Once More in Damascus—Taking the “Short Route”—Starting for Beyrout—The Fountains of Damascus—Rain-Storm in the Anti-Lebanon—Stora and its Model Hotel—Poetical Fancies—A Compliment to Mine Host—The “Doubter” as a Rhymist—Climbing Mount Lebanon—Tropic Suns and Arctic Snows—View from the Summit—A Vision of Fairy-Land—Coming Down on the Double-Quick—In Sight of the Mediterranean—Taking Ship for Jaffa—Sidon to a Modern Tourist—Tyre—Jaffa—A Dangerous Roadstead.
WE have done with Damascus and the country beyond it; we have studied the road to Palmyra and Bagdad, and the overland route to Jerusalem; we have seen the bazaars, the fountains, the slave market, the mosques and the churches, and we have looked from the Salahiyeh hills when the setting sun was gilding the domes and towers of the city. Our carriage is waiting to bear us away to Beyrout, where we will “take ship for Jaffa,” as did the men of Solomon many centuries ago.
We started out of Damascus in a pouring rain, but we didn’t think it would be much of a shower, and kept on. Just outside, we crossed a bridge over the Abana, or rather over one of its seven branches, and then followed the stream upward for a few miles. The Abana formerly flowed in a single stream; the founders of Damascus determined to utilize it for beautifying the city, and well did they perform their work. Here and there, as you ascend the stream, you see dams thrown across to direct first one portion and then another, and from these dams there are artificial canals, sometimes tunneled through the rock, and all leading toward the cluster of domes, and minarets, and roofs that mark the locality of the city.
Through all parts of Damascus the Abana is carried in divisions and subdivisions, now in open channels and now in aqueducts concealed beneath the street. Fountains foam and bubble at every street corner and sparkle in every dwelling; water, clear, bright, and beautiful, is everywhere, and man or beast has no need to thirst.
It is this abundance of water that has created much of the fame of Damascus and made it attractive in the eyes of travellers. Beyond Damascus is the desert, without water or verdure; all around, east, west, north, and south, the country is rugged, and more or less barren.
The traveller from Bagdad, from Mecca, from Aleppo, and from other points, has wandered over treeless wastes, where rock and sand are the only objects to greet his eye, and the only water to quench his thirst is the hot and brackish liquid carried in goat skins at his saddle bow. After long and weary days he arrives at Damascus, embowered in gardens, and at every step through her streets he sees a fountain. Is it any wonder that he considers Damascus as second only to Paradise?
The rain didn’t stop, as we had expected. It kept coming steadily during the six hours—that seemed long enough for sixty—between Damascus and Stora.
We warmed and dried ourselves as best we could before going to bed, but there was a good deal of moisture in our clothes when we got up in the morning. We didn’t feel particularly gay, especially as the morning was cold and the rain was continuing, but there was nothing to do but to push on. The steamer was due at Beyrout that day, and would leave in the evening, and if we missed her we should be stuck there for ten days.
We wrote in the visitors’ book some complimentary things about the hotel at Stora before we went to bed in the evening. One was a macaronic verse, the first line English, the second French, the third German, and the fourth Spanish. This was the combined effort of the party; then the Judge and I broke into verse as follows:
“At Stora we, half dozen tourists,
Have fared unexpectedly well,
For hostess and host, we, as jurists,
Declare they can keep a hotel.”
Then the “Doubter,” remembering the hardships of his ride to and from Baalbek, broke out with a nursery rhyme like this:
“We went up from Baalbek to Stora,
And, riding, grew sorer and sorer.
This rough land of the Prophet,
If I ever get off it,
Sure, I’ll not come again, begorra!”
We had suspected that the “Doubter” was of Hibernian origin, and now we knew it. He owned up and said that his ancestors were among the Kings of Tipperary. But his poetic production did not find a place in the book, for the reason that it was not complimentary to the country, and did not reflect the opinions of the rest of the party.
Up we went on the eastern slope of Mount Lebanon, the air growing colder, and the clouds enveloping us more and more densely as we ascended. I sat on the box and shivered, and vowed not to be caught again in such a scrape. By-and-by we were at the summit. There was an inch or so of snow on the road, and more on the rocks, and the wind was sharp enough to shave with. I was chattering like a magpie, and would have given something for a cup of hot tea, or something that would warm me. Kalil pointed to the sea, which just then appeared below us through a rift in the clouds, and its reflection in the warm sunlight was something pleasing to look upon.
It was a long way down—fifty-six hundred feet—but we were good for it. Kalil turned down the brake a little, not enough to prevent the turning of the wheels, and not enough to keep back the horses, who went on at full speed. Now the air grew warmer, now the clouds broke away and fled over the mountain top, now the snow grew thinner and soon disappeared, now we could see Beyrout hovering like a bird over the land that skirts the bay, and looking bright and genial in the warm sunlight. The Mediterranean rippled and sparkled in the sunlight; far out on the water we could see stipples of white sails, and here and there we could discover the long, dark streaks on the horizon that marked the path of a steamer. The waves broke over the rocky beach with
an uneven surge, and a silver thread widening as it advanced its winding way among the rocks showed us where lay the river that reaches the sea just north of the city.
Winter was left behind as we descended the mountain at a break-neck pace; spring opened upon us, and soon the spring was succeeded by the warmth of summer. We were once more among the palm trees; oranges and citrons twinkled on the branches that bore them, and reflected back the golden light of a Syrian sun. The dim lines on the water developed into waves; the ships, at first faintly outlined, revealed all the details of spars and rigging, and the confused mass clinging to the land and marking the locality of Beyrout developed into the many colored domes, and towers, and roofs of an Oriental city; and as we drew rein at the door of the hotel, close to the water’s edge, we forgot our troubles, and breathed an atmosphere warm and invigorating as September.
It was rather rough when we went on board the steamer which was to take us to Jaffa, and the wind increased during the night, so that by morning it was a respectable gale. The steamer was to start at daybreak, and stop at Caifa, half way to Jaffa, but the wind was so high that she didn’t go. She started once, but the sea was so rough that the captain hesitated and came to anchor again. We contemplated Beyrout that day and part of the next, and we had a similar contemplation of Caifa. The agent came out in a boat, and said he could not get a single lighter to venture out, as there was a very heavy sea breaking on the shore. So without landing or receiving any freight, we departed; some passengers went ashore, among them several who had tickets for Jaffa, but were fearful that they would not be able to land there. Among the deck passengers were several Jews who were coming to Palestine to settle and make their fortunes. The story that the Rothschilds had bought Palestine from Turkey, or rather had taken it, as a collateral for a loan which Turkey could not pay, was current among them.
We passed between Beyrout and Caifa, the port of Saida, the ancient Sidon, which disputed with Tyre the mastery of the seas. It was once a great city; now it is a dirty, ill-kept town, with a population of not more than eight or nine thousand, and with a commerce so insignificant that it does not pay the steamers to call there. Where it formerly boasted an extensive fleet, it has not now a single vessel larger than a fishing boat!
We pass in front of Tyre, one of the oldest, as it was once one of the most powerful cities of the East. It has been many times destroyed and rebuilt, and a careful investigator can find the remains of at least a dozen different cities either in its ruins or in the historic accounts. At present there are less than four thousand inhabitants, Christian and Moslem, in the proportion of half and half.
Jaffa has always borne a bad reputation on the score of safety, as it has no port where ships can lie, and is not even protected by projecting headlands Its harbor is an open roadstead, and if the wind blows from the south or west, or any point of compass between them, boats cannot venture out on account of the heavy surf. In summer the weather is generally favorable, but not always so, while in winter it is about an even wager for or against communication between ship and shore. Our captain said that in some winters he had been able to land at Jaffa every trip, and in other winters he could not land at all. I heard of one man who wanted to go to Jerusalem, and had gone past Jaffa five times unable to land there. And I heard a dragoman say that he had gone to Jaffa nine times, and never failed to land each time. You see the difference between good and ill luck.
If we had arrived on any of the previous eight days, we would have been unfortunate; two steamers had gone past in that time, one of them with three hundred pilgrims for Jerusalem, which were carried to Port Said, and would be brought back from there. But the morning we sighted Jaffa the weather was propitious, and as we cast anchor the ship was soon surrounded by boats ready to take the passengers ashore. We lost no time, as we were fearful a wind might arise and detain us, and so we closed our bargain for transportation to land at the usual rate of one franc for each person, including our baggage.
Views of Jaffa—A queer-looking City—The Oldest Inhabited Town in the World—The Massacre of Jaffa—A Stain upon the Memory of Napoleon—A Contract with a Dragoman—A close margin—The value of Credentials—An honest Arab—Getting into Saddle—An American Colony—Their German Successors—The Fruits of the Country—Generous conduct of the “Doubter”—On the road to Jerusalem—A night at Ramleh—In a Russian Convent—The Gauntlet of Beggars—The Pest of the Road—Begging as a Fine Art—The “Gate of the Glen”—Among the Mountain Passes—In sight of the Holy City.
JAFFA presents a curiously terraced appearance, when seen from the water, and its flat roofs and low arches show its Syrian character. There is a semi-circle of rough rocks that form a sort of harbor for small boats, and it requires good steering to carry a boat through the entrance, only ten feet wide, without accident. The surf breaks violently when the wind is high, and makes a landing or embarkation dangerous. The town looks more beautiful a mile or two away than when close at hand.
The landing place was dirty, and crowded with all sorts of unclean Arabs, and the streets were crooked, narrow, and so full of mud and dirt as to make walking a serious matter. Traditionally, Jaffa is the oldest city in the world; it is said to have existed before the flood, and it is likewise recorded as very old by history. It was one of the towns allotted to the tribe of Dan, and is mentioned as the landing-place of the rafts of cedar and pine from Lebanon for the construction of Solomon’s temple.
It was an important place at the time of the Crusades, but gradually dwindled in commercial and other consequence. Napoleon
caused it to be talked about at the beginning of the present century, by his massacre of the garrison of four thousand men, who had surrendered on condition that their lives should be spared.
We proceeded with our baggage to the German hotel, followed by a bodyguard of dragomen and guides similar to those that had escorted us at Beyrout, and animated with the same noble ambition to make contracts that should transfer money from our pockets to theirs. As soon as we were at the hotel we held an audience of dragomen, and finally selected one that seemed to answer our purpose. As a matter of precaution, we went with him to the German Consul—the American Consul was out of town—and bidding him wait at the door, we consulted the man of authority. He pronounced the dragoman good, and we closed with him, on the Consul’s recommendation. He was to take us on a nine days’ trip to Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Mar Saba, the Dead Sea, Jordan, Jericho, and Ramleh, at an expense of twenty francs for each person per day.
He was to provide all requisites for the journey; three double tents—one for each two persons—servants, beds, food, English saddles, side saddle for the lady, saddle and pack horses, and to pay all hotel and convent expenses, and supply local guides in Jerusalem; he was to provide sufficient escort when needed, and to pay all fees and “backsheesh” of every kind, except at the Mosque of Omar. The party was to be at liberty to change the route, and to stop whenever it chose. The horses were to be sound, strong, kind, and active, and if any of them were disabled, the dragoman was to provide suitable substitutes without extra charge. In case of dispute, the matter could be referred to the German or American Consul at Jaffa or Jerusalem.
While on the road, the food should consist of tea or coffee in the morning, with eggs, bread, and butter; luncheon at noon, of chicken or cold meat, eggs, bread, cheese, and dessert; and dinner as good as the hotel dinner. In Jerusalem the party could have choice of the Mediterranean and Damascus hotels.
Ten napoleons were to be paid at starting, and the remainder, half in Jerusalem and half in Jaffa, on our return. Ali Solomon was the name of our dragoman, and I will do him the credit to say that we were entirely satisfied with him. He kept his contract more faithfully than we expected he would, and in some points exceeded its terms.
I don’t recommend him to anybody else, for fear he may have suffered a change of heart, and become a rascal; men are very uncertain in this respect.
I once had a servant whom I supposed to be honest enough to be a model for the rising generation. He left my employ to seek fortune and turn an honest penny elsewhere, and I gave him a ‘character’ which a student of theology might ertvy. On the strength of my recommendation, he obtained a situation with a gentleman, whose milk of human kindness had not been curdled by experience. John was trusted with things in general, and requited the confidence by stealing a hundred dollars, and then stealing away. And no man, so far as I have heard, knoweth, to this day, the place of his sojourn.
Since then, I have been cautious about commendations, and, for this reason, I will only say of Ali, that we were entirely satisfied with him, and believed him honest and faithful. If he robbed his next customers of the filling of their back teeth, it is no affair of ours.
We selected horses from a large number, and very good horses they were. About 2 o’clock we rode out of the German colony of Jaffa, which has bought the property formerly held by the American colony from Maine. The Germans are prospering, and promise well for the future. I was told that the Americans might have prospered, if their affairs had been well managed, but that their leader was about the worst head that could have been chosen. Only four, I believe, of the American colonists remain there, three women and one man. One woman is in a state of poverty, but I was told that the rest were making a good living. The Germans have a good manager at their head, and all of them are industrious. They have a second village about two miles away from the one originally founded by the Americans.
Through a street paved with mud and filth, and bordered by tents and booths, where oranges and other things edible—in theory or in practice—were exposed for sale, we moved toward the interior and away from the sea. Orange groves were on every side, and we appreciated the reputation of Jaffa for this excellent fruit.
Even the “Doubter” was convinced of the excellence of the oranges, as he filled his pockets without expense, and became liberal enough to bestow an orange upon a small boy who held his horse and wanted a slight “backsheesh” in return. “I don’t believe money is good for you,” he said to the boy; “you had better take an orange.” The boy could have had all of this sort of thing that he wanted, and indicated an objection to receiving payment in fruit, but his objections were of no avail.
One of the “Doubter’s” strong points was in never paying at all for small services, or in paying in something that cost him nothing. His sympathy was roused for a poor woman in Jaffa, and as we finished dinner he took a large orange from the table and said: “I would like to give this to that poor woman over the way.” We applauded his burst of generosity in giving away what belonged to the hotel, and didn’t let him hear the last of it for a day or two.
Outside of Jaffa, the road goes over a flat or undulating country, evidently quite fertile, excepting at intervals, where it is too sandy for cultivation. For saddle horses the road is excellent; it is intended for a carriage road, but has never been finished, though carriages do manage to get over it now and then, all the way to Jerusalem. The story goes, that when the Sultan visited Paris in 1867, the Emperor told him that Eugenie wished to visit Jerusalem, but was unable to ride there on horseback. "There shall be a good carriage road there in a year,” said the Sultan, and he at once gave orders for its construction. But somehow it still remains in an unfinished condition, and the promise to complete it within a year is like many other promises of the Turkish ruler.
The Russians have a convent at Ramleh, for the accommodation of Russian pilgrims to Jerusalem, and there is also a Latin convent there, under the management of French and Italian monks.
The Latin establishment is really a convent, or rather a monastery, but the Russian one is more like a hotel, as it is kept by a Russian family, whereas the Latin convent is really in the hands of holy men, clad in hood and cowl. Our dragoman rode ahead and arranged that we should stop at the Russian convent, and sent a boy out to meet and guide us into the place.
Along the road side, as we entered, there were a lot of beggars—twenty or more—drawn up, or rather squatted in line where they could assail us. Some were blind, some had lost their hands or their fingers, and each of them held up his mutilated stumps to attract attention. We were told some of them were lepers, but that the majority had been mutilated either by themselves or their parents in order to insure their success as beggars. One of our party gave a small coin to the worst looking of the mendicants, and immediately the whole crowd set in pursuit.
If you give a gratuity in Syria, you are at once pursued by all the beggars in sight, including the one to whom you have made a donation, and nothing short of a blow with a cudgel will shake
them off. This systematic begging is apt to harden one’s heart, especially when you find it impossible to satisfy the demands of an applicant. The government would do a charitable work if it would assemble the beggars of Ramleh into a close room and asphyxiate them over a charcoal fire. They have been suppressed two or three times, but are sure to spring up again.
We were up early, and for three hours had a road very much like that of the day before. This ride brought us to the Bab-el-Wady, or Gate of the Glen, where there is a sort of hotel which furnishes everything for the traveller, except food, drink, and lodging, and there is a room where you can sit at a rickety table in a rickety chair, and eat the provisions you have brought along.
From this so-called hotel we moved up a glen or valley with the rocks on both sides of us, and the road making a steady ascent. We were now among the rugged mountains that extend to and beyond Jerusalem, a dreary and almost sterile waste, whose every aspect is forbidding.
I know of no mountain ride more dreary than that from Babel-Wady to Jerusalem. In nearly all other mountain chains I have ever seen, you have frequent glimpses of scenery that would partly reward for your toil, but here there is nothing of the kind. It is a succession of rough and rounded summits, too rocky for cultivation, and not broken enough to be picturesque. A few villages nestle in the glens, and there are occasional patches of olive trees, but the general aspect is one of unredeemed sterility.
The road from Jaffa to Jerusalem is about thirty-six miles in length: travellers generally divide it by going to Ramleh—nine miles—the first day, and to Jerusalem the next. The ordinary time for a party unused to travel is twelve hours; going up we made it in ten hours, and coming back we did it in seven and a half, which was very fair speed.
We wound along the mountain road, and four hours after leaving Bab-el-Wady, the foremost of our cortege swung his hat from one of the rounded summits. “Jerusalem,” said the dragoman, and at the word we pressed forward.
There lay the Holy City, as it lay when the Crusaders came hither to wrest it from the hands of the Moslem, and as it has greeted the eyes of many a pious pilgrim in more modern days. Its towers and walls rose before us, while around were the everlasting hills of Israel. Tasso’s lines describing the first view of the city by the Crusaders came involuntarily to my mind.
Winged is each heart, and winged every heel,
They fly, yet notice scarce how fast they fly,
But by the time the dewless meads reveal
The golden sun ascended in the sky,
Lo! towered Jerusalem salutes the eye.
A thousand pointing fingers tell the tale,
“Jerusalem!” a thousand voices cry;
“All hail, Jerusalem!” hill, down, and dale
Catch the glad sound, and shout, “Jerusalem, all hail.”
The towered walls recalled the pictures of Jerusalem, with which the whole world is familiar, and we seemed to be entering a city that we had seen before. The Turkish soldiers at the gate made no opposition to our entrance. Formerly strangers were kept waiting at the gate until their passports had been sent to the j police for examination, and sometimes the detention lasted two or three hours. A few steps inside the gate brought us to the door of the Mediterranean Hotel, where we dismounted and made ourselves at home.
First Sights in Jerusalem—Appearance of the streets—What the “Doubter” thought—A change of opinion—The Tower of David—The Street of David—Church of the Holy Sepulchre—Scenes around it—Palace of the Knights of St. John—Via Dolorosa—Damascus’ Gate—Walls of the Holy City—Visiting the Temple—The Haram and Mosque of Omar—Visaing the Substructions—A triple veneration—Place of Wailing—The Quarries—Remains of an Ancient Bridge.
AS soon as we were fairly in Jerusalem and had brushed up a little, we started out to see some of the many sights that the city contains.
Apart from its historical interest and the picturesque appearance of its walls, towers, and domes, Jerusalem is the reverse of pleasing. Its streets are narrow and badly paved, and no effort is made to keep them clean. Some of the narrow ones are particularly filthy, and one must have good boots and be careful about his steps to walk safely along these ways. I laughed inwardly as the “Doubter” hesitated at some of the corners and showed a determination to turn back, or rather an uncertainty about going forward.
When we descended the Danube, we stopped a short time at Belgrade, the capital of Servia, and standing on the frontier between the Occident and the Orient. The pavement there was rougher than that of European cities, and the “Doubter” doubted if there was anything worse in the world.
“Let us hurry up,” said he, “and get to Constantinople or Jerusalem where the streets are better.”
"Why, my dear “Doubter,” said I, “these are far better than the streets in those cities. They have worse pavements and deeper mud.”
“I know better,” was his rejoinder, and that closed the argument. I said nothing till I had him climbing the wide street that leads from Top-Hané to the Hotel de Byzance in Constantinople, and there I gave him a little prod about Belgrade. He got out of it by saying that he knew Jerusalem was much better.
Naturally, I was pleased when I managed to get him between two mountains of mud, or something of the sort, in a narrow street in Jerusalem, and just as he was extricating himself, I asked about Belgrade.
He made no reply that I heard, but I saw his lips moving and his mental agitation was so great that he slipped and fell where the mud was worst. He was not presentable in polite society after that, but rather looked as though he had been hired out by the day as a friction roller for smoothing a freshly flowed swamp.
From the front of the hotel, one can see the Tower of David, the structure which King David erected upon Mount Zion, according to Biblical history.
From the Jaffa gate, also called the Hebron, and the Mediterranean gate, runs the street of David, descending the hill and subsequently ascending another to Mount Moriah Our first walk was down the street of David to the first turning to the left.
This took us into Christ street, and a walk of three or four minutes there brought us, by a single turning, into the space in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
This space was full of beggars, and of people selling various sorts of ornaments and relics. Some had rosaries made of various kinds of wood, generally of the olive tree or the seeds of the olive; some had crosses and holy pictures cut in mother of pearl; and others had old coins or stone ornaments made of pieces of the Temple of Jerusalem. The traders and beggars were very persistent, and one could not stand a minute in contemplation of the building without being annoyed by the one class or the other. More than one of us wished that a scourge could be set in motion to drive away these pests from the exterior of a building, which is regarded with special interest by all Christian people. We could not enter the church at that hour, and so we contented ourselves with a visit to the hospital of the Knights of St. John, or rather to its ruins. We walked along the Via Dolorosa and were shown the supposed spot where Christ rested his cross, then we went along the street of the Gate of the Column and the street of the Palace, to the Damascus Gate.
Then, as it was approaching sunset, we returned to the hotel and had a pleasant conversation with Dr. De Hass, our newly appointed Consul to Jerusalem.
On our way back to the hotel we stopped in two or three of the many shops where olive wood is wrought into various interesting forms for strangers to buy and carry away. It seemed as if about one-fifth of the inhabitants of Jerusalem were engaged in the manufacture of objects of olive wood. Canes, boxes, portfolios, candle-sticks, and a hundred other things were made of olive wood, and some of them were very pretty. Jerusalem is the same towered city as of old, and her walls have a massive appearance. Sultan Suleiman erected them, as they now stand, in the year 1542; but portions of them were standing before that time, and some of the towers have undergone very little change in the various calamities which the city has suffered.
The latter portions were built from the ruins of the older walls and generally on the sites of their predecessors, so that the city has preserved its form with but little alteration.
The distance around the walls is about two and a half miles, and in this distance there are five gates; the most important of these are the Jaffa gate and the Damascus gate, the others being but little used There are two gates wholly or partially walled up; one of them being the Golden Gate on Mount Moriah, and the other, the gate of Herod. The principal streets of the city run at right angles, and by them Jerusalem is divided into the Moslem, the Christian, the Jewish, and the American quarters.
So much for the general description of Jerusalem.
To those familiar with Bible history, the enumeration of the holy places of Jerusalem would be to repeat many names with which they are already familiar; to those who are not Biblical students, the list would be tediously long; I shall therefore confine my account of Jerusalem to the story cf what we saw and did during our brief stay. Any one wishing to know more of the city has doubtless within his reach one or more books, that will give the required information. A perusal of the Bible, especially of those portions describing Jerusalem, would not prove at all injurious.
We entered by a gate in the wall, and the transition was quite sudden from the confused mass of houses where we had been wandering to the open space of the Haram. We ascended a flight of steps to a broad platform, and stood in front of Kubbet-es-Sukrah, or Dome of the Rock, as the central mosque is called.
It is generally known as the Mosque of Omar, for the reason that the Kalif Omar is credited with its construction. There Accompanied by a guide and by a janizary of the consulate, we started out of the hotel in the morning and descended the street of David to the entrance of the Haram or Sacred Enclosure, the name given by the Arabs to the portion of Mount Moriah that contains the Mosques of Omar and El-Aska, and formerly contained the great temple built by King Solomon.
The Haram occupies a large space, almost equal to a fourth of the city; it is surrounded by strong walls and is dotted with platforms, niches for prayer, cupolas and olive trees in addition to are two or three stories about its origin, but, whatever that may have been, the architect deserves great credit for erecting a building beautiful in itself and quite in keeping with the surroundings.
It stands on the very summit of Mount Moriah on the sacred rock, supposed to have been the site of the threshing floor of Or-nan, the Jebusite, which King David bought for fifty shekels of silver. The building is octagonal, and each of the sides measure sixty-seven feet. The octagonal form is preserved in the interior, where the rock is inclosed in a railing and rises above the level of the floor.
Unfortunately, the mosque was undergoing repairs at the time of our visit, and the interior was full of scaffolding, while the floor was covered with rubbish.
But we could see enough to show that the mosque is a structure of great beauty. The lower part of the wall is composed of colored marbles in complex patterns, and the upper part contains no less than fifty-six windows of stained glass, equalling in beauty anything that can be found in Westminster Abbey or the cathedrals of Europe.
The dome presents an imposing appearance, whether seen from the outside or from within. Externally it is a prominent feature of Jerusalem, and no picture of the holy city would be complete without it.
Antiquarians are in doubt as to the extent of the great temple, but there is likely to be a complete solution of the difficult questions when the work of the Palestine Exploration Society is finished. The English and American sections are working in perfect harmony, and have portioned out their territories so that they shall not come in contact or perform the same work twice over. Part of their efforts are directed to settling the discussions about the extent of Solomon’s Temple, and they have already made some important discoveries. We were shown the localities of the excavations, and after visiting the two mosques in the Haram we went below ground to look at the substruction of the great temple. We descended a flight of steps into a subterranean apartment where there is a sculptured niche, which bears the name of “The Cradle of Jesus”.
Our guide lighted some candles, and we kept on down another flight of steps that brought us into some vaults, containing numerous pillars about five feet square and constructed of huge stones. The t arches supported by these pillars were generally semi-circ ul ar, and the whole work had an appearance of great durability. Only a portion of this subterranean space has been explored, and the extent of the arched space is unknown. These were for the purpose of making the ground level and thus prepare it for the foundation of the great temple.
We were shown some roots of trees that have made their way through the platform and run a long distance through the underground debris. The crusaders used these vaults as stables, and some of the holes in the pillars where they fastened their horses can still be seen. None of the horses are there.
Jerusalem is emphatically the Holy City. It is a little singular that it should be venerated by the disciples of three great teachers, Moses, Christ, and Mohammed, and that while Christians