JAFFA TO JERUSALEM.

You see nothing of Jerusalem till you get inside the city, and to enjoy a visit requires a greater enthusiasm than any to which I can lay claim. We were safely landed at Jaffa, which by this time ought to have a more decent landing-place; thence, after a glance at the house where Simon the Tanner carried on business, I made my way—along tortuous roads, more or less blocked with stones and rubbish, and more or less exposed to a burning sun—to the station, whence we were to start for Jerusalem, a hot ride of nearly four hours in railway-carriages of very second-rate quality. The land about Jaffa is fertile and well cultivated; fig-trees and olive-trees and orange-groves are abundant, and at Jaffa the chief business seemed to be packing them in boxes for export. At one particular spot our conductor told us that it was there that Samson set the cornfields of the Philistines on fire. Certainly the ground seemed dry and baked up enough. Then Arithmea was reached. On our way we got our first sight of a native village, built of mud huts, into which it seemed difficult to find an entrance. A Kaffir village is infinitely to be preferred. The scene of desolation was complete. On the neighbouring rocks nothing was to be seen but flocks of goats. A little fairer scene opened on us as we passed the neat German colony that has settled down here, almost under the shadow of the walls of Jerusalem. Then the terminus is gained, and we are whirled in a cloud of dust, in rickety carriages, driven by their hoarsely-shouting drivers at full gallop, all of us white as millers, being clothed with dust. I wash at Howard’s Hotel, swallow a cup of tea, and, as we do not dine till six, make my way into Jerusalem by the Jaffa Gate. A little of Jerusalem goes a long way. It is dark and stifling, swarming with people and camels and asses, and noisy beyond description. A sort of Rag Fair, only with a few touches of the East, such as a veiled woman, or a stately Turk in turban and flowing robes, or a black-coated, black-bearded Greek priest, or a low row of shopkeepers, sitting patiently in their dark and tiny shops, thrown in. You must keep moving, or you will be run over by a donkey or a camel, for, as the country round Jerusalem grows nothing, the necessaries of life have all to be brought from a distance. My respected countrymen and countrywomen are in a state of gush all the while, not to be wondered at when you think of the Jerusalem of David, and Solomon, and Jesus Christ. As it is in reality, I own I see very little to gush about. I reach the Via Dolorosa—there is no trace of Christ there; I pass the Church of the Sepulchre and the mosque which marks the site where Solomon built his Temple. I think of the royal Psalmist who here poured forth the wailings of his heart in language which has formed the penitential chant of all the ages. But if I would see the Christ I must get out of this city, all crammed with lies and living upon lies. I muse by myself in the Garden of Gethsemane; I climb the Mount of Olives. It is outside the city, away from Jerusalem: via Dolorosa and Pontius Pilate’s House its old and new churches, that I see the living Christ and Calvary, and feel how true it is that

‘Each soul redeemed from sin and death
Must know its Calvary.’

I have had enough of Jerusalem. My fellow-travellers leave me to go to Jericho. I have no wish to be sent to Jericho, and prefer to remain under the grateful shelter of my hotel, just outside the Jaffa Gate. What strikes me most is the prosperity of the place. It is growing fast, in spite of Turkish rule. The people are robbed by the tax-collectors; nevertheless, the place gains, and the population outside the city walls is quite as great as that within. One reason, of course, is that wealthy Christians in England and America spend large sums of money in keeping up proselytizing establishments here, and in erecting fine buildings for the same end. Of course we have a Bishop here, but he is High Church, and seems, from all I hear, more inclined to bridge over the gulf between his Church and the Greek than to promote general and undenominational Christian work. The number of poor Jews is enormous. They come here from all parts of the world to die in the Sacred City, and have many charities established on their behalf. The Britisher has this advantage—that he pays no taxes. The Jew is not permitted to hold a bit of land unless he has been a resident here five years. The Turk holds Jerusalem to be a sacred city only second to Mecca. No wonder, then, that the nations have fought bitterly for the possession of its so-called sacred shrines; no wonder that Christians from all parts of the world hasten to Jerusalem, and that you meet in the streets and shops and hotels such a mixture of men and women—brought by excursion-parties from London—as, perhaps, you have never seen before, and, perchance, may wish never to see again. I suppose it has ever been so. Those old Crusaders must have been rather a mixed lot. As it is, View from St. Stephen’s Gate, with Russian Church and Garden of Gethsemane the Russian Church seems most in evidence. It has spent, apparently, a great deal of money in building purposes. Its new church, half-way up the Mount of Olives, is one of the finest buildings to be seen outside the walls. The Russian is wily; he knows what he is about—at any rate, better than many of his rivals in the race for empire.

I think most of my party are getting tired of Jerusalem—even the clergy, of whom we have many. Exertion of any kind is painful on these dusty highways and under this blazing sun. There has been no rain for six months, and the Jews in the synagogue are praying for it daily, and yet it seems as far off as ever. One thing that is really enjoyable is the cool splendour of these cloudless skies by night. I have seen the moon rise in many lands, but never—no, not even under the Southern Cross—a moon so full, so fair, so bright, as that of JudÆa, as it throws its silvery light over old walls and peasants’ huts, on hill and dale—I may not say ancient ruins, for all is new outside Jerusalem, and as regards most of the city a similar remark may be made. For Saracen and Roman have devastated and destroyed entirely the real Jerusalem, which is now only being disinterred by the labours of the agents of the Palestine Exploration Fund, of whom Dr. Bliss is the chief.

The Jews preponderate everywhere, apparently poor and depressed. The real Turk, sleek and well robed, is an imposing figure, but the dragomans—chiefly Greeks, or of the Greek Church—are active and intelligent, and very ready to use their English, of which, apparently, they have but an imperfect knowledge. The Jews speak the common dialect of the country, but are taught Hebrew in the many schools established for their benefit. The food displayed in their cook-shops is, however, by no means tempting, and nowhere, unless it be at such an international hotel as that of Chevalier Howard, is the commissariat department very strong. But we have clean, cool, delightful bedrooms. And Mr. Chevalier himself is a remarkably intelligent and active man, and offers the traveller facilities for excursions such as he can find nowhere else. When one thinks of Palestine and the place it fills in the world’s history, it is hard to realize what a small extent of country it contains. Its length is about 200 miles, and its average breadth 75 miles. On one side is the Mediterranean Sea, and on the other the desert plain of Arabia. A mountain range runs through it from north to south. Its chief rivers are the Jordan, the Litany, the Abana, and the Pharpar. I fancy it is better to come here in the spring than in the autumn.