once, and the expectation kept us constantly on the watch. Our road lay for the most part through well-cultivated country, belonging partly to the Bedu and partly to the Circassians, and the wide fields, in which the corn was springing, were a delightful and refreshing sight. We pictured what it would be later in the year to ride, as we were assured we might, through vegetation up to the saddle—barley, maize, sesame, doura, with yellow marguerite and blue eryngo, and campanulas of every shade, raising proud heads above the golden wealth. We were, however, quite content with the garden which had been prepared for us—such an one would be, indeed, difficult to find anywhere else, in such combination, and in the first week of January. Perhaps one great charm of it all was that it was just such a day, and such a spectacle, as one might enjoy, three months later in parks and gardens at home—only glorified as to colour, size, and fragrance, and that here all the flowers were the wild children of Mother Nature. Capers, fennel, asparagus, and scores of balsamic herbs, in which the bees were gaily humming, took us, in thought, into the kitchen gardens of home, now lying under a white coverlet in winter sleep. Here all was so warm in the sunshine that lizards, and even chameleons and tortoises, had wakened up to greet the glad new year.

We passed the immense ruins of a fine khan of fifteenth-century workmanship, and those of an Arab castle on a height beyond, both now serving only as refuge to the flocks of the Bedu, who, on account of the presence of an excellent spring, seek shelter about its walls. Circassian and Bedawy cultivation we had seen, wide tracts in possession of the Jews were pointed out to us at a distance, and at Kafr Sabt we found a village of peasantry from Algeria. Somewhat to the north, the twin peaks of Karn Hattîn looked down upon this aggregation of race and creed—the scene, according to a tradition (not, however, older than the sixteenth century), of the Sermon on the Mount. The same mountain has another association, that of the battle in July 1187, in which Salah ed-din totally defeated the Franks, and gave the death-blow to their power in Palestine. King Guy de Lusignan was taken prisoner, the knights were sold as slaves, the Templars and Hospitallers executed, on the very site where, perhaps, the Master, looking down the avenue of centuries, had said: "Blessed are the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure in heart." Whether the blessings were any more applicable to the Christian Crusader than to the Moslem conqueror is a point upon which the testimony of history leaves one somewhat in doubt.

At the bottom of the valley, into which we soon descended, followed close by a family party of Jews, who seemed glad of the protection of our presence, we found ourselves upon a wide, fertile plain bounded by a water-course;—that we noted the water-courses is a sign that we have been living in arid Judæa;—and then we rose once more, and for the last time, reaching the plateau of Ard el Hammâ, when the promised view burst upon us. Our Jews were actually alarmed by our simultaneous shout of delight: Khalil only smiled sardonically, quite inured to the unaccountable pleasure which the Frenjys exhibited over what not even an Armenian or a Government official could turn into so much as a bishlik (value 6d.).

The Sea of Tiberias is about thirteen miles long by five to eight wide; its proportions much those of Windermere; its form an irregular oval; indeed, it is said that its ancient name of Kinnerôt is derived from Kinnor, a lute, in allusion to its shape. It lies 681 feet below the Mediterranean, so that it has an almost subtropical, and very abundant, vegetation. The steep hills are of moderate height; but great Hermon, looking over their shoulders at the northern end, dwarfs all else into insignificance. There is, for the most part, but a ribbon of coast, green with herbage and trees, and bordered with glistening sand and shells. It is like a bonnie Highland loch, not wooded like Loch Lomond, nor, on the other hand, bare like Coruisk, but smiling, peaceful, inviting to repose. The very sight of such a quantity of water was refreshing to us, coming, as we did, from a city where it is often cheaper to drink a bottle, or even two, of wine, than to take a bath. In little villages dotted along the shore we could fancy that we might hear the kindly Gaelic instead of the Arabic, which has, however, many similar sounds; the laddie herding on yonder hill is playing an instrument "own brother" to the chanters, and snow-crowned Hermon dominates his world like Cruachan or Schiehallion. The extreme southern end is hidden from us, and we must advance to the very edge of the cliff to see Tiberias lying at our feet—a long line of houses, varied by palms and minarets. At this distance, and before bettering our acquaintance with details, it is not difficult to reconstruct in imagination the city which must have been, in the time of Jesus, one of the many glories of Galilee. To realise the sheen and consistency of its beauty we have to remember that the whole had been newly built by Herod upon a long-deserted site; that palace and race-course and citadel and forum, a great synagogue for the Jews (who refused, however, to enter the city), a wall three miles long, were all new, and all part of an artistic plan. We must remember that this was only one of nine cities, all more or less Greek in architecture and customs, said to have contained each, at least, fifteen thousand inhabitants—an almost unbroken chain around the lake, now so solitary that one's eye finds with difficulty traces of humanity otherwhere than in and about Tiberias, now a squalid townlet of four thousand inhabitants. As Sebaste was called after Augustus, so the name of Tiberius was given to this city—perhaps the old Rakkath. When the foundations were laid, quantities of human bones were laid bare, and the Jews refused to dwell in a city ceremonially unclean, so that Herod was driven to populate his new possession with the scum of the country. To judge from our later acquaintance with the manners and customs of the inhabitants their descendants are still in possession, reinforced by a still larger number of Jews, of whom, indeed, two-thirds of the population now consists. Rich gardens once existed where now are only swamps, beautiful to the eye, but breathing out malarial fever; and fleets of sails met the eyes of Jesus and His fishermen friends where now we can discover but two little rowing-boats. Khalil pointed out the spot where, as he said, Jesus had made forty loaves of bread, and was much hurt that we did not take a note of the story, as we had done of other traditions. The story was true, he affirmed, and the company had eaten them with their fish.

Our horses were in good mood to-day, and we made them descend the steep hillside above Tiberias, by which we not only cut short the tortuous windings of the road but obtained a quick series of points of view, which furnished a panorama wonderful in colour and outline. The approach has still a certain grandeur. The wall and gateway, probably entirely ineffective as such, are picturesque in their decay. They are, indeed, of no great age, and may even belong only to the eighteenth-century restoration, when the town was refortified, to be again destroyed by an earthquake in 1837. We passed some modern European buildings, including a small but inviting little German hotel, and the hospital and manse of the mission of the Free Church of Scotland, and, still descending, paused before the gate of the Franciscan hospice. The rain which we had seen ahead of us in the morning had fallen in Tiberias, and the streets were simply ditches of dirty water, with occasional islands, upon one of which we descended, and then, with a spring, found ourselves in the orderly courtyard.

A hearty welcome awaited us from the Brother in charge, an old friend, formerly gardener in the Garden of Gethsemane, and still practising his art, as the neat flower-beds and well-trained creepers testified.

The Arabs say that the king of fleas lives at Tiberias; if so, he holds his court elsewhere than at the hospices—here and at Et Tâbigha, where next day we were kindly and comfortably entertained. After dinner we climbed to the roof, and had a glorious view of the lake, and of Mount Hermon, and of the tall palms waving in the moonlight. An epidemic of cholera in 1903 produced a fearful mortality, amounting, it is said, to one-fourth of the population, and of these over three-fourths were Jews, probably owing to the extreme filth of their surroundings.

Next morning we set off, after an early breakfast, to ride up to the north end of the lake. Our farther journey, to Besan, would take us southward, and we were warned not to attempt the eastern shore without an escort, as the Bedu there are very wild. We passed the neat hospital and manse, covered with a crimson flame of bougainvillea, and shaded by pleasant trees, with gardens sloping down to the water, and in a few minutes were out of sight of the town, with only the blue lake, with its green margin and surrounding hills, to feast our eyes upon. Ruins, wells with stone enclosures, rock tombs—all speak of a past population. The first sign of present habitation was a miserable village, said to be Magdala. Even here some massive fragments of wall testify to earlier prosperity. Here the shore widens out into the plain of Gennesaret, bounded towards the south-east by a rugged hill, in which are many large caves, formerly the stronghold of robbers, which were fortified without, and adapted for residence by long connecting galleries, and by cisterns, which collected water for the occupants. These bandits gave much trouble to Herod the Great, as they were practically unassailable, the only access to their homes being in the face of a rock eleven hundred feet high. They were finally reached by means of lowering soldiers from the top in cages, and were ultimately overpowered. At a later date these fortified caverns were utilised by Josephus in his struggle with the Romans, and still later they served as hermitages.

According to some authorities, Taricheæ is to be identified with Magdala, though others place it farther south. Its associations are historical and commercial, not religious. The name signifies "pickling-place"; and the salt fish of Galilee were known throughout the Roman Empire—large quantities were taken up to Jerusalem at feast-times, and barrels exported to the shores of the Mediterranean. The great draughts of fish such as we read of in the gospels must have been brought to Taricheæ for preservation, otherwise they would have been wasted in this subtropical climate.

A little past Mejdel our road led us down to the very edge of the lake, where we were tempted to dismount to gather shells, which are very beautiful and varied. The shore is fringed all the way with oleander-bushes, "the blossoms red and bright" of Keble's poem—one of those touches of realism in his verses which are the more remarkable that he was never in Palestine. Khalil thought our occupation very childish, and never could understand why we should want to walk when we were paying for horses to ride upon. Before long we were forced to mount again by the necessity of having to cross several streams making their way down to the lake. The path gradually ascended till we found ourselves following an aqueduct along a very narrow ridge at some height above the water, just after passing the ruins of the large Khan Minyeh, to which it had served to conduct water in the days of Salah ed-din. We had forcible illustration of the sudden storms for which this lake has been always known, for just as we were carefully picking our way along our precarious path a sudden squall arose, and in a moment the wind was whistling about us, rain was dashing in our faces, and the lake was beating angrily upon the shore. There was an instant's question of sheltering among the fig-trees below or of going back; but we would not give in, and after some twenty minutes of discomfort, we came suddenly upon a little group of buildings, obviously European. The Doctor dismounted to beg shelter, and in a very few minutes we found ourselves within the hospitable walls of the hospice of the German Catholic Palæstina Verein. This was a welcome surprise; we had heard of this mission and its hospitalities, but had not realised that we were already at Ain et Tâbigha (possibly Bethsaida), and actually under the roof of the well-known Father Biever, of whom we had heard so much at Madaba.

The house was in course of structural alteration, a good deal of furniture encumbered the wide piazza, workmen were sheltering from the rain, the Father himself was absent, but none of these difficulties subtracted from the cordiality of our welcome. Our horses were stabled, and we, laying aside our wraps, prepared to stay to luncheon. It was an ideal spot: the house built upon a narrow terrace, the bank laid out in gardens sloping down to the water's edge, the arcade covered with roses, among which the Maréchal Niel was conspicuous; abundance of flowers of various kinds, and a friendly family of cats, dogs, ducks of the handsome Aleppo breed, and some fine poultry and pigeons, added to the attractions.

Our vice-host, Father Biever's companion and assistant priest, made us soon feel at home, and we were not difficult to persuade that the rain was far too persistent to make our return possible, and that we had better take up our quarters in the hospice till the morrow. Khalil was despatched back to Tiberias to relieve the anxieties of the Artist, and we settled down, very thankful to be out of the storm.

We were greatly interested in our passing glimpse of a life which seemed to us to have something of the practical usefulness, the self-renunciation, of real mission work. Here were two highly-cultivated men deliberately and permanently establishing themselves in a spot where, for three hours' north and but little less south, they had no single neighbour except the Bedu, and one solitary Franciscan, whose acquaintance we were to make next day. Their own immediate household includes some four or five Arabs who serve the hospice, and assist in the labour of the well-kept fields and gardens, by which the house is largely supported, and lessons of practical utility taught to the surrounding natives. One of these was pointed out to us as the best fisherman on the lake, and we asked him to explain the use of the nets, which were lying under the wall of the house. He proceeded to collect one, which seemed to be circular, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, into large folds with his left hand. The mesh was fine, and the net, in spite of its size, easily grasped. Transferring it to his right hand, with a quick movement he threw the net from him, when it expanded into a large circle, so that one easily understood how the casting of such a net might include "a multitude of fishes."

Tristram says: "The lake swarms with fish as I could not have believed water could swarm"; but though fourteen species are reckoned as inhabiting the lake only four or five are ordinarily on the market. There are some, however, of exceptional interest, not only to the learned in such matters, but also to the merely observant like ourselves.

These include two species found nowhere else outside of the tropics—one the chromis simonis, of which one species, the chromis paterfamilias, for several weeks carries the eggs and the young, to the number, it is said, of two hundred, in his mouth; the other, the clarias macracanthus, which emits a sound: it was known to Josephus as the coracinus. Several varieties of the capoéta Damascéna, the luminous fish, are also found here.

There was so much to hear of interest that we were almost thankful to the rain for keeping us indoors. These solitary priests have adapted themselves to their environment in a manner which, were it more customary among religious teachers, would be of infinite value not only to religion but to science. One cannot think without regret of the wealth of information lost to the archæologist, anthropologist, philologist by the neglect of those who might secure unrivalled opportunities of intercourse with the people, but many of whom after years in this country, leave it as ignorant as when they came, of all that lies beneath the surface. Our friends here, though able to converse in, at least, three or four European languages, use Arabic as their vernacular, speaking it even between themselves, the better to enter into the life of the people; they are good horsemen and good shots, two qualifications absolutely necessary for friendship with the Bedu.[6] They possess, in addition to the animals necessary to the hospice, a beautiful Arab mare, the gift of one of the Madaba flock, and a very fine specimen of the Arab deerhound, not unlike an Irish deerhound in appearance, but swift as the gazelle which it hunts, and so exquisitely light of limb, without the hideous attenuation of the English greyhound, that such a dog is almost invariably known as "Rischân" (feather), feminine, "Rischi." Father Biever was originally an officer in the German army; hence, probably, his power of organisation. He has also a natural capacity for architecture, as is testified by the very large and handsome Convent of St Pierre, perhaps the most effective modern building in Jerusalem, of which he was the architect and practical builder, in addition, it is said, to his having collected a part of the cost in America, where he had some experience of life among the cowboys. He made a very large collection of the flowers of the country, which, unfortunately, was lost with the vessel in which it was sent to Europe. It is to be earnestly hoped that his unique collection of the folklore of the Bedu and fellahin may be given to literature.

We were fortunate in happening to be present at an interesting little social ceremony. Our visit fell on Epiphany, and all the neighbours, Bedu and Druse, came in the evening to celebrate the visit of the Three Kings. The long hall was simply furnished with a table, moved aside for the occasion, and a divan running round the walls. It was brightly lighted, and the household servants presided over the refreshments, which consisted of tea and some confectionery, specially made for the occasion, of very rich and sweet pastry, some of it in the form of puffs containing honey, and the rest in narrow rolls, which are known as "the fingers of Mary."

The company arrived all together, men and boys (the women, of course, being left at home), all dressed alike in the long robe, shawl, girdle, white keffeeye, kept in place on the head by a double rope of goats' hair, and camels' hair mantle, which many removed. Some came barefoot, others removed their shoes on entering, and all sat cross-legged on the divan. The household servants were Arab peasants (fellahin), and regarded by the others as of a lower class—tillers, rather than owners, of the soil. They were differentiated by wearing turbans, made of large, coloured handkerchiefs twisted round the red tarbush, which is of different shape and manufacture from those worn in the towns. Two Arab women and the Lady were the sole representatives of their sex. The guests were perfectly self-possessed, with none of the mauvaise honte of such a gathering at home. They were perfectly easy to entertain, and ready to converse upon any subject, although, we were assured, less interesting than the natives east of the Jordan. The Bedu smoked when invited—the Druses add the prohibition of tobacco to the Moslem prohibition of wine.

When tea was handed round, the fun of the evening began. Two of the cakes contained each a bean, and those who found themselves possessors of the beans were king and queen for the evening; obviously a variant of an original three beans and three kings. The queen was a young Druse, tall and slim, with good features, and long, narrow eyes, which gave him an expression of sleepy good nature; the king was a much quicker-witted fellah, thick-set, with a certain piquant ugliness, and bearing the name of Dieb, which, in Arabic, means "wolf," and which, whether in Arabic or in German, was, we were told, equally appropriate.

In true Oriental fashion, the king issued commands through his wife, and required services of various kinds from the assembled company, who cheerfully complied, filled his drinking-bowl with tea or water as he might desire, fetched his tobacco, sang to him, and danced for him. The climax was reached when two of the men were required to serve the queen for a horse, and the tall Druse had to proceed up the room leaning on the shoulders of the two. The Oriental is a born mime, and the ridiculous situation was carried off with a savoir faire which only an entire lack of self-consciousness could account for. No musical instrument was at hand, but a little boy, of perhaps twelve, evidently a known expert, produced an excellent imitation of the shepherd's pipe by blowing into his fingers. We were sorry to get none of the characteristic singing, in which, as in the Hebrides, a motif is announced by one, and taken up in chorus by the rest; but the guests came from different villages, and, therefore, did not know the same songs—a fact which speaks volumes for the wealth of folk-songs—a wealth as yet very imperfectly estimated.

Nothing could have been more orderly and well mannered; the only exception was one of those which prove the rule. A boy, of perhaps sixteen, probably from shyness, refused to sing, upon which he was told to go. "You have had your Kuchen" (it was quaint to hear the Arab adoption of the word used among ourselves); "you have had your tea; you will do nothing—go!" And go he did, though we were pleased to see him slip in, half-an-hour later, by another door. When the king became impatient of his consort's inertness he started to his feet, tore off his head-dress, distorted his features, producing the most entire change in his appearance, and performed a whole drama in dumb show, which, even to the uninitiated, was extremely comic, and which produced shouts of laughter among the Arab element of the party—the Druse and Bedu dignity being less easily disturbed.

Arab entertainments are very long drawn out: when we retired to our rooms, adjoining the chapel, the party showed no intention of breaking up. The long-desired rain was a source of satisfaction, which added to the general placidity, if not hilarity.

Next morning we awoke to a world of intense green and blue, glistening with raindrops and glad with the singing of birds, the bulbul among the loudest, though it must be owned that, apart from association, he is much overrated, being vastly inferior to the nightingale or, to our ears, the thrush or the blackbird. After an early breakfast we remounted our horses, and, accompanied by our host, proceeded upon our interrupted journey northward.

We noted the little landing-stage, one of those reminiscences of the visit of the German Emperor to be found all over Palestine—sole representative of the busy wharves and boat-builders' yards of the time of our Lord, to which time belong also the tanneries, potteries, and dyeing-sheds, the remains of which are scattered around Et Tâbigha. Farther on we came upon hot springs, and the, to us, novel sight of a hot waterfall, with the remains of mills, aqueducts, and, possibly, baths.

In about half-an-hour we were at Tell Hûm, which, although no systematic excavation has yet been possible, is by many authorities assumed to be identical with Capernaum, and which, in this belief, was acquired in 1890 by the Franciscans, who, however, dare not, for political reasons, call attention for the present to the elaborate ruins which exist not far beneath the surface, and the workmanship of which appears to be Roman. Meantime the soil is under cultivation for the use of the convent at Tiberias, a solitary brother remaining there to direct the labours of the Arabs. The low, swampy ground is unwholesome for Europeans, and it is necessary to replace the lonely Franciscan every few months. The authenticity of the site has been much disputed; but the cautious Baedeker regards it as "as good as certain," largely on the authority of the old itineraries of pilgrims. Whatever its name, it was undoubtedly a sacred spot to the early Christians. The remains include the foundations of a building of unusual beauty, constructed of immense blocks of white limestone, so fine as to resemble marble, which must have been 75 feet long by 54 wide. The bases of columns and some very ornate Corinthian capitals are still visible, and it is not impossible that we may have here the synagogue built by the centurion, of whom it was said: "He loveth our nation!" The ruins, probably of a Christian church, which were seen here in 600 are not far distant, and it is evident that a considerable town once stood here—if not Capernaum then some other—upon which Romans and Christians have, in turn, expended wealth and interest.

On our way back to Tiberias, we listened to many stories illustrating the psychology and beliefs of the people; of, among other things, the science and superstitions in regard to the horse—traditions which deserve to be preserved. In this country, except where civilisation has introduced bearing-reins, tail-docking, and other deformities, it is assumed that Nature understood her own business, and that, for example, the object of a tail was for the relief of a horse when tormented by flies, for which purpose, as well as for beauty, the longer and fuller it is the better. They judge of a horse's age not only by the teeth but by the tail, which takes some years to bring to perfection. The first year it is kept bare, the second thinned, after which it is allowed to grow. The Arabs preserve the genealogies of all their horses, many of them up to hundreds of generations, and their classification is very elaborate. There was a time when only one horse existed in the country, and he was the property of Solomon, who, however, seems to have been imperfect in horsemanship, as he was, on a certain occasion, thrown, for which offence against imperial dignity the horse was condemned to death. He was ridden down from Jerusalem to Jaffa, weighted with stones, and sunk into the sea. As he was in his death agony, five bubbles rose to the surface, which developed into five horses, each the ancestor of a separate type (details, as in the Genesis account of the ancestry of the human race, not explained). Each of these stems furnished five sub-families, and from one or other of these, every pedigree horse is descended.

Another story which illustrated certain characteristics of native life, and the possibility of making the most of occasion, related to a couple of shechs who came from a great distance to consult a certain priest in a very delicate matter. As is the custom of the country, they talked of irrelevant matters for about four hours, and then submitted their difficulties. Neither of them had any children—i.e. possessed no son, but merely "a piece of a daughter." The phrase is equivalent to our use in referring to "a head of cattle." The priest was well known for his power and benevolence; surely he would exercise both in so worthy a direction! With characteristic presence of mind he seized the occasion for a moral lesson, and represented that certain changes of habit might be rewarded by the desired result. The shechs promised obedience, and departed. A year afterwards, when the incident was forgotten, the priest called to his servant one morning to remove a sheep which had trespassed into his garden, and was informed that this was a valuable present brought by one of the shechs upon the occasion of the arrival of a son and heir. Whether the other was less fortunate or less grateful history does not relate.

On our return, we visited the Khan Minyeh, and a little east of it a small Tell, by some identified with the site of Bethsaida, which, however, is by other authorities located on the east side of the lake. The towns on the shore of Tiberias have been destroyed, to a degree surprising when we compare them with contemporary cities in the Decapolis. In Jerash, in Ammân we were able to reconstruct the life of the people—their homes, their temples, their amusements; in Chorazin, Bethsaida, Capernaum, Magdala we found, at the best, heaps of stones, and mounds grown over with grass and flowers.

In the absence of Khalil, Dieb, our friend of the night before, rode back with us to Tiberias, as, without a local guide, we might have found it difficult to know whereabouts to ford the many streams, which a twelve hours' downpour had swollen to considerable size. He was very useful and kindly, and filled the Lady's pockets with pretty shells from the lake, some of which must have been occupied, as she found two of them walking about, a month afterwards, in her hotel in Jerusalem.